by William Arthur Ward
I asked three men this question yesterday:
"What does the Golden Rule mean most to you?"
One could not hear what each man had to say
Without becoming filled with faith anew . . . . .
Poet: Patience Strong
I often think that drudgery is a blessing in disguise -
I'm sorry for the people with no tasks in life - no ties...
The folds who plod and spend their lives in work and daily grind -
They are true philosophers -
If in their work they find -
The need for kindly tolerance, for patience, joy and zest -
The highest qualities of man in humble things expressed . . . . .
Poet: Berton Braley
If you want a thing bad enough
To go out and fight for it,
Work day and night for it,
Give up your time and your peace and your sleep for it . . . . .
Poet: Berton Braley
Back of the beating hammer
By which the steel is wrought,
Back of the workshop's clamor
The seeker may find the Thought
Of iron and steam and steel,v That rises above disaster
And tramples it under heel . . . . .
Poet: Berton Braley
Oh. Little House of Pleasant Dreams,
The dreams are fled
And you are but four empty walls
Whose soul is dead.
The garden that was magic soil
Is common loam.
And there is nothing but a house
Which was a Home . . . . .
Poet: Patience Strong
My house is full of well-loved books -
They're scattered round the place -
In unexpected corners -
On the shelves and in the case . . . . .
Poet: Strickland Gillilan
No man is wholly foolish, just as none is wholly wise;
The world has precious few extremes, you'll find if you'll examine.
The man who's partly deaf, you'll note, has extra useful eyes
This "wholly helpless" notion is the plainest sort of gammon . . . . .
Poet: Strickland Gillilan
Wouldn't it be good, my brother,
If the sun could always shine?
If we lived for one another,
Wouldn't every day be fine . . . . .
Poet: Strickland Gillilan
We are so built, we human things,
That we may touch joy's deepest springs
Now and again. We should be glad
That real pleasure may be had
From our accomplishment of what
Our brains conceived, our two hands wrought
But still the finest joy, indeed,
Is seeing some one else succeed . . . . .
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
The little roads to happiness,
They are not hard to find;
They do not lead to great success -
but to a quiet mind.
They do not lead to mighty power,
Nor to substantial wealth.
They bring one to a book, a flower,
A song of cheer and health . . . . .
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
Laughter shook his locks of gold,
shook his golden locks and cried,
"What are these I now behold!"
"Tears," the voice of sorrow sighed . . . . .
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
Go away, you cringing Fear.
Hide your head, O carking Care.
Both of you - now disappear.
Just won't worry - so there . . . . .
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
"Home is here," says the chair,
"Though I'm shabby, I don't care.
I have given hours of rest
To a weary, much-loved guest.
Do not ask, 'Home is where!'
"It is here," says the chair . . . . .
Poet: David V. Bush
When some one says, "It can't be done",
And squirms 'neath manhood's toiling;
Complains about ''No battles won" —
His speech with whimpers boiling;
Some other man with steady tread
Success attains — how was it?
Pursues his course with aching head;
Plods on and works and does it . . . . .
Poet: Nixon Waterman
We shall do so much in the years to come,
But what have we done today?
We shall give our gold in a princely sum,
But what did we give today?
We shall lift the heart, and dry the tear,
We shall plant a hope in the place of fear,
We shall speak the words of love and cheer,
But what did we speak today . . . . .
Poet: John Imrie
This morning! for the rising sun
His daily journey hath begun;
Flooding the earth with glory bright,
Chasing away the gloom of night;
Closing the eye of every star
That twinkles in the heavens afar;
Paling the moon's soft, silvery light,
Till it recedes from mortal sight . . . . .
Poet: John Imrie
When evening shades are falling fast,
Long shadows on the ground are cast,
The western sky is all aglow
With fiery glory sotting low;
The hill-tops glance with changing hue,
A noble back-ground to the view,
As mountain, river, lake, and plain.
Are bathed in glory once again . . . . .
Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
The pleasant hours have past,
And I must now return;
Tis hard to say good-bye,
But the lesson we must learn . . . . .
Poet: J.J. Thorne
This is a lesson we should heed,
Through our Maker to obey;
To oblige the poor in case of need.
And help them on their way . . . . .
Poet: William Arthur Ward
The climate of our days is influenced
More by the condition of our temperament
Than by the of our surroundings;
More by the humility in our heart
Than by the humidity of air;
More by the happiness we create . . . . .
Poet: William Arthur Ward
The choices we make each day of the week,
The paths that we take, the goals that we seek,
The kind of persons one day we will be
Is daily determined by you and me . . . . .
Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
Not to the swift, the race:
Not to the strong, the fight:
Not to the righteous, perfect grace:
Not to the wise, the light . . . . .
Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
You can never tell when you send a word
Like an arrow shot from a bow
By an archer blind, be it cruel or kind,
Just where it will chance to go.
It may pierce the breast of your dearest friend,
Tipped with its poison or balm;
To a stranger’s heart in life’s great mart
It may carry its pain or its calm . . . . .
Poet: J.J. Thorne
Life decays, as a shadow fades,
And death we must obey;
To-morrow we may be
Placed in clay . . . . .
Poet: Berton Braley
What does your country mean to you?
Merely a place to live and make money in?
Merely a hive where you gather the honey in,
Or something that's splendid and true?
Something that thrills you and holds you and thralls you
Something your pulses can leap and beat high for
Making you ready to serve when it calls you
Something to work and to live and to die for
What does it mean to you . . . . .
Poet: Caleb Davis Bradlee
O let your light shine, all clear and all bright,
Fear not to speak what you know to be right;
Hide not the thoughts that God puts in your heart,
And ever be glad thy strength to impart . . . . .
Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller
Do all you can for those you ought to love -
'Tis thoughtfulness and service that best prove -
Awaken! realize each circled dial -
The worth of what 'tis yours to own a while;
Bring now your flowers, the praise so fitly said -
'Twill bless the living - cannot cheer the dead;
Let men deride your sentimental spell -
Stay calm and know that you are doing well . . . . .
Poet: J.J. Thorne
Never yield to evil habits.
Never good things disdain,
Never suffer tongue and lips
To take God's name in vain . . . . .
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
I work for someone else, he said;
"I have no chance to get ahead.
At night I leave the job behind;
At morn I face the same old grind.
And everything I do by day
Just brings to me the same old pay.
While I am here I cannot see
The semblance of a chance for me." . . . . .
