Don't Take Your Troubles To Bed.

    You may labor your fill, friend of mine, if you will;

      You may worry a bit, if you must;

    You may treat your affairs as a series of cares,

      You may live on a scrap and a crust;

    But when the day's done, put it out of your head;

    Don't take your troubles to bed.

    You may batter your way through the thick of the fray,

      You may sweat, you may swear, you may grunt;

    You may be a jack-fool if you must, but this rule

      Should ever be kept at the front:--

    Don't fight with your pillow, but lay down your head

    And kick every worriment out of the bed.

    That friend or that foe (which he is, I don't know),

      Whose name we have spoken as Death,

    Hovers close to your side, while you run or you ride,

      And he envies the warmth of your breath;

    But he turns him away, with a shake of his head,

    When he finds that you don't take your troubles to bed.

Author Unknown

The Path to Home

The Path to Home

THERE'S the mother at the doorway, and the children at the gate,

And the little parlor windows with the curtains white and straight.

There are shaggy asters blooming in the bed that lines the fence,

And the simplest of the blossoms seems of mighty consequence.

Oh, there isn't any mansion underneath God's starry dome

That can rest a weary pilgrim like the little place called home.

Men have sought for gold and silver; men have dreamed at night of fame;

In the heat of youth they've struggled for achievement's honored name;

But the selfish crowns are tinsel, and their shining jewels paste,

And the wine of pomp and glory soon grows bitter to the taste.

For there's never any laughter howsoever far you roam,

Like the laughter of the loved ones in the happiness of home.

-        

                                                                                                                                                                   Edgar Albert Guest

Success

           I hold no dream of fortune vast,

            Nor seek undying fame.

          I do not ask when life is past

            That many know my name.

          I may not own the skill to rise

            To glory's topmost height,

          Nor win a place among the wise,

            But I can keep the right.

          And I can live my life on earth

            Contented to the end,

          If but a few shall know my worth

            And proudly call me friend.

                                                                                                    

                                                                                        By Edgar A. Guest