Opportunity

Procrastination is not only the thief of time; it is also the grave of opportunity.

  In an old city by the storied shores

  Where the bright summit of Olympus soars,

  A cryptic statue mounted towards the light

  Heel-winged, tip-toed, and poised for instant flight.

  "O statue, tell your name," a traveler cried,

  And solemnly the marble lips replied:

  "Men call me Opportunity: I lift

  My winged feet from earth to show how swift

  My flight, how short my stay

  How Fate is ever waiting on the way."

  "But why that tossing ringlet on your brow?"

  "That men may seize me any moment:  Now,

  NOW is my other name: to-day my date:

  O traveler, to-morrow is too late!"

By Edwin Markham.  

Song of Endeavor

Don Quixote discovered that there are no eggs in last year's bird's-nests. Many of us waste our time in regrets for the past, without seeming to perceive that hope lies only in endeavor for the future.

   'Tis not by wishing that we gain the prize,

    Nor yet by ruing,

  But from our falling, learning how to rise,

    And tireless doing.

  The idols broken, nor our tears and sighs,

    May yet restore them.

  Regret is only for fools; the wise

    Look but before them.

  Nor ever yet Success was wooed with tears;

    To notes of gladness

  Alone the fickle goddess turns her ears,

    She hears not sadness.

  The heart thrives not in the dull rain and mist

    Of gloomy pining.

  The sweetest flowers are the flowers sun-kissed,

    Where glad light's shining.

  Look not behind thee; there is only dust

    And vain regretting.

  The lost tide ebbs; in the next flood thou must

    Learn, by forgetting.

  For the lost chances be ye not distressed

    To endless weeping;

  Be not the thrush that o'er the empty nest

    Is vigil keeping.

  But in new efforts our regrets to-day

    To stillness whiling,

  Let us in some pure purpose find the way

    To future smiling.

  

By James W. Foley.

My Wage

This poem is alerting us to the belief of "ask, and ye shall receive". If we were to ask for a low wage because we believed that we don't deserve more, life will very surely pay us a low wage. However, if we dare to ask for bigger things and are willing to shoulder the responsibilities, then just as likely we'll get what we've asked for

I bargained with Life for a penny,

And Life would pay no more,

However I begged at evening

When I counted my scanty store;

For Life is a just employer,

He gives you what you ask,

But once you have set the wages,

Why, you must bear the task.

I worked for a menial's hire,

Only to learn, dismayed,

That any wage I had asked of Life,

Life would have paid.

by Jessie B. Rittenhouse

Looking Back

I might have been rich if I'd wanted the gold

instead of the friendships I've made.

I might have had fame if I'd sought for renown

in the hours when I purposely played.

Now I'm standing to-day on the far edge of life,

and I'm just looking backward to see           

What I've done with the years and the days that were mine,

and all that has happened to me.

I haven't built much of a fortune to leave

to those who shall carry my name,

And nothing I've done shall entitle me now

to a place on the tablets of fame.

But I've loved the great sky and its spaces of blue;

I've lived with the birds and the trees;

I've turned from the splendor of silver and gold

to share in such pleasures as these.

I've given my time to the children who came;

together we've romped and we've played,

And I wouldn't exchange the glad hours spent

with them for the money that I might have made.

I chose to be known and be loved by the few,

and was deaf to the plaudits of men;

And I'd make the same choice should the chance

come to me to live my life over again.

I've lived with my friends and I've shared in their joys,

known sorrow with all of its tears;

I have harvested much from my acres of life,

though some say I've squandered my years.

For much that is fine has been mine to enjoy,

and I think I have lived to my best,

And I have no regret, as I'm nearing the end,

for the gold that I might have possessed.

                                                         by Edgar A. Guest

It Takes Courage

It takes strength to be firm,

It takes courage to be gentle.

                

It takes strength to conquer,

It takes courage to surrender.

It takes strength to be certain,

It takes courage to have doubt.

It takes strength to fit in,

It takes courage to stand out.

It takes strength to feel a friend's pain,

It takes courage to feel your own pain.

It takes strength to endure abuse,

It takes courage to stop it.

It takes strength to stand alone,

It takes courage to lean on another.

It takes strength to love,

It takes courage to be loved.

It takes strength to survive,

It takes courage to live.

by Author Unknown

Letting Go

To let go doesn't mean to stop caring;

It means I can't do it for someone else.

To let go is not to cut myself off...

It's the realization that I can't control another...

To let go is not to enable,

but to allow learning from natural consequences.

To let go is to admit powerlessness,

which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To let go is not to try and change or blame another,

I can only change myself.

