Poet: Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
I'd rather see a sermon than hear one any day;
I'd rather one should walk with me than merely tell the way.
The eye's a better pupil and more willing than the ear,
Fine counsel is confusing, but example's always clear....
read the entire poem
I'd Rather See A Sermon
Poet: Nixon Waterman
Sweet are the songs by lovers sung
As they the old, old story tell,
And sweet the croon of bees among
The clover-blooms and asphodel...
read the entire poem The Song The Kettle Sings
Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller
The summer days again are here,
And make one glad vacation's near;
Where best to spend it who can know?
The list of places seems to grow...
continue reading The Vacation Problem
Poet: Strickland Gillilan
What - "life is not worth fooling with?"
You're right, my lad, you're right!
Just spread that doctrine far and wide,
and spread it with your might.
Life never is worth "fooling with" -
this is the truth you're giving.
It isn't worth the "fooling with,
"but it's wholly worth the living!
You say it's "not worth fooling with" -
the task assigned to you.
You're right again, impatient lad;
the thing you say is true.
Perhaps not in the sense you mean -
if so, there's trouble brewing.
Your job is not worth "fooling with"
but it's surely worth the doing!
"No, tasks are not worth "fooling with"
- 'tis not what tasks were made for.
You must not fool with them at all' -
that's not what you are paid for.
The best that's in you, body, soul and mind,
you should be giving
To what your hands have found to do -
not "fooling" - toiling, living!
Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Oh, man, with your wonderful dower,
Oh, woman, with genius and grace,
You can teach the whole world with your power,
If you are but worthy the place...
continue reading The Actor
Poet: Berton Braley
My ink eraser's worn quite through
From rubbing out mistakes
Which, spite of all that I can do,
My fool typewriter makes....
continue reading Learning To Write
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
What age is happiest? Had you asked me,
I would have made this plea: the Now is best.
What joy to live with zest each newborn day;
and from the Moment wrest what Life will give away....
read the rest of the poem,
The Happiest Age
Poet: Nixon Waterman
Though life is made up of mere bubbles
'Tis better than many aver,
For while we've a whole lot of troubles
The most of them never occur.
by William Arthur Ward
A life built on the sands of celebrity
Can be wrecked by the rains of reverses.
A life built on the sands of materialism
Can be destroyed by the floods of adversity.
A life built on the sands of pleasure
Can be blown down by the winds of disillusionment.
Only the life that is built on the rock of character
Can withstand the tempests of time.
Poet: William Arthur Ward
The pessimist finds fault;
The optimist discovers a remedy.
The pessimist seeks sympathy;
The optimist spreads cheer....
continue reading
Pessimist or Optimist
Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller
The doctor sez my stummick,
Has got plumb out o'fix,
My liver has done wasted -
Seeds jam my ap-pen-dix.
read the entire poem, Unregenerate
Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller
"Is life worth living?" the workers ask,
As they go about their irksome task;
Each generation comes and goes,
And sees increase in Problem's woes...
continue reading What Are We Living For?
Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
It is easy enough to be pleasant.
When life flows by like a song,
But the man worth while is one who will smile,
When everything goes dead wrong.
For the test of the heart is trouble,
And it always comes with the years;
And the smile that is worth the praises of earth,
Is the smile that shines through tears.
It is easy enough to be prudent
When nothing tempts you to stray.
When without or within no voice of sin
Is luring your soul away;
But it's only a negative virtue
Until it is tried by fire.
And the life that is worth the honor on earth,
Is the one that resists desire.
By the cynic, the sad, the fallen.
Who had no strength for the strife.
The world's highway is cumbered today,
They make up the sum of life.
But the virtue that conquers passion,
And the sorrow that hides in a smile,
It is these that are worth the homage on earth,
For we find them but once in a while.
Poet: John Imrie
The bitter or the sweet of life
Is often ours to choose,
Sweet love is antidote to strife -
The bitter, then, refuse.
continue reading Bitter or Sweet
Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Keep out of the Past! for its highways
Are damp with malarial gloom;
Its gardens are sere and its forests are drear,
And everywhere moulders a tomb.
continue reading Keep Out Of The Past
Poet: Berton Braley
Mostly I love my fellow men,
But I get weary now and then
Of all they do and all they say,
Their way of work, of life, of play,
continue reading Misanthrope
Poet: Patience Strong
When raindrops fall and skies look grey-
You hear so many people say-
What awful weather!- with a groan,
they watch the rain come pouring down.
