Under One roof Inspiration

Contents Solitude ...................................................................................................................3 Worth While............................................................................................................4 In the Long Run ......................................................................................................5 Will..........................................................................................................................6 I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings .......................................................................7 Still I Rise ...............................................................................................................8 Invictus ..................................................................................................................10 Where The Mind Is Without Fear .........................................................................11 Success ..................................................................................................................12 The Road Not Taken .............................................................................................13 If ............................................................................................................................14 Character of the Happy Warrior ...........................................................................15 On Fame ................................................................................................................17 Work .....................................................................................................................18 On His Blindness ..................................................................................................20 Dreams ..................................................................................................................21 Charge Of The Light Brigade ...............................................................................22 Ulysses ..................................................................................................................24 Coromandel Fishers ..............................................................................................26 The Suicide's Argument ........................................................................................27 The Rose that Grew from Concrete ......................................................................28 Conscience ............................................................................................................29 A Psalm of Life .....................................................................................................30 By The Fireside : The Builders .............................................................................31 The World Grows Better.......................................................................................32 Mistakes ................................................................................................................33 The Purpose ..........................................................................................................34 Prayer ....................................................................................................................35 Foes .......................................................................................................................36

Hope is the thing with feathers .............................................................................37 Climb Till Your Dream Comes True ....................................................................38 Risk .......................................................................................................................39 The Bridge Builder ...............................................................................................40 If you think............................................................................................................41 See it Through .......................................................................................................42 Start Where You Stand .........................................................................................43 Youth.....................................................................................................................44 Who is your boss? .................................................................................................45 Can't ......................................................................................................................47 An Excerpt from "The Secret of the Ages ............................................................48 Don't You Quit ......................................................................................................49 They called it luck.................................................................................................50 There are little eyes upon you ...............................................................................51 The Noble Nature..................................................................................................52 I Am The People, The Mob ..................................................................................53 And Death Shall Have No Dominion ...................................................................54 It Couldn't Be Done ..............................................................................................55 His other chance....................................................................................................56 On Quitting ...........................................................................................................57

Solitude Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air. The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go. They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all. There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life's gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a long and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain. Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Worth While 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 of 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 to-day; 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. Ella Wheeler Wilcox

In the Long Run In the long run fame finds the deserving man. The lucky wight may prosper for a day, But in good time true merit leads the van, And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way. There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate, But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait, In the long run. In the long run all goodly sorrow pays, There is no better thing than righteous pain, The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days, Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain. Unmeaning joys enervate in the end, But sorrow yields a glorious dividend In the long run. In the long run all hidden things are known, The eye of truth will penetrate the night, And good or ill, thy secret shall be known, However well 't is guarded from the light. All the unspoken motives of the breast Are fathomed by the years and stand confest In the long run. In the long run all love is paid by love, Though undervalued by the hosts of earth; The great eternal Governemnt above Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth. Give thy love freely; do not count the cost; So beautiful a thing was never lost In the long run. Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Will There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, Can circumvent or hinder or control The firm resolve of a determined soul. Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great; All things give way before it, soon or late. What obstacle can stay the mighty force Of the sea-seeking river in its course, Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait? Each well-born soul must win what it deserves. Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves, Whose slightest action or inaction serves The one great aim. Why, even Death stands still, And waits an hour sometimes for such a will. Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings The free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. Maya Angelou

Still I Rise You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise

I rise I rise. Maya Angelou

Invictus Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. William Ernest Henley

Where The Mind Is Without Fear Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free Where the world has not been broken up into fragments By narrow domestic walls Where words come out from the depth of truth Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit Where the mind is led forward by thee Into ever-widening thought and action Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake Rabindranath Tagore

Success To laugh often and much to win the respect of intelligent people and affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child a garden patch or redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Road Not Taken 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. Robert Frost

If If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; If you can dream---and not make dreams your master; If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim, If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same:. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings, And never breathe a word about your loss: If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much: If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son! Rudyard Kipling

Character of the Happy Warrior Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be? --It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought: Whose high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright; Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn; Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes his moral being his prime care; Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! Turns his necessity to glorious gain; In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature's highest dower: Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives: By objects, which might force the soul to abate Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; Is placable--because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice; More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress; Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. --'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends; Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, He labours good on good to fix, and owes To virtue every triumph that he knows: --Who, if he rise to station of command, Rises by open means; and there will stand On honourable terms, or else retire, And in himself possess his own desire; Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state; Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all: Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace; But who, if he be called upon to face

Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a Lover; and attired With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired; And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw; Or if an unexpected call succeed, Come when it will, is equal to the need: --He who, though thus endued as with a sense And faculty for storm and turbulence, Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be, Are at his heart; and such fidelity It is his darling passion to approve; More brave for this, that he hath much to love:-'Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high, Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye, Or left unthought-of in obscurity,-Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not-Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won: Whom neither shape or danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who, not content that former worth stand fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From well to better, daily self-surpast: Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame, And leave a dead unprofitable name-Finds comfort in himself and in his cause; And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause: This is the happy Warrior; this is he That every man in arms should wish to be. William Wordsworth

On Fame Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy To those who woo her with too slavish knees, But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy, And dotes the more upon a heart at ease; She is a Gipsey,--will not speak to those Who have not learnt to be content without her; A Jilt, whose ear was never whisper'd close, Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her; A very Gipsey is she, Nilus-born, Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar; Ye love-sick Bards! repay her scorn for scorn; Ye Artists lovelorn! madmen that ye are! Make your best bow to her and bid adieu, Then, if she likes it, she will follow you. John Keats

Work Then a ploughman said, "Speak to us of Work." And he answered, saying: You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth. For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite. When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music. Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison? Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune. But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born, And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life, And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret. But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written. You have been told also life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary. And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge, And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge, And all knowledge is vain save when there is work, And all work is empty save when there is love; And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God. And what is it to work with love? It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth. It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house. It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.

It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit, And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching. Often have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep, "he who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is a nobler than he who ploughs the soil. And he who seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet." But I say, not in sleep but in the over-wakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass; And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving. Work is love made visible. And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy. For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger. And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your grudge distills a poison in the wine. And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man's ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night. Khalil Gibran

On His Blindness When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts: who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait." John Milton

Dreams Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow. Langston Hughes

Charge Of The Light Brigade HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. 'Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns! ' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. 'Forward, the Light Brigade! ' Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldier knew Some one had blunder'd: Their's not to make reply, Their's not to reason why, Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell,

They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! All the world wonder'd. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred! . Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ulysses It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea. I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known,-- cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,-And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use! As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains; but every hour is saved >From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. This is my son, mine own Telemachus, to whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,-Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill This labor, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail; There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,-That ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed

Free hearts, free foreheads,-- you and I are old; Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. Death closes all; but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends. 'T is not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die. It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho' We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,-One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. Alfred Lord Tennyson

Coromandel Fishers Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light, The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night. Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free, To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea! No longer delay, let us hasten away in the track of the sea gull's call, The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother, the waves are our comrades all. What though we toss at the fall of the sun where the hand of the sea-god drives? He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide in his breast our lives. Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and the scent of the mango grove, And sweet are the sands at the full o' the moon with the sound of the voices we love; But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray and the dance of the wild foam's glee; Row, brothers, row to the edge of the verge, where the low sky mates with the sea. Sarojini Naidu

The Suicide's Argument Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no No question was asked me--it could not be so ! If the life was the question, a thing sent to try And to live on be YES; what can NO be ? to die. NATURE'S ANSWER Is't returned, as 'twas sent ? Is't no worse for the wear ? Think first, what you ARE ! Call to mind what you WERE ! I gave you innocence, I gave you hope, Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope, Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair ? Make out the invent'ry ; inspect, compare ! Then die--if die you dare ! Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rose that Grew from Concrete Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's law is wrong it learned to walk with out having feet. Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared. Tupac Shakur

Conscience Conscience is instinct bred in the house, Feeling and Thinking propagate the sin By an unnatural breeding in and in. I say, Turn it out doors, Into the moors. I love a life whose plot is simple, And does not thicken with every pimple, A soul so sound no sickly conscience binds it, That makes the universe no worse than 't finds it. I love an earnest soul, Whose mighty joy and sorrow Are not drowned in a bowl, And brought to life to-morrow; That lives one tragedy, And not seventy; A conscience worth keeping; Laughing not weeping; A conscience wise and steady, And forever ready; Not changing with events, Dealing in compliments; A conscience exercised about Large things, where one may doubt. I love a soul not all of wood, Predestinated to be good, But true to the backbone Unto itself alone, And false to none; Born to its own affairs, Its own joys and own cares; By whom the work which God begun Is finished, and not undone; Taken up where he left off, Whether to worship or to scoff; If not good, why then evil, If not good god, good devil. Goodness! you hypocrite, come out of that, Live your life, do your work, then take your hat. I have no patience towards Such conscientious cowards. Give me simple laboring folk, Who love their work, Whose virtue is song To cheer God along. Henry David Thoreau