To let go is not to care for, but to care about.

To let go is not to fix, but to be supportive.

To let go is not to judge,

but to allow another to be a human being.

To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,

but to allow others to affect their own outcomes.

To let go is not to be protective,

It is to permit another to face reality.

To let go is not to deny, but to accept.

To let go is not to nag, scold, or argue,

but to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,

but to take each day as it comes and cherish the moment.

To let go is not to criticize and regulate anyone,

but to try to become what I dream I can be.

To let go is not to regret the past,

but to grow and live for the future.

To let go is to fear less and love more.

Author Unknown

To-day

We often lose the happiness of to-day by brooding over the sorrows of yesterday or fearing the troubles of to-morrow. This is exceedingly foolish. There is always some pleasure at hand; seize it, and at no time will you be without pleasure. You cannot change the past, but your spirit at this moment will in some measure shape your future. Live life, therefore, in the present tense; do not miss the joys of to-day.

  Sure, this world is full of trouble-

    I ain't said it ain't.

  Lord! I've had enough, an' double,

    Reason for complaint.

  Rain an' storm have come to fret me,

    Skies were often gray;

  Thorns an' brambles have beset me

    On the road--but, say,

    Ain't it fine to-day?

  What's the use of always weepin',

    Makin' trouble last?

  What's the use of always keepin'

    Thinkin' of the past?

  Each must have his tribulation,

    Water with his wine.

  Life it ain't no celebration.

    Trouble? I've had mine--

    But to-day is fine.

  It's to-day that I am livin',

    Not a month ago,

  Havin', losin', takin', givin',

    As time wills it so.

  Yesterday a cloud of sorrow

    Fell across the way;

  It may rain again to-morrow,

    It may rain--but, say,

    Ain't it fine to-day!

by Douglas Malloch 

Effort

He brought me his report card from the teacher and he said

He wasn't very proud of it and sadly bowed his head.

He was excellent in reading, but arithmetic, was fair,

And I noticed there were several "unsatisfactorys" there;

But one little bit of credit which was given brought me joy—

He was "excellent in effort," and I fairly hugged the boy.

"Oh, it doesn't make much difference what is written on your card,"

I told that little fellow, "if you're only trying hard.

The 'very goods' and 'excellents' are fine, I must agree,

But the effort you are making means a whole lot more to me;

And the thing that's most important when this card is put aside

Is to know, in spite of failure, that to do your best you've tried.

"Just keep excellent in effort—all the rest will come to you.

There isn't any problem but some day you'll learn to do,

And at last, when you grow older, you will come to understand

That by hard and patient toiling men have risen to command

And some day you will discover when a greater goal's at stake

That better far than brilliance is the effort you will make."

Author Unknown 

Playing the Game

We all like the good sport--the man who plays fair and courteously and with every ounce of his energy, even when the game is going against him.

  

  Life is a game with a glorious prize,

    If we can only play it right.

  It is give and take, build and break,

    And often it ends in a fight;

  But he surely wins who honestly tries

    (Regardless of wealth or fame),

  He can never despair who plays it fair

    How are you playing the game?

  Do you wilt and whine, if you fail to win

    In the manner you think your due?

  Do you sneer at the man in case that he can

    And does, do better than you?

  Do you take your rebuffs with a knowing grin?

    Do you laugh tho' you pull up lame?

  Does your faith hold true when the whole world's blue?

    How are you playing the game?

  Get into the thick of it,wade in, boys!

    Whatever your cherished goal;

  Brace up your will till your pulses thrill,

    And you dare--to your very soul!

  Do something more than make a noise;

    Let your purpose leap into flame

  As you plunge with a cry, "I shall do or die,"

    Then you will be playing the game.

  Anonymous

How Did You Die?

Grant at Ft. Donelson demanded unconditional and immediate surrender. At Appomattox he offered as lenient terms as victor ever extended to vanquished. Why the difference? The one event was at the beginning of the war, when the enemy's morale must be shaken. The other was at the end of the conflict, when a brave and noble adversary had been rendered helpless. In his quiet way Grant showed himself one of nature's gentlemen. He also taught a great lesson. No honor can be too great for the man, be he even our foe, who has steadily and uncomplainingly done his very best--and has failed.

  Did you tackle that trouble that came your way

    With a resolute heart and cheerful?

  Or hide your face from the light of day

    With a craven soul and fearful?

  Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,

    Or a trouble is what you make it,

  And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,

    But only how did you take it?

  You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that!

    Come up with a smiling face.

  It's nothing against you to fall down flat,

    But to lie there--that's disgrace.

