POEMS by theme

Thanks, Marni!
CITIZENSHIP 

When Nature Wants a Man

(Journeyman/Master-level poem)-also good for "God" and "Service-Oriented leadership" and "Work")
When Nature wants to drill a man
And thrill a man,
And skill a man,
When Nature wants to mould a man
To play the noblest part;
When she yearns with all her heart
To create so great and bold a man
That all the world shall praise--

Watch her method, watch her ways!
How she ruthlessly perfects
Whom she royally elects;
How she hammers him and hurts him
And with mighty blows converts him
Into trial shapes of clay which only Nature understands--

While his tortured heart is crying and he lifts beseeching hands!--
How she bends, but never breaks,
When his good she undertakes....
How she uses whom she chooses
And with every purpose fuses him,
By every art induces him
To try his splendor out--
Nature knows what she's about.

When Nature wants to take a man
And shake a man
And wake a man;
When Nature wants to make a man
To do the Future's will;
When she tries with all her skill
And she yearns with all her soul
To create him large and whole....
With what cunning she prepares him!

How she goads and never spares him,
How she whets him and she frets him
And in poverty begets him....
How she often disappoints
Whom she sacredly anoints,
With what wisdom she will hide him,
Never minding what betide him
Though his genius sob with slighting and his pride may not forget!
Bids him struggle harder yet.
Makes him lonely
So that only
God's high messages shall reach him
So that she may surely teach him
What the Hierarchy planned.

Though he may not understand
Gives him passions to command--
How remorselessly she spurs him,
With terrific ardor stirs him
When she poignantly prefers him!

When Nature wants to name a man
And fame a man
And tame a man;
When Nature wants to shame a man
To do his heavenly best....
When she tries the highest test
That her reckoning may bring--
When she wants a god or king!--
How she reins him and restrains him
So his body scarce contains him
While she fires him
And inspires him!
Keeps him yearning, ever burning for a tantalising goal--
Lures and lacerates his soul.
Sets a challenge for his spirit,
Draws it higher when he's near it--
Makes a jungle, that he clear it;
Makes a desert, that he fear it
And subdue it if he can--
So doth Nature make a man.

Then, to test his spirit's wrath
Hurls a mountain in his path--
Puts a bitter choice before him
And relentless stands o'er him.
'Climb, or perish!' so she says....
Watch her purpose, watch her ways!

Nature's plan is wondrous kind
Could we understand her mind ...
Fools are they who call her blind.
When his feet are torn and bleeding
Yet his spirit mounts unheeding,
All his higher powers speeding
Blazing newer paths and fine;
When the force that is divine
Leaps to challenge every failure and his ardor still is sweet
And love and hope are burning in the presence of defeat....

Lo, the crisis! Lo, the shout
That must call the leader out.
When the people need salvation
Doth he come to lead the nation....
Then doth Nature show her plan
When the world has found--a man!

Angela Morgan

SONG FOR THE PEOPLE (Could also be Leadership or Liberty)
by Frances E.W. Harper
Let me make the songs for the people, 
    Songs for the old and young; 
Songs to stir like a battle-cry 
    Wherever they are sung. 

Not for the clashing of sabres, 
    For carnage nor for strife; 
But songs to thrill the hearts of men 
    With more abundant life. 

Let me make the songs for the weary, 
    Amid life's fever and fret, 
Till hearts shall relax their tension, 
    And careworn brows forget. 

Let me sing for little children, 
    Before their footsteps stray, 
Sweet anthems of love and duty, 
    To float o'er life's highway. 

I would sing for the poor and aged, 
    When shadows dim their sight; 
Of the bright and restful mansions, 
    Where there shall be no night. 

Our world, so worn and weary, 
    Needs music, pure and strong, 
To hush the jangle and discords 
    Of sorrow, pain, and wrong. 