A Psalm of Life 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. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

By The Fireside : The Builders All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build. Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen. In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire, and clean. Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb. Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place. Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The World Grows Better Oh! the earth is full of sinning And of trouble and of woe, But the devil makes an inning Every time we say it's so. And the way to set him scowling, And to put him back a pace, Is to stop this stupid growling, And to look things in the face. If you glance at history's pages, In all lands and eras known, You will find the buried ages Far more wicked than our own. As you scan each word and letter. You will realise it more, That the world to-day is better Than it ever was before. There is much that needs amending In the present time, no doubt; There is right that needs amending, There is wrong needs crushing out. And we hear the groans and curses Of the poor who starve and die, While the men with swollen purses In the place of hearts go by. But in spite of all the trouble That obscures the sun to-day, Just remember it was double In the ages passed away. And those wrongs shall all be righted, Good shall dominate the land, For the darkness now is lighted By the torch in Science's hand. Forth from little motes in Chaos, We have come to what we are; And no evil force can stay us We shall mount from star to star, We shall break each bond and fetter That has bound us heretofore; And the earth is surely better Than it ever was before.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Mistakes God sent us here to make mistakes. To strive, to fail, to re-begin. To taste the tempting fruit of sin, And find what bitter food it makes. To miss the path, to go astray, To wander blindly in the night. But searching, praying for the light, Until at last we find the way. And looking back along the past We know we needed all the strain Of fear and doubt and strife and pain To make us value peace, at last. Who fails, finds later triumph sweet. Who stumbles once, walks then with care, And knows the place to cry "Beware" To other unaccustomed feet. Through strife the slumbering soul awakes, We learn on errors troubled route The truths we could not prize without The sorrow of our sad mistakes. Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Purpose Over and over the task was set, Over and over I slighted the work, But ever and alway I knew that yet I must face and finish the toil I shirk. Over and over the whip of pain Has spurred and punished with blow on blow; As ever and alway I tried in vain To shun the labour I hated so. Over and over I came this way For just one purpose: O stubborn soul! Turn with a will to your work to-day, And learn the lesson of Self-Control. Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Prayer I do not undertake to say That literal answers come from Heaven, But I know this---that when I pray A comfort, a support is given That helps me rise o'er earthly things As larks soar up on airy wings. In vain the wise philosopher Points out to me my fabric's flaws, In vain the scientists aver That "all things are controlled by laws." My life has taught me day by day That it availeth much to pray. I do not stop to reason out The why and how. I do not care, Since I know this, that when I doubt, Life seems a blackness of despair, The world a tomb; and when I trust, Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust. Since I know in the darkest hour, If I lift up my soul in prayer, Some sympathetic loving Power Sends hope and comfort to me there. Since balm is sent to ease my pain, What need to argue or explain? Prayer has a sweet refining grace, It educates the soul and heart. It lends a lustre to the face, And by its elevating art It gives the mind an inner sight That brings it near the Infinite. From our gross selves it helps us rise To something which we yet may be. And so I ask not to be wise, If thus my faith is lost to me. Faith that with angel's voice and touch, Says "Pray, for prayer availeth much." Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Foes Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear As valued friends. He cannot know The zest of life who runneth here His earthly race without a foe. I saw a prize. "Run," cried my friend; "'Tis thine to claim without a doubt." But ere I half-way reached the end I felt my strength was giving out. My foe looked on the while I ran; A scornful triumph lit his eyes. With that perverseness born in man, I nerved myself, and won the prize. All blinded by the crimson glow Of sin's disguise, I tempted Fate. "I knew thy weakness!" sneered my foe, I saved myself, and baulked his hate. For half my blessings, half my gain, I needs must thank my trusty foe; Despite his envy and disdain, He serves me well where'er I go. So may I keep him to the end, Nor may his enmity abate; More faithful than the fondest friend, He guards me ever with his hate. Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Hope is the thing with feathers Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me. Emily Dickinson

Climb Till Your Dream Comes True Often your tasks will be many, And more than you think you can do. Often the road will be rugged And the hills insurmountable, too. But always remember, The hills ahead Are never as steep as they seem, And with Faith in your heart Start upward And climb ’til you reach your dream. For nothing in life that is worthy Is ever too hard to achieve If you have the courage to try it, And you have the faith to believe. For faith is a force that is greater Than knowledge or power or skill, And many defeats turn to triumph If you trust in God‘s wisdom and will. For faith is a mover of mountains, There’s nothing that God cannot do, So, start out today with faith in your heart, And climb ’til your dream comes true! Helen Steiner Rice

