As the bird trims her to the gale,
I trim myself to the storm of time,
I man the rudder, reef the sail,
Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime;
“Lowly faithful, banish fear,
Right onward drive unharmed;
The port, well worth the cruise, is near,
And every wave is charmed.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Talk happiness! The world is sad enough,
Without your woes. No path is wholly rough;
Look for the places that are smooth and clear
And speak of those who rest the weary ear
Of earth, so hurt by one continuous strain
Of human discontent and grief and pain.
Talk health! The dreary, never changing tale
Of mortal maladies is worn and stale.
You cannot charm or interest or please,
By harping on that minor chord, disease.
Say you are well, or all is well with you,
And God shall hear your words and make them true.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
From infinite longings finite deeds rise
As fountains spring toward far-off glowing skies,
But rushing swiftly upward weakly bend
And trembling from their lack of power descend—
So through the falling torrent of our fears
Our joyous force leaps like these dancing tears.
KEEP A-GOIN’!
Some men fail and quit. Some succeed and quit. The wise refuse to quit, whether they fail or succeed.
Ef you strike a thorn or rose, Keep a-goin’!
Ef it hails, or ef it snows, Keep a-goin!
‘Taint no use to sit an’ whine,
When the fish ain’t on yer line; Bait yer hook an’ keep a-tryin’—
Keep a-goin’!
When the weather kills yer crop, Keep a-goin’!
When you tumble from the top, Keep a-goin’!
S’pose you’re out of every dime, Bein’ so ain’t any crime;
Tell the world you’re feelin’ prime—
Keep a-goin’!
When it looks like all is up, Keep a-goin’!
Drain the sweetness from the cup, Keep a-goin’!
See the wild birds on the wing, Hear the bells that sweetly ring, When you feel like sighin’ sing—
Keep a-goin’!Frank L. Stanton.
From “The Atlanta Constitution.”
Just Be Glad
O heart of mine, we shouldn’t
Worry so!
What we’ve missed of calm we couldn’t
Have, you know!
What we’ve met of stormy pain,
And of sorrow’s driving rain,
We can better meet again,
If it blow!We have erred in that dark hour
We have known,
When our tears fell with the shower,
All alone!–
Were not shine and shower blent
As the gracious Master meant?–
Let us temper our content
With His own.For, we know, not every morrow
Can be sad;
So, forgetting all the sorrow
We have had,
Let us fold away our fears,
And put by our foolish tears,
And through all the coming years
Just be glad.
_James Whitcomb Riley._
The Armful
by Robert Frost
For every parcel I stoop down to seize
I lose some other off my arms and knees,
And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns,
Extremes too hard to comprehend at. once
Yet nothing I should care to leave behind.
With all I have to hold with hand and mind
And heart, if need be, I will do my best.
To keep their building balanced at my breast.
I crouch down to prevent them as they fall;
Then sit down in the middle of them all.
I had to drop the armful in the road
And try to stack them in a better load.
The House By The Side of The Road
Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by—
The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat, Or hurl the cynic’s ban;—
Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
I see from my house by the side of the road, By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears— Both parts of an infinite plan;—
Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height;
And the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by—
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish—so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?—
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Sam Walter Foss.
“With such glad dreams I sought this holy place,
And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand
Before this supreme mystery of Love:
A kneeling girl with passionless pale face,
An angel with a lily in his hand,
And over both with outstretched wings the Dove.”
By: Oscar Wilde
Excerpt from: Ave Maria Plena Gratia