Music to soothe all its sorrow, 
    Till war and crime shall cease; 
And the hearts of men grown tender 
    Girdle the world with peace


IF by Rudyard Kipling

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! 


My Strength is as the strength of 10, because my heart is pure...  --Tennyson


“Do not let us speak of darker days; let us speak rather of sterner days. These are not dark days: these are great days--the greatest days our country has ever lived; and we must all thank God that we have been allowed, each of us according to our stations, to play a part in making these days memorable in the history of our race.” --Winston Churchill


GOOD INTENTIONS
The road to hell, they assure me,
With good intentions is paved;
And I know my desires are noble,
But my deeds might brand me depraved.
It's the warped grain in our nature,
And St. Paul has written it true:
'The good that I would I do not;
But the evil I would not I do.'
I've met few men who are monsters
When I came to know them inside;
Yet their bearing and dealings external
Are crusted with cruelty, pride,
Scorn, selfishness, envy, indifference,
Greed--why the long list pursue?
The good that they would they do not;
But the evil they would not they do.
Intentions may still leave us beast-like;
With unchangeable purpose we're men.
We must drive the nail home--and then clinch it
Or storms shake it loose again.
In things of great import, in trifles,
We our recreant souls must subdue
Till the evil we would not we do not
And the good that we would we do.
--St. Clair Adams.


IF YOU CAN’T BE A PINE
If you can't be a pine on the top of the hill
Be a scrub in the valley--but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush if you can't be a tree.
If you can't be a bush be a bit of the grass,
And some highway some happier make;
If you can't be a muskie then just be a bass--
But the liveliest bass in the lake!
We can't all be captains, we've got to be crew,
There's something for all of us here.
There's big work to do and there's lesser to do,
And the task we must do is the near.
If you can't be a highway then just be a trail,
If you can't be the sun be a star;
It isn't by size that you win or you fail--
Be the best of whatever you are!
--Douglas Malloch


YOUR MISSION
If you cannot on the ocean
Sail among the swiftest fleet,
Rocking on the highest billows,
Laughing at the storms you meet;
You can stand among the sailors,
Anchored yet within the bay,
You can lend a hand to help them
As they launch their boats away.

If you are too weak to journey
Up the mountain, steep and high,
You can stand within the valley
While the multitudes go by;
You can chant in happy measure
As they slowly pass along--
Though they may forget the singer,
They will not forget the song.

If you cannot in the harvest
Garner up the richest sheaves,
Many a grain, both ripe and golden,
Oft the careless reaper leaves;
Go and glean among the briars
Growing rank against the wall,
For it may be that their shadow
Hides the heaviest grain of all.

If you cannot in the conflict
Prove yourself a soldier true;
If, where fire and smoke are thickest,
There's no work for you to do;
When the battle field is silent,
You can go with careful tread;
You can bear away the wounded,
You can cover up the dead.

Do not then stand idly waiting
For some greater work to do;
Fortune is a lazy goddess,
She will never come to you;
Go and toil in any vineyard,
Do not fear to do and dare.
If you want a field of labor
You can find it anywhere.
--Ellen M.H. Gates


FEARLESS THOU SHALT BE
In the wake of yawning decadence,
In the arms of dreadful pestilence
In the eyes of hopeless impudence,
Fearless Thou shalt be!
When the time is ripe to cast the sword
When the time is prime to spread the word,
When evil’s ugly head is reared,
Fearless Thou shalt be!
When it’s time to do the best things right,
When it’s time to hold your stance and fight
When you don’t look back to dread your plight,
Fearless Thou shalt be!
When evil’s deed is unvanquished
When all good seems to have perished
When good almighty’s left ravished
Fearless Thou shalt be!
For darkness comes before the light
Victory comes as the hero’s right
Tarry not, Stand up and fight!
Fearless Thou shalt be!

"Go Forth to Life" by Samuel Longfellow

Go forth to life, O child of earth!
Still mindful of thy heav’nly birth;
Thou art not here for ease, or sin,
But manhood’s noble crown to win.

