Legacy

We all leave a legacy that is dictated by the way we live each and every day. What type of legacy are you leaving? Read this poem by Douglas Malloch and reflect on what legacy you are leaving.

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Legacy
Poet: Douglas Malloch


Each man must leave to earth a legacy;
Embarking on the waves of mystery
Must leave some footprint by the unknown sea.

Some leave behind them shining piles of gold;
Some leave behind them lineage of old;
Some leave behind but granite gray and cold.

Some leave behind a blood-encrusted sword;
Some leave behind love's broken, silken cord ;
Some leave behind a monarch's wand and word.

What leavest thou in legacy or lore?
What leavest thou, to be remembered more?
What leavest thou here on the silent shore?

Not sword alone, for long thy sword was cold,
Ancestral name or heaps of shining gold.
But this, the story that thy genius told.

Now still thy lips, impotent now thy hand;
But men shall find thy footprint in the sand
And many things shall see and understand.

For men shall walk with Him of Nazareth;
For men shall breathe faith's everlasting breath
And solve the mystery of life and death.

This is the treasure that thou leavest, then;
This is the legacy thou leavest men -
Long sheathed thy sword, but ever speaks thy pen.


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More poems by Douglas Malloch:

Sympathy
Poet: Douglas Malloch


No man so poor but he may give
To other men some cheer,
No man too low or high may live
To help some brother near.
The forest that we tread is dark
And hidden is the trail;
Oh, keep alight the single spark
That leads to Holy Grail.

No gift so cheap to give, and yet
No gift so dear to hold;
The eyes that weep when eyes are wet
Are mines of rarest gold.
No gift so cheap as love is cheap.
Yet none so rich may be
As they who on their altars keep
The lamp of sympathy.

A forest dark, bewildering,
This life we wander through;
Praise God for those who work and sing,
For both we have to do
Our greater mission not to win
The thing we most desire.
But more to keep, through care and sin,
Our hearts with love afire.

For there are others on the road.
The dark and misty trail.
And we who bear the lighter load
Must help the ones who fall;
And, helping on the weary soul
Who stumbles by alone,
Thus we, in striving for his goal.
Shall come upon our own.


The Disagreeableness of Infallibility
Poet: Douglas Malloch


He owned a mill, he owned a mine.
He owned a hundred miles of pine,
He owned a horseless carriage fine,
He owned as well a coach and four;
He owned a house, he owned a lot.
He owned a yawl, he owned a yacht;
Could Lake Superior be bought,
He'd owned that, too, from shore to shore.

He owned a mansion great and brown.
He owned at night a couch of down;
He owned a street, he owned a town,
In politics he owned a state.
He owned a sumptuous palace car;
He owned a railroad stretching far.
He owned a ship from keel to spar.
He owned them both and owned the freight

And yet he lived a life alone
Because one thing he did not own;
And all his cash was seed was sown
Upon a field of arid salt.
He had no popularity
Because he had not learned to see
That what he lacked was this, that he
Had never owned a fault.



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