They grumble if they venture out,
and if indoors they prowl about,
with doleful faces all day long-
and then, of course, things all go wrong.
But if we're happy right deep down -
inside our hearts, we never frown
because the rain clouds gather low.
We take our brightness where we go.
Outside conditions can't annoy-
when we possess that secret joy-
that inward radiance nothing dims.
So rise above the weather's whims!
Why wait for the capricious sun?
You'll find that there is lots of fun
in being kissed by soft cool showers,
and laughing with the grateful flowers.
Poet: Henry VanDyke
Let me but live my life from year to year,
With forward face and unreluctant soul;
Not hurrying to, nor turning from, the goal;
Not mourning for the things that disappear...
continue reading Year To Year
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
Last year he wanted building blocks,
And picture books and toys,
A saddle horse that gayly rocks,
And games for little boys....
continue reading
Grown-Up
Poet: Henry VanDyke
If all the skies were sunshine,
Our faces would be fain
To feel once more upon them
The cooling splash of rain...
continue reading If All The Skies
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
I would live this life so well
Strangers of me praise might tell
Somehow I would like to be
Cherished here in memory.
Not as one whose skill was great;
Not as one who conquered fate;
Not as one who rose to fame,
Leaving a remembered name,
But as one who served some need
With a timely, kindly deed.
I would have my life be told
Not in glory or in gold,
Or in books which students read,
Giving name and date and deed
Of a dead man labeled great
Let mine be the lesser fate
Let me be to print unknown;
O'er my grave no towering stone.
'Tis sufficient at the end
To be mourned for as a friend.
Poet: J.J. Thorne
The task may seem hard and difficult,
Doubts and fears may encumber the brain;
But resolution is half of the battle.
Try, try again....
continue reading
Try, Try Again
by William Arthur Ward
For This One Hour I can be grateful.
I can thank God for life itself, for opportunities,
For friends, and for a hundred other blessings and
Privileges to be counted, cherished, and enjoyed...
continue reading
For This One Hour
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
You only get one life to live
So make it your very best.
Live each day to the fullest
And always get your rest.
Fill your days with purpose
don't waste away your days.
For you can never recall a day,
and live it another way.
Don't just dream,
set goals and action plans
You have today so go ahead
and live it as only you can.
Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
To-day we will banish all care,
And from our hearts all sorrow,
To-day we will rest and be gay,
And pay for it all to-morrow...
continue reading
To-Morrow
Poet: Anne Bradstreet
Lo now four other act upon the stage,
Childhood and Youth the Manly & Old age;
The first son unto flegm, Grand-child to water,
Unstable, supple, cold and moist's his nature...
continue reading
The Four Ages Of Man Poem
by John Imrie
Tick, tick, tick, tick,
Time flies so quick,
With never ceaseless motion;
Our moments pass
Like sands in glass,
Or wavelets of the ocean.
Thus moments go,
For weal or woe,
And none returneth ever;
How mindful we
Should ever be
To spend with wise endeavour.
The life of man
Is but a span.
Short, transient, and fleeting;
With here and there
A joy or care,
A parting or a meeting.
Then let each hour,
Like beauteous flower.
Some fragrance send to Heaven;
To God above,
In grateful love,
Lot ransomed powers be given.
Poet: John Imrie
Down the mountains, down the hills,
Trickling on for ever;
Gentle springs make little rills,
Little rills the river...
continue reading Life's Progress
Poet: Lillian E. Curtis
"They say" is a bitter friend to all -
Old and young,
Rich and poor,
Alike to all...
continue reading They Say
Poet: Wilhelmina Stitch
Discontented! Want to climb?
Must be moving all the time?
Splendid! Keep it up, my boy;
To aspire is keenest joy....
continue reading
Two Kinds of Discontent
Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, life is but an empty dream! -
For the soul is dead that slumbers, and things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, and our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating, funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle, in the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us we can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another, sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing, learn to labor and to wait.
Poet: David V. Bush
Misfortune's bruised your brow again;
The clouds have poured their floods of rain;
The lightning from an angry sky
Has hit you hard as you passed by...
continue reading Do Not Grumble
Poet: Strickland Gillilan
I saw a chap the other day that once I'd used to know.
His cheeks were rosy, hair jet black, in days of long ago.
