Fable by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Fable by Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Mountain And The Squirrel

Had a quarrel;

And the former called the latter "Little Prig."

Bun replied,

"You are doubtless very big;

But all sorts of things and weather

Must be taken in together

To make up a year

And a sphere.

And I think it's no disgrace

To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you,

You are not so small as I,

And not half so spry.

I'll not deny you make

A very pretty squirrel track;

Talents differ: all is well and wisely put;

If I cannot carry forests on my back,

Neither can you crack a nut."

Which are you? by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Which are you? by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

THERE are two kinds of people on earth to-day;

Just two kinds of people, no more, I say.

Not the sinner and saint, for it's well understood,

The good are half bad, and the bad are half good.

Not the rich and the poor, for to rate a man's wealth,

You must first know the state of his conscience and health.

Not the humble and proud, for in life's little span,

Who puts on vain airs, is not counted a man.

Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years

Bring each man his laughter and each man his tears.

No; the two kinds of people on earth I mean,

Are the people who lift, and the people who lean.

Wherever you go, you will find the earth's masses,

Are always divided in just these two classes.

And oddly enough, you will find too, I ween,

There's only one lifter to twenty who lean.

In which class are you? Are you easing the load,

Of overtaxed lifters, who toil down the road?

Or are you a leaner, who lets others share

Your portion of labor, and worry and care?

Life's Harmonies by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life's Harmonies by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

LET no man pray that he know not sorrow,

Let no soul ask to be free from pain,

For the gall of to-day is the sweet of to-morrow,

And the moment's loss is the lifetime's gain.

Through want of a thing does its worth redouble,

Through hunger's pangs does the feast content,

And only the heart that has harbored trouble,

Can fully rejoice when joy is sent.

Let no man shrink from the bitter tonics

Of grief, and yearning, and need, and strife,

For the rarest chords in the soul's harmonies,

Are found in the minor strains of life.

Will by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Will by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

YOU will be what you will to be;

Let failure find its false content

In that poor word "environment,"

But spirit scorns it, and is free,

It masters time, it conquers space,

It cows that boastful trickster Chance,

And bids the tyrant Circumstance

Uncrown and fill a servant's place.

The human Will, that force unseen,

The offspring of a deathless Soul,

Can hew the way to any goal,

Though walls of granite intervene.

Be not impatient in delay,

But wait as one who understands;

When spirit rises and commands,

The gods are ready to obey.

The river seeking for the sea

Confronts the dam and precipice,

Yet knows it cannot fail or miss;

You will be what you will to be!

The Traveled Man by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Traveled Man by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

SOMETIMES I wish the railroads all were torn out,

The ships all sunk among the coral strands.

I am so very weary, yea, so worn out,

With tales of those who visit foreign lands.

When asked to dine, to meet these traveled people,

My soup seems brewed from cemetery bones.

The fish grows cold on some cathedral steeple,

I miss two courses while I stare at thrones.

I'm forced to leave my salad quite untasted,

Some musty, moldy temple to explore.

The ices, fruit and coffee all are wasted

While into realms of ancient art I soar.

I'd rather take my chance of life and reason,

If in a den of roaring lions hurled

Than for a single year, ay, for one season,

To dwell with folks who'd traveled round the world.

So patronizing are they, so oppressive,

With pity for the ones who stay at home,

So mighty is their knowledge, so aggressive,

I often times wish they had not ceased to roam.

They loathe the new, they quite detest the present;

They revel in a pre-Columbian morn;

Just dare to say America is pleasant,

And die beneath the glances of their scorn.

They are increasing at a rate alarming,

Go where I will, the traveled man is there.

And now I think that rustic wholly charming

Who has not strayed beyond his meadows fair.

Life by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

ALL in the dark we grope along,

And if we go amiss

We learn at least which path is wrong,

And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race,

By only running right,

We have to tread the mountain's base

Before we reach its height.

The Christs alone no errors made;

So often had they trod

The paths that lead through light and shade,

They had become as God.

As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again,

They passed along the way,

And left those mighty truths which men

But dimly grasp to-day.

But he who loves himself the last

And knows the use of pain,

Though strewn with errors all his past,

He surely shall attain.

Some souls there are that needs must taste

Of wrong, ere choosing right;

We should not call those years a waste

Which led us to the light.

Thanksgiving by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 Thanksgiving by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

WE walk on starry fields of white

And do not see the daisies;

For blessings common in our sight

We rarely offer praises.