Risk To laugh is to risk appearing the fool. To weep is to risk appearing sentimental. To reach out for another is to risk involvement. To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self. To place ideas and dreams before a crowd is to risk being called naive. To love is to risk not being loved in return. To live is to risk dying. To hope is to risk despair. To try is to risk failure. But risk must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing, and becomes nothing. They may avoid suffering and sorrow, but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love, live. Chained by their certitude, they are slaves; they have forfeited their freedom. Only a person who risks is truely free. Janet Rand

The Bridge Builder An old man, going a lone highway, Came at the evening cold and gray To a chasm vast and deep and wide Through which was flowing a sullen tide. The old man crossed in the twilight dim; The rapids held no fears for him. But he turned when safe on the other side And built a bridge to span the tide. "Old man," cried a fellow pilgrim near, "You're wasting your time in building here. Your journey will end with the closing day; You never again will pass this way. You have crossed the chasm deep and wide; Why build you this bridge at even-tide?" The builder lifted his old gray head. "Good friend, in the path I have come," he said, "There follows after me today A youth whose feet must pass this way. This stream, which has been as naught to me, To that fair youth may a pitfall be. He too must cross in the twilight dim Good friend, I am building this bridge for him." Will Allen Dromgool

If you think If you think you are beaten, you are; If you think you dare not, you don't. If you'd like to win, but think you can't It's almost a cinch you won't. If you think you'll lose, you've lost, For out in the world we find Success being with a fellow's will; It's all in the state of mind. If you think you're outclassed, you are: You've got to think high to rise. You've got to be sure of yourself before You can ever win a prize. Life's battles don't always go To the stronger or faster man, But soon or late the man who wins Is the one who thinks he can.” Walter D. Wintle

See it Through When you're up against a trouble, Meet it squarely, face to face; Lift your chin and set your shoulders, Plant your feet and take a brace. When it's vain to try to dodge it, Do the best that you can do; You may fail, but you may conquer, See it through! Black may be the clouds about you And your future may seem grim, But don't let your nerve desert you; Keep yourself in fighting trim. If the worst is bound to happen, Spite of all that you can do, Running from it will not save you, See it through! Even hope may seem but futile, When with troubles you're beset, But remember you are facing Just what other men have met. You may fail, but fall still fighting; Don't give up, whate'er you do; Eyes front, head high to the finish. See it through! Edgar Albert Guest

Start Where You Stand Start where you stand and never mind the past, The past won’t help you in beginning new, If you have left it all behind at last Why, that’s enough, you’re done with it, you’re through; This is another chapter in the book, This is another race that you have planned, Don’t give the vanished days a backward look, Start where you stand. The world won’t care about your old defeats If you can start anew and win success; The future is your time, and time is fleet And there is much of work and strain and stress; Forget the buried woes and dead despairs, Here is a brand-new trial right at hand, The future is for him who does and dares, Start where you stand. Old failures will not halt, old triumphs aid, Today’s the thing, tomorrow soon will be; Get in the fight and face it unafraid, And leave the past to ancient history, What has been, has been; yesterday is dead And by it you are neither blessed nor banned; Take courage, man, be brave and drive ahead, Start where you stand.’ Berton Braley

Youth If I had youth I'd bid the world to try me; I'd answer every challenge to my will. Though mountains stood in silence to defy me, I'd try to make them subject to my skill. I'd keep my dreams and follow where they led me; I'd glory in the hazards which abound. I'd eat the simple fare privations fed me, And gladly make my couch upon the ground. If I had youth I'd ask no odds of distance, Nor wish to tread the known and level ways. I'd want to meet and master strong resistance, And in a worth-while struggle spend my days. I'd seek the task which calls for full endeavor; I'd feel the thrill of battle in my veins. I'd bear my burden gallantly, and never Desert the hills to walk on common plains. If I had youth no thought of failure lurking Beyond to-morrow's dawn should fright my soul. Let failure strike—it still should find me working With faith that I should some day reach my goal. I'd dice with danger—aye!—and glory in it; I'd make high stakes the purpose of my throw. I'd risk for much, and should I fail to win it, I would not even whimper at the blow. If I had youth no chains of fear should bind me; I'd brave the heights which older men must shun. I'd leave the well-worn lanes of life behind me, And seek to do what men have never done. Rich prizes wait for those who do not waver; The world needs men to battle for the truth. It calls each hour for stronger hearts and braver. This is the age for those who still have youth!

