-
Waiting For Life
Poet: Julie Hebert, ©2011
Life as a child went too slow.
But now that I'm older,
I'm somewhat unsure,
Of why growing up quick was needed so.
Even grown, I still am prone,
To wondering when my real like will begin.
First school, then first jobs, first apartments, some in between sobs,
Life is much more than just jumping in.
As you grow, you learn, although,
Sometimes it's out of your control.
Going with it, without feeling unfit,
Can help you achieve your goal.
With a little bit of patience, and a little bit of maintenance,
You will one day achieve your goal.
Just do what you can, with what you have in plan,
And one day you will feel whole. -
Have Today
Poet: Pearl Yeadon McGinnis
I have no Yesterdays,
Time took them away;
Tomorrow may not be
But I have today. -
The Days Are Going By
Poet: Unknown
There are lonely hearts to cherish,
While the days are going by;
There are weary souls who perish,
While the days are going by. -
The Golden Side
Poet: Unknown
There's many a rest on the road of life,
If we only would stop to take it;
And many a tone from the better land,
If the querulous heart would wake it.
To the sunny soul that is full of hope,
And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth,
The grass is green and the flowers are bright,
Though the wintry storm prevaileth.
Better to hope though the clouds hang low,
And to keep the eyes still lifted;
For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through,
When the ominous clouds are rifted.
There was never a night without a day,
Nor an evening without a morning ;
And the darkest hour, the proverb goes,
Is the hour before the dawning.
There is many a gem in the path of life,
Which we pass in our idle pleasure,
That is richer far than the jewelled crown
Or the miser's hoarded treasure;
It may be the love of a little child,
Or the mother's prayer to Heaven,
Or only a beggar's grateful thanks
For a cup of water given.
Better to weave in the web of life
A bright and golden filling,
And to do God's will with a ready heart,
And hands that are swift and willing,
Than to snap the delicate silver threads
Of our curious lives asunder,
And then Heav'n blame for the tangled ends,
And sit and grieve and wonder. -
What Have I Done?
Poet: Lillian Blanche Fearing
I lay my finger on Time's wrist to score
The forward-surging moments as they roll;
Each pulse seems quicker than the one before;
And lo! my days pile up against my soul
As clouds pile up against the golden sun;
Alas! What have I done? What have I done?
I never steep the rosy hours in sleep,
Or hide my soul, as in a gloomy crypt;
No idle hands into my bosom creep;
And yet, as water-drops from house-eaves drip,
So, viewless, melt my days, and from me run;
Alas! What have I done? What have I done?
I have not missed the fragrance of the flowers,
Or scorned the music of the flowing rills,
Whose numerous liquid tongues sing to the hours;
Yet rise my days behind me, like the hills,
Unstarred by light of mighty triumphs won;
Alas! What have I done? What have I done?
Be still, my soul; restrain thy lips from woe!
Cease thy lament! for life is but the flower;
The fruit comes after death; how canst thou know
The roundness of its form, its depth of power?
Death is life's morning. When thy work's begun,
Then ask thyself - What yet is to be done?
Poems About Waiting
If a smile we can renew
As our journey we pursue,
Oh, the good we all may do
As the days are going by.
There's no time for idle scorning,
As the days are going by;
Let your face be like the morning
As the days are going by.
Oh, the world is full of sighs,
Full of sad and weeping eyes;
Help your fallen brother rise,
As the days are going by.