Tho’ passion’s fires are in thy soul,
Thy spirit can their flames control;
Tho’ tempters strong beset thy way,
Thy spirit is more strong than they.

Go on from innocence of youth
To manly purity and truth;
God’s angels still are near to save,
And God Himself doth help the brave.

Then forth to life, O child of earth!
Be worthy of thy heav’nly birth!
For noble service thou art here;
Thy brothers help, thy God revere!

GOD


Be Strong! By Maltbie Davenport Babcock
Be strong! We are not here to play, to dream, to drift;
We have hard work to do, and loads to lift;
 Shun not the struggle--face it; 'tis God's gift.
Be strong!
Say not, "The days are evil. Who's to blame?"
And fold the hands and acquiesce--oh shame!
Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's name.
Be strong!
It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,
 How hard the battle goes, the day how long;
 Faint not--fight on! To-morrow comes the song

“I never saw a moor” by Emily Dickenson Dickenson
I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.



More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats
That nourish a blind life within the brain,
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer
Both for themselves and those who call them friend?
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries…
--Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(Do we see the burning bush, or do blackberries claim our attention?)

YOUR INNER DRUMMER
Listen to your inner drummer, step to its quiet beat.
The world beats another rhythm, a rhythm of defeat.
Let us become a holy people, peculiar and divine.
Living in the world but walking out of time.
--Shirley Greene


My Strength is as the strength of 10, because my heart is pure...  --Tennyson

Dare to be a Mormon
Dare to stand alone
Dare to have a purpose firm
Dare to make it known

"Education without values, seems rather to make man a more clever devil."
C. S. Lewis

This cup was made by the Wise Lord
With love & care to the heights soared
The potter who shaped with such accord
To make and break the same clay, can also afford.
Meaning:
The wisdom that shapes our clay
Does so in a caring, loving way
Wisdom, care and love will stay
The clay is toy to shape and play.
--from The Rubaiyat, by Omar Khayyam 11th century Persian mathematician and astronomer


IF THIS WERE ALL by Edgar Guest (also Life)
If this were all of life we'll know,
If this brief space of breath
Were all there is to human toil,
If death were really death,
And never should the soul arise
A finer world to see,
How foolish would our struggles seem,
How grim the earth would be!

If living were the whole of life,
To end in seventy years,
How pitiful its joys would seem!
How idle all its tears!
There'd be no faith to keep us true,
No hope to keep us strong,
And only fools would cherish dreams--
No smile would last for long.

How purposeless the strife would be
If there were nothing more,
If there were not a plan to serve,
An end to struggle for!
No reason for a mortal's birth
Except to have him die--
How silly all the goals would seem
For which men bravely try.

There must be something after death;
Behind the toil of man
There must exist a God divine
Who's working out a plan;
And this brief journey that we know
As life must really be
The gateway to a finer world
That some day we shall see.

WHEN SORROW COMES by Edgar Guest
When sorrow comes, as come it must,
In God a man must place his trust.
There is no power in mortal speech
The anguish of his soul to reach,
No voice, however sweet and low,
Can comfort him or ease the blow.

He cannot from his fellowmen
Take strength that will sustain him then.
With all that kindly hands will do,
And all that love may offer, too,
He must believe throughout the test
That God has willed it for the best.

We who would be his friends are dumb;
Words from our lips but feebly come;
We feel, as we extend our hands,
That one Power only understands
And truly knows the reason why
So beautiful a soul must die.

We realize how helpless then
Are all the gifts of mortal men.
No words which we have power to say
Can take the sting of grief away--
That Power which marks the sparrow's fall
Must comfort and sustain us all.

When sorrow comes, as come it must,
In God a man must place his trust.
With all the wealth which he may own,
He cannot meet the test alone,
And only he may stand serene
Who has a faith on which to lean.


