Failure is ceasing to try!
"Tis accepting defeat
And to all you may meet
Giving voice to a sigh;
"Tis in thinking it vain
To attempt furthermore
And in bowing to pain
When the muscles grow sore.
Failure is stepping aside
From the burnt of the fray
In a weak-hearted way,
Being content to abide
In the shadows that fall,
And in being afraid
Out of life, after all,
Nothing's left to be made.
Failure is thinking despair,
The forsaking of hope,
And refusal to cope
With the day's round of care,
It's in heeding the cry,
"All is lost!" and to stay
With defeat and not try
For the happier day.
Poet: Nixon Waterman
Say "I will!" and then stick to it--
That's the only way to do it.
Don't build up a while and then
Tear the whole thing down again.
Fix the goal you wish to gain,
Then go at it heart and brain,
And, though clouds shut out the blue,
Do not dim your purpose true
With your sighing.
Stand erect, and, like a man,
Know "They can who think they can!"
Had Columbus, half seas o'er,
Turned back to his native shore,
Men would not, to-day, proclaim
Round the world his deathless name.
So must we sail on with him
Past horizons far and dim,
Till at last we own the prize
That belongs to him who tries
With faith undying;
Own the prize that all may win
Who, with hope, through thick and thin
It Isn't Costly
Poet: Edgar Guest
Does the grouch get richer quicker than the
friendly sort of man?
Can the grumbler labor better than the cheerful
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
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.
It isn't the money you're making, it isn't the clothes you wear,
And it isn't the skill of your good right hand which makes folks really care.
It's the smile on your face and the light of your eye and the burdens that you bear.
Most any old man can tell you, most any old man at all,
Who has lived through all sorts of weather, winter and summer and fall,
That riches and fame are shadows that dance on the garden wall.
It's how do you live and neighbor, how do you work and play,
It's how do you say "good morning" to the people along the way,
And it's how do you face your troubles whenever your skies are gray.
It's you, from the dawn to nighttime; you when the day is fair,
You when the storm is raging - how do you face despair?
It is you that the world discovers, whatever the clothes you wear.
You to the end of the journey, kindly and brave and true,
The best and the worst of you gleaming in all that you say and do,
And the ting that counts isn't money, or glory, or power, but YOU!
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
I have to live with myself and so
I want to be fit for myself to know.
I want to be able as days go by,
always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don't want to stand with the setting sun
and hate myself for the things I have done.
I don't want to keep on a closet shelf
a lot of secrets about myself
and fool myself as I come and go
into thinking no one else will ever know
the kind of person I really am,
I don't want to dress up myself in sham.
I want to go out with my head erect
I want to deserve all men's respect;
but here in the struggle for fame and wealth
I want to be able to like myself.
I don't want to look at myself and know that
I am bluster and bluff and empty show.
I never can hide myself from me;
I see what others may never see;
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself and so,
whatever happens I want to be
self respecting and conscience free.