But now the roses are not there, the raven hair is streaked
With snowy white where ruthless Time his grim revenge has wreaked.
continue reading A Middle-Age Reflection
Poet: Strickland Gillilan
No matter if things of the present are less than we wish them to be;
No matter if joys we'd expected pass by on the other side;
No matter if hope's finest fruitage still clings to the wishing tree,
No matter if some of our dreamings have lingered awhile and died....
continue reading Something Sweet To Remember
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
I'd like to think when life is done
That I had filled a needed post.
That here and there I'd paid my fare
With more than idle talk and boast...
continue reading Compensation
by Mary C. Ryan
Oh! what is life, but a short breath,
The heavings of a breast,
A soul's strange dream while on the earth,
A vague and brief unrest?
Each year is a tidal wave,
Hastening us o'er life's sea;
A warning voice from the cold grave,
Where all is mystery.
E'en like a harp carelessly strung,
Life sounds no perfect chord.
The sweetest strains that can be sung,
Are marred with harsh discords.
If days, the notes of life's great song,
Could all be played aright.
Oh! then the world as one vast throng
Would listen at its might.
Poet: Strickland Gillilan
My life shall touch a dozen lives before this day is done
Leave countless marks for good or ill ere sets this evening sun.
Shall fair or foul its imprint prove, on those my life shall hail?
Shall blessing my impress be, or shall a blight prevail...
continue reading
As I Go On My Way
Poet: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Life is too short for any vain regretting;
Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,
And let us go upon our way forgetting
The joys, and sorrows, of each yesterday...
continue reading
Life Is Too Short For
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
I have no wish to rail at fate,
And vow that I'm unfairly treated;
I do not give vent to my hate
Because at times I am defeated...
continue reading
The Old, Old Story
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
I have to live with myself, and so,
I want to be fit for myself to know;
I want to be able as days go by,
Always to look myself straight in the eye...
continue reading Myself
by William Arthur Ward
Life is strange, two-sided thing...
A dirge to chant, or a song to sing;
A sad, cold world, or a thrilling place,
A tough, old grind, or an exciting race.
A drudge-filled chore or a challenging dare,
A thorny bush, or a flower fair.
A task to do or a chance to give,
A day to spend or a life to life.
Poet: Douglas Malloch
I've heard folks sigh, I've heard folks cry
That life's not worth the while,
That men deceive and women grieve,
And none has cause to smile.
continue reading It's A Mighty Good World To Me
Poet: Patience Strong
Sleep is a soft and gentle hand that charms away all strife -
And draws us with a magic touch from out the grasp of Life -
It throws into our tired eyes the golden dust of dreams -
And we forget our failures and our little futile schemes...
continue reading
Sleep
Poet: Edgar Guest
The world is filled with bustle and with selfishness and greed,
It is filled with restless people that are dreaming of a deed.
You can read it in their faces; they are dreaming of the day
When they'll come to fame and fortune and put all their cares away...
continue reading
The Home Builders
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...
continue reading
Legacy
Poet: Maya Angelou
Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Mean old Mother Goose
Lions on the loose
They don't frighten me at all
Dragons breathing flame
On my counterpane
That doesn't frighten me at all.
I go boo
Make them shoo
I make fun
Way they run
I won't cry
So they fly
I just smile
They go wild
Life doesn't frighten me at all.
Tough guys fight
All alone at night
Life doesn't frighten me at all.
Panthers in the park
Strangers in the dark
No, they don't frighten me at all.
That new classroom where
Boys all pull my hair
(Kissy little girls
With their hair in curls)
They don't frighten me at all.
Don't show me frogs and snakes
And listen for my scream,
If I'm afraid at all
It's only in my dreams.
I've got a magic charm
That I keep up my sleeve
I can walk the ocean floor
And never have to breathe.
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Not at all
Not at all.
Life doesn't frighten me at all.
Poet: Daniel C. Colesworthy
I love the farmer's life - it is
The seat of every pleasure;
The home where peace and joy and bliss
Are found in ample measure.
Around the bright domestic hearth
The children now are playing;
Anon they skip about the floor.
No envious thought betraying.
Our cattle and our sheep are fine,
Our swine are daily growing,
And all the luxuries of life
Into our lap are flowing.
I'm not perplexed with half the cares
That to the heart are pressing,
Of him who in the city lives,
And scarcely knows a blessing.
So I will live a farmer's life,
And be contented ever,
Till He who made my lot so blest
The thread of life shall sever.