SERVICE-ORIENTED LEADERSHIP

Drop a pebble in the water: 
Just a splash, and it is gone;
But there's half-a-hundred ripples 
Circling on and on and on,
Spreading, spreading from the center, 
Flowing on out to the sea.
And there is no way of telling 
Where the end is going to be.

Drop a pebble in the water: 
In a minute you forget,
But there's little waves a-flowing, 
And there's ripples circling yet,
And those little waves a-flowing
To a great big wave have grown;
You've disturbed a mighty river 
Just by dropping in a stone. 

Drop an unkind word, or careless: 
In a minute it is gone;
But there's half-a-hundred ripples 
Circling on and on and on.
They keep spreading, spreading, spreading 
From the center as they go,
And there is no way to stop them, 
Once you've started them to flow. 

Drop an unkind word, or careless: 
In a minute you forget;
But there's little waves a-flowing, 
And there's ripples circling yet,
And perhaps in some sad heart 
A mighty wave of tears you've stirred,
And disturbed a life was happy 
Ere you dropped that unkind word.

Drop a word of cheer and kindness: 
Just a flash and it is gone;
But there's half-a-hundred ripples 
Circling on and on and on,
Bearing hope and joy and comfort 
On each splashing, dashing wave
Till you wouldn't believe the volume 
Of the one kind word you gave. 

Drop a word of cheer and kindness: 
In a minute you forget;
But there's gladness still a-swelling, 
And there's joy a-circling yet,
And you've rolled a wave of comfort 
Whose sweet music can be heard
Over miles and miles of water 
Just by dropping one kind word.

~James W. Foley

A Mile With Me by Henry Van Dyke
O who will walk a mile with me
Along life's merry way?
A comrade blithe and full of glee,
Who dares to laugh out loud and free,
And let his frolic fancy play,
Like a happy child, through the flowers gay
That fill the field and fringe the way
Where he walks a mile with me.

And who will walk a mile with me
Along life's weary way?
A friend whose heart has eyes to see
The stars shine out o'er the darkening lea,
And the quiet rest at the end o' the day,--
A friend who knows, and dares to say,
The brave, sweet words that cheer the way
Where he walks a mile with me.

With such a comrade, such a friend,
I fain would walk till journeys end,
Through summer sunshine, winter rain,
And then?--Farewell, we shall meet again! 



LIBERTY

THERE WILL ALWAYS BE SOMETHING TO DO (could also be Society or Citizenship)
by Edgar A. Guest
There will always be something to do, my boy;
There will always be wrongs to right;
There will always be need for a manly breed
And men unafraid to fight.
There will always be honor to guard, my boy;
There will always be hills to climb,
And tasks to do, and battles new
From now till the end of time.
There will always be dangers to face, my boy;
There will always be goals to take;
Men shall be tried, when the roads divide,
And proved by the choice they make.
There will always be burdens to bear, my boy;
There will always be need to pray;
There will always be tears through the future years,
As loved ones are borne away.
There will always be God to serve, my boy,
And always the Flag above;
They shall call to you until life is through
For courage and strength and love.
So these are things that I dream, my boy,
And have dreamed since your life began:
That whatever befalls, when the old world calls,
It shall find you a sturdy man.

Bury Me in a Free Land
By Frances W. E. Harper

Make me a grave where'er you will,

In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;

Make it among earth's humblest graves,

But not in a land where men are slaves.

I could not rest if around my grave

I heard the steps of a trembling slave;

His shadow above my silent tomb

Would make it a place of fearful gloom.

I could not rest if I heard the tread

Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,

And the mother's shriek of wild despair

Rise like a curse on the trembling air.

I could not sleep if I saw the lash

Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,

And I saw her babes torn from her breast,

Like trembling doves from their parent nest.

I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay

Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,

And I heard the captive plead in vain

As they bound afresh his galling chain.

If I saw young girls from their mother's arms

Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,

My eye would flash with a mournful flame,

My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.