  The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce

    Be proud of your blackened eye!

  It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;

    It's how did you fight--and why?

  And though you be done to the death, what then?

    If you battled the best you could,

  If you played your part in the world of men,

    Why, the Critic will call it good.

  Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,

    And whether he's slow or spry,

  It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,

    But only how did you die?

                     by Edmund Vance Cooke

                     from "Impertinent Poems."

Guilty or Not Guilty

She stood at the bar of justice,

  A creature wan and wild,

In form too small for a woman,

  In features too old for a child;

For a look so worn and pathetic

  Was stamped on her pale young face,

It seemed long years of suffering

  Must have left that silent trace.

"Your name?" said the judge, as he eyed her

  With kindly look yet keen,

"Is Mary McGuire, if you please, sir."

  And your age?" "I am turned fifteen."

"Well, Mary," and then from a paper

  He slowly and gravely read,

"You are charged here I'm sorry to say it

  With stealing three loaves of bread.

"You look not like an offender,

  And I hope that you can show

The charge to be false. Now, tell me,

  Are you guilty of this, or no?"

A passionate burst of weeping

  Was at first her sole reply.

But she dried her eyes in a moment,

  And looked in the judge's eye.

"I will tell you just how it was, sir:

  My father and mother are dead,

And my little brothers and sisters

  Were hungry and asked me for bread.

At first I earned it for them

  By working hard all day,

But somehow, times were bad, sir,

  And the work all fell away.

"I could get no more employment.

  The weather was bitter cold,

The young ones cried and shivered

  (Little Johnny's but four years old)

So what was I to do, sir?

  I am guilty, but do not condemn.

I took oh, was it stealing?

  The bread to give to them."

Every man in the court-room

  Gray-beard and thoughtless youth

Knew, as he looked upon her,

  That the prisoner spake the truth;

Out from their pockets came kerchiefs,

  Out from their eyes sprung tears,

And out from their old faded wallets

  Treasures hoarded for years.

The judge's face was a study,

  The strangest you ever saw,

As he cleared his throat and murmured

  Something about the law;

For one so learned in such matters,

  So wise in dealing with men,

He seemed, on a simple question,

  Sorely puzzled, just then.

But no one blamed him or wondered,

  When at last these words he heard,

"The sentence of this young prisoner

  Is, for the present, deferred."

And no one blamed him or wondered

  When he went to her and smiled

And tenderly led from the court-room,

             Himself, the "guilty" child.

                                             Anonymous.

The World Is Against Me

Babe Ruth doesn't complain that opposing pitchers try to strike him out; he swings at the ball till he swats it for four bases. Ty Cobb doesn't complain that whole teams work wits and muscles overtime to keep him from stealing home; he pits himself against them all and comes galloping or hurdling or sliding in. What other men can do any man can do if he works long enough with a brave enough heart.

  

  "The world is against me," he said with a sigh.

  "Somebody stops every scheme that I try.

  The world has me down and it's keeping me there;

  I don't get a chance. Oh, the world is unfair!

  When a fellow is poor then he can't get a show;

  The world is determined to keep him down low."

  "What of Abe Lincoln?" I asked. "Would you say

  That he was much richer than you are to-day?

  He hadn't your chance of making his mark,

  And his outlook was often exceedingly dark;

  Yet he clung to his purpose with courage most grim

  And he got to the top. Was the world against him?

  "What of Ben Franklin? I've oft heard it said

  That many a time he went hungry to bed.

  He started with nothing but courage to climb,

  But patiently struggled and waited his time.

  He dangled awhile from real poverty's limb,

  Yet he got to the top. Was the world against him?

  "I could name you a dozen, yes, hundreds, I guess,

  Of poor boys who've patiently climbed to success;

  All boys who were down and who struggled alone,

  Who'd have thought themselves rich if your fortune they'd known;

  Yet they rose in the world you're so quick to condemn,

  And I'm asking you now, was the world against them?"

 By Edgar A. Guest.

 From "Just Folks."

To-Day

We shall do so much in the years to come,

  But what have we done to-day?

We shall give out gold in princely sum,

  But what did we give to-day?

We shall lift the heart and dry the tear,

We shall plant a hope in the place of fear,

We shall speak with words of love and cheer,

  But what have we done to-day?

We shall be so kind in the after while,

  But what have we been to-day?

We shall bring to each lonely life a smile,

  But what have we brought to-day?

We shall give to truth a grander birth,

And to steadfast faith a deeper worth,

We shall feed the hungering souls of earth,

  But whom have we fed to-day?

                                                By Nixon Waterman