Edgar Albert Guest

Who is your boss? "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." I asked another how he viewed The occupation he pursued. "It's dull and dreary toil," said he, "And brings but small reward to me. My boss gets all the profits fine That I believe are rightly mine. My life's monotonously grim Because I'm forced to work for him." I stopped a third young man to ask His attitude towards his task. A cheerful smile lit up his face; "I shan't be always in this place," He said, "because some distant day A better job will come my way. "Your boss?" I asked, and answered he: "I'm going to make him notice me. "He pays me wages and in turn That money I am here to earn, But I don't work for him alone; Allegiance to myself I own. I do not do my best because It gets me favors or applause-I work for him, but I can see That actually I work for me. "It looks like business good to me The best clerk on the staff to be. If customers approve my style And like my manner and my smile I help the firm to get the pelf, But what is more I help myself. From one big thought I'm never free: That every day I work for me." Oh, youth, thought I, you're bound to climb The ladder of success in time.

Too many self-impose the cross Of daily working for a boss, Forgetting that in failing him It is their own stars that they dim. And when real service they refuse They are the ones who really lose. Edgar Albert Guest

Can't Can't is the worst word that's written or spoken; Doing more harm here than slander and lies; On it is many a strong spirit broken, And with it many a good purpose dies. It springs from the lips of the thoughtless each morning And robs us of courage we need through the day: It rings in our ears like a timely-sent warning And laughs when we falter and fall by the way. Can't is the father of feeble endeavor, The parent of terror and half-hearted work; It weakens the efforts of artisans clever, And makes of the toiler an indolent shirk. It poisons the soul of the man with a vision, It stifles in infancy many a plan; It greets honest toiling with open derision And mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a man. Can't is a word none should speak without blushing; To utter it should be a symbol of shame; Ambition and courage it daily is crushing; It blights a man's purpose and shortens his aim. Despise it with all of your hatred of error; Refuse it the lodgment it seeks in your brain; Arm against it as a creature of terror, And all that you dream of you some day shall gain.

Can't is the word that is foe to ambition, An enemy ambushed to shatter your will; Its prey is forever the man with a mission And bows but to courage and patience and skill. Hate it, with hatred that's deep and undying, For once it is welcomed 'twill break any man; Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying And answer this demon by saying: "I can."

Edgar Albert Guest

An Excerpt from "The Secret of the Ages You can do as much as you think you can, But you'll never accomplish more; If you're afraid of yourself, young man, There's little for you in store. For failure comes from the inside first, It's there, if we only knew it, And you can win, though you face the worst, If you feel that you're going to do it.

Edgar Albert Guest

Don't You Quit When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all uphill, When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bitRest if you must, but don't you quit. Life is queer with its twists and turns, As every one of us sometimes learns, And many a fellow turns about When he might have won had he stuck it out. Don't give up though the pace seems slow You may succeed with another blow. Often the goal is nearer than It seems to a faint and faltering man; Often the struggler has given up Whe he might have captured the victor's cup; And he learned too late when the night came down, How close he was to the golden crown. Success is failure turned inside out The silver tint in the clouds of doubt, And you never can tell how close you are, It might be near when it seems afar; So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit It's when things seem worst that you must not quit. Anonymus

They called it luck He worked by day and toiled by night. He gave up play and much delight. Dry books he read, new things to learn. And forged ahead, success to earn. He plodded on, with faith and pluck. And when he won, they called it luck. Anonymus

There are little eyes upon you There are little eyes upon you, And they are watching night and day; There are little ears that quickly take In every word you say; There are little hands all eager to do Everything you do, And a little child who's dreaming of The day he'll be like you. You're the little child's idol, You're the wisest of the wise, In his little mind about you, No suspicions ever rise; He believes in you devoutly, Holds all you say and do; He will say and do in your way when He's grown up to be like you. There's a wide eyed little child who Believes you're always right, And his ears are always open and he Watches day and night; You are setting an example Every day in all you do For the little child who's waiting To grow up to be like you. Anonymus

The Noble Nature It is not growing like a tree in bulk, doth make Man better be; or standing long an oak three hundred year, to fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere; A lily of a day is fairer in May, although it fall and die that nightIt was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see: and in short measures life may perfect be. Ben Jonson