I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might

Can rob no man of his dearest right;

My rest shall be calm in any grave

Where none can call his brother a slave.

I ask no monument, proud and high,

To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;

All that my yearning spirit craves,

Is bury me not in a land of slaves

Shine Republic

The quality of these trees, green height; of the sky, shining; of water, a clear flow; of the rock, hardness

And reticence: each is noble in its quality. The love of freedom has been the quality of western man.

There is a stubborn torch that flames from Marathon to Concord, its dangerous beauty binding three ages

Into one time; the waves of barbarism and civilization have eclipsed but have never quenched it.

For the Greeks the love of beauty, for Rome of ruling; for the present age the passionate love of discovery;

But in one noble passion we are one; and Washington, Luther, Tacitus, Eschylus, one kind of man.

And you, America, that passion made you. You were not born to prosperity, you were born to love freedom.

You did not say “en masse,” you said “independence.” But we cannot have all the luxuries and freedom also.

Freedom is poor and laborious; that torch is not safe but hungry, and often requires blood for its fuel.

You will tame it against it burn too clearly, you will hood it like a kept hawk, you will perch it on the wrist of Caesar.

But keep the tradition, conserve the forms, the observances, keep the spot sore. Be great, carve deep your heel-marks.

The states of the next age will no doubt remember you, and edge their love of freedom with contempt of luxury.

 ~By Robinson Jeffers


To the Right Honorable William, Earl of Dartmouth
By Phillis Wheatley (a female slave)

Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song,

Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung,

Whence flow these wishes, for the common good,

By feeling hearts alone best understood,

I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate

Was snatch'd from Afric's fancy'd happy seat:

What pangs excruciating must molest,

What sorrows labour in my parent's breast?

Steel'd was that soul and by no misery mov'd

That from a father seiz'd his babe belov'd:

Such, such my case. And can I then but pray

Others may never feel tyranic sway?

MEANINGFUL LIFE AND PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS

Slow Dance
Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.

       Do you run through each day
       On the fly?
       When you ask, "How are you?"
       Do you hear the reply?
       When the day is done
       Do you lie in your bed
       With the next hundred chores
       Running through your head?
       You'd better slow down
       Don't dance so fast.
       Time is short.
       The music won't last.

Ever told your child,
We'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say "Hi"?
You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last

      When you run so fast to get somewhere
      You miss half the fun of getting there.
      When you worry and hurry through your day,
      It is like an unopened gift.... Thrown away.
      Life is not a race.
      Do take it slower
      Hear the music
      Before the song is over.

    - David L. Weatherford


WHISPERING HOPE
Soft as the voice of an angel,
Breathing a lesson unheard,
Hope with a gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word:
“Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done.
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow,
After the shower is gone.”
Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.
--Septimus Winner


'MIGHT HAVE BEEN'
Here's to 'The days that might have been';
Here's to 'The life I might have led';
The fame I might have gathered in--
The glory ways I might have sped.
Great 'Might Have Been,' I drink to you
Upon a throne where thousands hail--
And then--there looms another view--
I also 'might have been' in jail.
O 'Land of Might Have Been,' we turn
With aching hearts to where you wait;
Where crimson fires of glory burn,
And laurel crowns the guarding gate;
We may not see across your fields
The sightless skulls that knew their woe--
The broken spears--the shattered shields--
That 'might have been' as truly so.
'Of all sad words of tongue or pen'--
So wails the poet in his pain--
The saddest are, 'It might have been,'
And world-wide runs the dull refrain.
The saddest? Yes--but in the jar
This thought brings to me with its curse,
I sometimes think the gladdest are
'It might have been a blamed sight worse.'
--Grantland Rice, From 'The Sportlight.'

THE FELLOWSHIP OF BOOKS by Edgar Guest
I care not who the man may be,
Nor how his tasks may fret him,
Nor where he fares, nor how his cares
And troubles may beset him,
If books have won the love of him,
Whatever fortune hands him,
He'll always own, when he's alone,
A friend who understands him.