We sigh for some supreme delight

To crown our lives with splendor,

And quite ignore our daily store

Of pleasures sweet and tender.

Our cares are bold and push their way

Upon our thought and feeling.

They hang about us all the day,

Our time from pleasure stealing.

So unobtrusive many a joy

We pass by and forget it,

But worry strives to own our lives

And conquers if we let it.

There's not a day in all the year

But holds some hidden pleasure,

And looking back, joys oft appear

To brim the past's wide measure.

But blessings are like friends, I hold,

Who love and labor near us.

We ought to raise our notes of praise

While living hearts can hear us.

Full many a blessing wears the guise

Of worry or of trouble.

Farseeing is the soul and wise

Who knows the mask is double.

But he who has the faith and strength

To thank his God for sorrow

Has found a joy without alloy

To gladden every morrow.

We ought to make the moments notes

Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;

The hours and days a silent phrase

Of music we are living.

And so the theme should swell and grow

As weeks and months pass o'er us,

And rise sublime at this good time,

A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

The Undiscovered Country by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Undiscovered Country by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Man has explored all countries and all lands,

And made his own the secrets of each clime.

Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,

The oval earth lies compassed with steel bands;

The seas are slaves to ships that touch all strands,

And even the haughty elements sublime

And bold, yield him their secrets for all time,

And speed like lackeys forth at his commands.

Still, though he search from shore to distant shore,

And no strange realms, no unlocated plains

Are left for his attainment and control,

Yet is there one more kingdom to explore.

Go, know thyself, O man! there yet remains

The undiscovered country of thy soul!

The Vow by Malcolm O. Varner

The Vow by Malcolm O. Varner

No matter how deep the sadness or wide the pain, I vow to live for a brighter day will come again.
No matter how many mistakes I’ve made in the past, I vow to live and in the future avoid them, surefooted and fast.
No matter how many tragedies beyond my control take place, I vow to live and stay my course within this race.
No matter how poor or rich I may ever be, I vow to live and aspire to search for the dignity in simplicity.
No matter how much a lover may pierce the inner core of my heart, I vow to live for like spring I’ll get a new start.
No matter how isolated and alone I may feel, I vow to live and do something for someone else to heal.
No matter how hopeless my situation my appear, I vow to live and reflect until my viewpoint is clear.
No matter what happens in this life – good or bad I vow to live, do my best, and just for living – be glad.

Risky Business by Ruth Mason Rice

Risky Business by Ruth Mason Rice

It's a risk to have a husband,
It’s a risk to have a son;
It's a risk to pour your confidences out to anyone;
It's a risk to pick a daisy, for there's sure to be a cop;
It's a risk to go on living, but a greater risk to stop.

Life by Bryan Schuetz

Life by Bryan Schuetz

Life to many is a constant struggle.
Deadlines to meet, hustle and bustle.

Look up! Look down! Turn Left! Turn Right!
Moving so fast, no end in sight.

One day...I will.But not this day.
Too much to do. What can I say?

This is the only day that life promises you.
Slow down and enjoy...do what you want to do.

Even for just a little while.

Each day do something to make you smile

The Life we have is very great by Emily Dickinson

The Life we have is very great by Emily Dickinson

The Life we have is very great.

The Life that we shall see

Surpasses it, we know, because

It is Infinity.

But when all Space has been beheld

And all Dominion shown

The smallest Human Heart's extent

Reduces it to none.

The River of Life by Thomas Campbell

The River of Life by Thomas Campbell

The more we live, more brief appear

Our life's succeeding stages;

A day to childhood seems a year,

And years like passing ages.

The gladsome current of our youth,

Ere passion yet disorders,

Steals lingering like a river smooth

Along its grassy borders.

But as the careworn cheek grows wan,

And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,

Ye stars, that measure life to man,

Why seem your courses quicker?

When joys have lost their bloom and breath,

And life itself is vapid,

Why, as we reach the Falls of Death

Feel we its tide more rapid?

It may be strange—yet who would change

Time's course to slower speeding,

When one by one our friends have gone,

And left our bosoms bleeding?

Heaven gives our years of fading strength

Indemnifying fleetness;

And those of youth, a seeming length,

Proportion'd to their sweetness.

There was a man who lived a life of fire by Stephen Crane

There was a man who lived a life of fire by Stephen Crane

There was a man who lived a life of fire.

Even upon the fabric of time,

Where purple becomes orange

And orange purple,

This life glowed,

A dire red stain, indelible;

Yet when he was dead,

He saw that he had not lived.