Let these son poems be ones that remind you of the love you have for your boy. While they are little boys for only a short time as a parent they are always in your heart. Sons bring a whole new dimension to your life and the life of those around you.
I that had yearned for youth, my own, again,
And mourned the wasted hours of younger days,
I that had sighed for Spring, for Summer, when
The snows of Winter covered all my ways -
I that had prayed for years, for only one,
Have found that prayer answered in my son.
He is myself again, with hopes of old,
With old temptations and with old desires;
He is myself again - the clay to mold
Into the man, and all the man aspires.
Who says that youth returns to us no more?
He is as I was in the days of yore.
In my own days, in my own days of youth,
Ah, how I wished a comrade and a friend! -
To help me keep the quiet path of truth
And through temptation my own feet attend.
So shall I journey onward by his side,
His father - yea, his comrade and his guide.
I that have failed shall shape success in him,
I that have wandered point the proper path,
I signal when the signal lights are dim,
A roof to fend him from the storms of wrath -
So we shall journey upward, I and he,
And he shall be the man I meant to be.
Toward The Light
by Folger M. Kinsey
My son, the world looks dark to you, the wrong outlives the right;
Turn round and raise your troubled gaze and look toward the light!
Men always see in darkness when they fear to turn their eyes
Toward the sunshine of their dreams, the light of lovelier skies.
My son, the job you wanted fails, the land has fooled you — eh?
Turn round and check your teeth and smile, and look toward the day!
The pessimist sees only gloom in everything — but you
Are not afraid to trust and wait, to strive and think and do!
My son, the world seems upside down and wrong side out and all
Turn round toward the lofty hope and hark the bugle call!
Men must be weak, indeed, who fail, when in this land so swings
The morning faith, the burning joy, the lifting hope that sings!
To My Son
Poet: Margaret Johnstone Grafflin
Do you know that your soul is of my soul such part
That you seem to be fibre and core of my heart?
None other can pain me as you, son, can do;
None other can please me or praise me as you.
Remember the world will be quick with its blame
If shadow or stain ever darken your name.
Like Mother, Like Son, is the saying so true
The world will judge largely of Mother by you.
Be this then your task, if task it shall be.
To force this proud world to do homage to me.
Be sure it will say, when its verdict you've won,
She reaps as she sowed. This man is her son.
Our Little Boy
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Our little boy so happy and free
Chasing bugs and climbing trees
Playing with your toys and trucks
Chasing the birds and the ducks.
Who would have known a son could be
One who loves the mud and gets so dirty
His little hand we hold for awhile
And we never tire of seeing his smile.
My son in life, you will have your ups and downs
But keep your smiles and forget the frowns.
Don't lose your spirit of being free
Set your goals and you will achieve.
Be kind to others and lend a helping hand
Never forget your values; when needed take a stand
Life is always easier when you look for the good
Always keep a positive attitude.
No matter where you go or what you do
We will always love you.
And you will always be our little boy
Who to our life has brought so much joy!
My Son Remember
by Bob Burdette
My son, remember you have to work.
Whether you handle pick or wheelbarrow or a set of books, digging ditches or
edit a newspaper, ringing an auction bell or writing funny things, you must work.
Don't be afraid of killing yourself by overworking on the sunny side of thirty.
Men die sometimes, but it is because they quit at 9 p. m. and
don't go home until
2 a. m. It's the intervals that kill, my'' son.
The work gives you appetite for your meals;
it lends solidity to our slumber; it gives you a perfect appreciation of a holiday.
There are young men who do not work, but the country is not proud of them.
It does not even know their names; it only speaks of them as So-and-So's boys.
Nobody likes them; the great busy world doesn't know they are here.
So find out what you want to be and do.
Take off your coat and make dust in the world.
The busier you are, the less harm you are apt to get into,
the sweeter will be your sleep, the brighter your holidays,
and the better satisfied the whole world will be with you.
Sure there is lots of trouble.
Sure there are heaps of cares.
Burdens that bend us double,
Worries that come to wear.
But we must keep pursuing
Something, and see it through;
Still to be up and doing
Is all that there is to do.
Though you would like to idle,
Wait for the world to right.
Keep your hand on the bridle.
Fight when you have to fight.
Women are won by wooing.
Fortune is won the same.
And to be up and doing
Is all there is to the game.
Few ever fail by trying.
Few ever win who wait.
All of your sitting, sighing
Never will conquer fate.
Whatever path you’re hewing,
One thing is certain, son
Either be up and doing
Or soon you’ll be down and done.
The Day You Were Born
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
My son, I remember the day you were born
There was much happiness and no scorn.
It was like a miracle sent from above
The moment I saw you I was filled with love.
We were so happy to have a little boy
You played with trucks and lots of toys
Oh, but the years went to fast
A baby was not to last.
Before we knew it you were a man
You had your own ideas and plans
We have always been so proud of you
We pray for success in all you do.
Now you have a family of your own
And the boy we had is now fully grown.
But in our hearts you will always be
Our little boy, our family.
Give Me A Son
Give me a son, O Lord,
Who will be strong enough to know when he is weak.
And brave enough to face himself when he is afraid;
One who will be proud and unbending in defeat.
But humble and gentle in victory;
A son who will know that to know himself
Is the foundation stone of all true knowledge.
Rear him, I pray, not in the paths of ease and comfort.
But under the stress of difficulties and challenges.
Let him learn to stand in the storm;
Let him learn compassion for those who fail.
Give me a son whose heart will be clean.
Whose goal will be high;
A son who will master himself
Before he seeks to master other men;
One who will learn to laugh.
Yet never forget how to weep;
One who will reach into the future,
Yet never forget the past.
And after all these are his, add, I pray.
Enough of a sense of humor
So that he may always be serious,
Yet never take himself too seriously;
A touch of humility.
So that he may always remember
The simplicity of true greatness;
The open mind of true wisdom,
The meakness of true strength.
Then I, his father, will dare
In the sacred recesses of my own heart
To whisper "I have not lived in vain."