Though other friends may come and go,
And some may stoop to treason,
His books remain, through loss or gain,
And season after season
The faithful friends for every mood,
His joy and sorrow sharing,
For old time's sake, they'll lighter make
The burdens he is bearing.

Oh, he has counsel at his side,
And wisdom for his duty,
And laughter gay for hours of play,
And tenderness and beauty,
And fellowship divinely rare,
True friends who never doubt him,
Unchanging love, and God above,
Who keeps good books about him.


LIFE IS WHAT WE MAKE OF IT
by Edgar Guest

Life is a jest;
Take the delight of it.
Laughter is best;
Sing through the night of it.
Swiftly the tear
And the hurt and the ache of it
Find us down here;
Life must be what we make of it.
Life is a song;
Dance to the thrill of it.
Grief's hours are long,
And cold is the chill of it.
Joy is man's need;
Let us smile for the sake of it.
This be our creed:
Life must be what we make of it.

Life is a soul;
The virtue and vice of it,
Strife for a goal,
And man's strength is the price of it.
Your life and mine,
The bare bread and the cake of it
End in this line:
Life must be what we make of it.

Richard Cory

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good-morning,' and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

~Edwin Arlington Robinson

 

Mother to Son

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.  

SOCIETY

IF I KNEW YOU AND YOU KNEW ME (also Leadership)
Nixon Waterman

If I knew you and you knew me,
If both of us could clearly see,
And with an inner sight divine,
The meaning of your heart and mine,
I'm sure that we would differ less,
And clasp our hands in friendliness;
Our thoughts would pleasantly agree,
If I knew you and you knew me.

DEMOCRACY
by Langston Hughes

Democracy will not come
Today, this year
Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.

I have as much right 
As the other fellow has
To stand
On my two feet 
And own the land.

I tire so of hearing people say, 
Let things take their course.
Tomorrow is another day.
I do not need my freedom when I'm dead.
I cannot live on tomorrow's bread.

Freedom
Is a strong seed
Planted
In a great need.

I live here, too.
I want freedom
Just as you.


IT ISN'T COSTLY by Edgar Guest

Does the grouch get richer quicker than the
     friendly sort of man?
  Can the grumbler labor better than the cheerful
     fellow can?
  Is the mean and churlish neighbor any cleverer
     than the one
  Who shouts a glad "good morning," and then
     smiling passes on?
  Just stop and think about it.  Have you ever
     known or seen
  A mean man who succeeded, just because he
     was so mean?
  When you find a grouch with honors and with
     money in his pouch,
  You can bet he didn't win them just because
     he was a grouch.
  Oh, you'll not be any poorer if you smile along
     your way,
  And your lot will not be harder for the kindly
     things you say.
  Don't imagine you are wasting time for others
     that you spend:
  You can rise to wealth and glory and still pause
     to be a friend.


WORK/PROPERTY

A PIECE OF PLASTIC CLAY

I took a piece of plastic clay                          
And idly fashioned it one day,
And as my fingers pressed it still,
It moved and yielded at my will.
I came again when days were past;
The bit of clay was hard at last,
The form I gave it still it bore,
But I could change that form no more.
I took a piece of living clay,
And gently formed it day by day,
And molded with my power and art
A young child’s soft and yielding heart.
I came again when days were gone;
It was a man I looked upon;
That early impress still he wore,
And I could change it never more.
(Author Unknown)

They cut desire into short lengths
And fed it to the hungry fire of courage.
Long after—when the flames dies—
Molten gold gleamed in the ashes.
They gathered it into bruised palms
And handed it to their children
And their children’s children.
--Vilate Chamberlain Raile
(an early pioneer)