I Am The People, The Mob I Am the people--the mob--the crowd--the mass. Do you know that all the great work of the world is done through me? I am the workingman, the inventor, the maker of the world's food and clothes. I am the audience that witnesses history. The Napoleons come from me and the Lincolns. They die. And then I send forth more Napoleons and Lincolns. I am the seed ground. I am a prairie that will stand for much plowing. Terrible storms pass over me. I forget. The best of me is sucked out and wasted. I forget. Everything but Death comes to me and makes me work and give up what I have. And I forget. Sometimes I growl, shake myself and spatter a few red drops for history to remember. Then--I forget. When I, the People, learn to remember, when I, the People, use the lessons of yesterday and no longer forget who robbed me last year, who played me for a fool--then there will be no speaker in all the world say the name: 'The People,' with any fleck of a sneer in his voice or any far-off smile of derision. The mob--the crowd--the mass--will arrive then. Carl Sandburg

And Death Shall Have No Dominion And death shall have no dominion. Dead man naked they shall be one With the man in the wind and the west moon; When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone, They shall have stars at elbow and foot; Though they go mad they shall be sane, Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again; Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion. And death shall have no dominion. Under the windings of the sea They lying long shall not die windily; Twisting on racks when sinews give way, Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break; Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through; Split all ends up they shan't crack; And death shall have no dominion. And death shall have no dominion. No more may gulls cry at their ears Or waves break loud on the seashores; Where blew a flower may a flower no more Lift its head to the blows of the rain; Though they be mad and dead as nails, Heads of the characters hammer through daisies; Break in the sun till the sun breaks down, And death shall have no dominion. Dylan Thomas

It Couldn't Be Done Somebody said that it couldn't be done But he with a chuckle replied That 'maybe it couldn't,' but he would be one Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried. So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin On his face. If he worried he hid it. He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn't be done, and he did it! Somebody scoffed: 'Oh, you'll never do that; At least no one ever has done it; ' But he took off his coat and he took off his hat And the first thing we knew he'd begun it. With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin, Without any doubting or quiddit, He started to sing as he tackled the thing That couldn't be done, and he did it. There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, There are thousands to prophesy failure, There are thousands to point out to you one by one, The dangers that wait to assail you. But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Just take off your coat and go to it; Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing That 'cannot be done,' and you'll do it. Edgar Albert Guest

His other chance He was down and out, and his pluck was gone, And he said to me in a gloomy way: "I've wasted my chances, one by one, And I'm just no good, as the people say. Nothing ahead, and my dreams all dust, Though once there was something I might have been, But I wasn't game, and I broke my trust, And I wasn't straight and I wasn't clean." "You're pretty low down," says I to him, "But nobody's holding you there, my friend. Life is a stream where men sink or swim, And the drifters come to a sorry end; But there's two of you living and breathing still— The fellow you are, and he's tough to see, And another chap, if you've got the will. The man that you still have a chance to be." He laughed with scorn. "Is there two of me? I thought I'd murdered the other one. I once knew a chap that I hoped to be, And he was decent, but now he's gone." "Well," says I, "it may seem to you That life has little of joy in store, But there's always something you still can do, And there's never a man but can try once more." "There are always two till the end of time— The fellow we are and the future man. The Lord never meant you should cease to climb, And you can get up if you think you can. The fellow you are is a sorry sight, But you needn't go drifting out to sea, Get hold of yourself and travel right; There's a fellow you've still got a chance to be." Edgar Albert Guest

On Quitting How much grit do you think you’ve got? Can you quit a thing that you like a lot? You may talk of pluck; it’s an easy word, And where’er you go it is often heard; But can you tell to a jot or guess Just how much courage you now possess? You may stand to trouble and keep your grin, But have you tackled self-discipline? Have you ever issued commands to you To quit the things that you like to do, And then, when tempted and sorely swayed, Those rigid orders have you obeyed? Don’t boast of your grit till you’ve tried it out, Nor prate to men of your courage stout, For it’s easy enough to retain a grin In the face of a fight there’s a chance to win, But the sort of grit that is good to own Is the stuff you need when you’re all alone. How much grit do you think you’ve got? Can you turn from joys that you like a lot? Have you ever tested yourself to know How far with yourself your will can go? If you want to know if you have grit, Just pick out a joy that you like, and quit. It’s bully sport and it’s open fight; It will keep you busy both day and night; For the toughest kind of a game you’ll find Is to make your body obey your mind. And you never will know what is meant by grit Unless there’s something you’ve tried to quit. Edgar Albert Guest