The Value of Work
“I believe in the gospel of work.  Work is the miracle by which talent is brought to the surface and dreams become reality.  There is simply no substitute under the heavens for productive labor.  It is the process by which idle visions become dynamic achievements.  I suppose that we are all inherently lazy.  We would rather play than work.   We would rather loaf than work.  A little play and a little loafing are good.  But it is work that spells the difference in the life of a man or a woman or a boy or a girl.  Children who are taught to work and to enjoy the fruits of that labor have a great advantage as they grow toward maturity.  The process of stretching our minds and utilizing the skills of our hands lifts us from the stagnation of mediocrity.”  Pres. Hinckley, Standing for Something, 80

GOOD TIMBER
by Douglas Malloch

The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
But lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil
To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man
But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow with ease:
The stronger wind, the stronger trees;
The further sky, the greater length;
The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth,
We find the patriarchs of both.
And they hold counsel with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and much of strife.
This is the common law of life.


THE ALARM by Edgar Guest

Get off your downy cots of ease,
There's work that must be done.
Great danger's riding on the seas.
The storm is coming on.
Don't think that it will quickly pass.
Who smiles at distant fate,
And waits until it strikes, alas!
Has roused himself too late.
Who thinks the fight will end before
The need of him arrives,
Is lengthening this brutal war
And costing many lives.
For over us that storm shall break
Ere many weeks have fled,
And we shall pay for our mistake
In fields of mangled dead.
Be ready when the foe shall near,
Be there to strike him hard;
Let us, though he be miles from here,
Be standing now on guard.
To-morrow's victories won't be won
By pluck that we display
To-morrow when the foe comes on,
But by our work to-day.


(We broke this up by stanza and memorized one per month for a big grand finale at the end of the year.)

FELLOWSHIP OF THE UNASHAMED (Also great for "Worshiping God" month)
I am part of the fellowship of the unashamed.
The dye has been cast.
I have stepped over the line.
The decision has been made;
I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.
I won’t look back, let up, slow down, or be still.

My past is redeemed, my present makes sense, and
my future is secure.
I’m finished and done with low living,
small planning, smooth knees,
Colorless dreams, tinted visions, worldly talking,
cheap giving, and dwarfed goals.

I no longer need pre-eminence, positions,
promotions, plaudits, or popularity.
I don’t have to be right, first, recognized, praised,
regarded, or rewarded.

I now live by Faith, lean on His presence,
walk with patience.
I am uplifted by prayer, and labor with power.
My face is set, my gait is fast,
my goal is heaven.
My road is narrow, my way is rough,
my companions few, my Guide is reliable,
my mission is clear.

I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured,
lured away, divided or delayed.
I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice,
hesitate in the presence of the adversary,
negotiate at the table with the enemy,
ponder at the pool of popularity,
or meander in the maze of mediocrity.

I won’t give up, shut up, or let up until I have stayed
up, stored up, and paid up for the cause of Christ.

I must go till He comes, give till I drop, preach till all
know, and work till He stops me.  And when He returns for His Own, He will have no problem
recognizing me.  My Banner will be clear.

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it
is the power of GOD unto Salvation to every one
that believeth…” Romans 1:16.

Our Heroes(Also great for "Worshiping God" month)

Here's a hand to the boy who has courage
To do what he knows to be right;
When he falls in the way of temptation,
He has a hard battle to fight.

Who strives against self and his comrades
Will find a most powerful foe;
All honor to him if he conquers-
A cheer for the boy who says "No!"

There's many a battle fought daily
The world knows nothing about;
There's many a brave little soldier
Whose strength puts a legion to rout.

And he who fights sin single-handed
Is more of a hero, I say,
Than he who leads soldiers to battle,
And conquers by arms in the fray.

Be steadfast, my boy, when you're tempted
And do what you know to be right;
Stand firm by the colors of manhood,
And you will overcome in the fight.

"The Right" be your battle-cry ever,
In waging the warfare of life;
And God, who knows who are the heroes,
Will give you the strength for the strife.

~Phoebe Cary