*1 *2 *3 *4 *5 *6 *7 *8 *9 *10 *11 *12 *13 *14 *15 *16 *17
*18 *19 *20 *21 *22 *23 *24 *25 *26 *27 *28 *29 *30 *31
Throw overboard useless regretting,
Or deeds which you can not undo,
And learn the great art of forgetting
Old things which embitter the new.
NEW YEAR
As the old year sinks down in Time's ocean,
Stand ready to launch with the new,
And waste no regrets, no emotion,
As the masts and the spars pass from view.
Weep not if some treasures go under,
And sink in the rotten ship's hold,
That blithe bonny barque sailing yonder
May bring you more wealth than the old.
For the world is for ever improving,
All the past is not worth one to-day,
And whatever deserves our true loving,
Is stronger than death or decay.
Old love, was it wasted devotion?
Old friends, were they weak or untrue?
Well, let them sink there in mid-ocean,
And gaily sail on to the new.
Throw overboard toil misdirected,
Throw overboard ill-advised hope,
With aims which, your soul has detected,
Have self as their centre and scope.
Throw overboard useless regretting
For deeds which you cannot undo,
And learn the great art of forgetting
Old things which embitter the new.
Sing who will of dead years departed,
I shroud them and bid them adieu,
And the song that I sing, happy-hearted,
Is a song of the glorious new.
Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.
Think of yourself as on the threshold of unparalleled success. A whole, clear, glorious year lies before you! In a year you can regain health, fortune, happiness!
I do not question what the years portend
Or good, or ill, whatever winds may blow,
It is enough, enough for me to know
I shall be given courage to the end.
UNTO THE END
I know not where to-morrow's paths may wend,
Nor what the future holds; but this I know,
Whichever way my feet are forced to go,
I shall be given courage to the end.
Though God that awful gift of His may send
We call long life, where headstones in a row
Hide all of happiness, yet be it so:
I shall be given courage to the end.
If dark the deepening shadows be, that blend
With life's pale sunlight when the sun dips low,
Though joy speeds by and sorrow's steps are slow,
I shall be given courage to the end.
I do not question what the years portend--
Or good or ill, whatever wind may blow;
It is enough, enough for me to know
I shall be given courage to the end.
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902.
To-day leads you up to the hilltops
That are kissed by the radiant sun,
To-day shows no tomb, life's hopes are in bloom,
And to-day holds a prize to be won.
KEEP OUT OF THE PAST
Keep out of the Past! for its highways
Are damp with malarial gloom;
Its gardens are sere and its forests are drear,
And everywhere moulders a tomb.
Who seeks to regain its lost pleasures
Finds only a rose turned to dust;
And its storehouse of wonderful treasures
Are covered and coated with rust.
Keep out of the Past. It is haunted:
He who in its avenues gropes
Shall find there the ghost of a joy prized the most,
And a skeleton throng of dead hopes.
In place of its beautiful rivers,
Are pools that are stagnant with slime;
And these graves gleaming white in a phosphoric light,
Hide dreams that were slain in their prime.
Keep out of the Past. It is lonely,
And barren and bleak to the view;
Its fires have grown cold, and its stories are old---
Turn, turn to the Present---the New;
To-day leads you up to the hill-tops
That are kissed by the radiant sun,
To-day shows no tomb, life's hopes are in bloom,
And to-day holds a prize to be won.
Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.
. . . waste no tears
Upon the blotted record of lost years,
But turn the leaf, and smile, oh, smile to see
The fair white pages that remain for thee.
RESOLVE
Build on resolve, and not upon regret,
The structure of thy future. Do not grope
Among the shadows of old sins, but let
Thine own soul's light shine on the path of hope
And dissipate the darkness. Moist no tears
Upon the blotted record of lost years,
But turn the leaf, and smile, oh, smile, to see
The fair white pages that remain for thee.
Prate not of thy repentance. But believe
The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow.
That which the upreaching spirit can achieve
The grand and all creative forces know;
They will assist and strengthen as the light
Lifts up the acorn to the oak-tree's height.
Thou hast but to resolve, and lo! God's whole
Great universe shall fortify thy soul.
Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone,
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
SOLITUDE
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone,
For sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air,
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure.
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all---
There are none to decline your nectar'd wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917.
O man bound down with labor!
O woman young, yet old!
O heart oppressed in the toiler's breast
And crushed by the power of gold!
Keep on with your weary battle
Against triumphant might;
No question is ever settled
Until it is settled right.
AN INSPIRATION
However the battle is ended,
Though proudly the victor comes
With fluttering flags and prancing nags
And echoing roll of drums,
Still truth proclaims this motto
In letters of living light,--
No question is ever settled
Until it is settled right.
Though the heel of the strong oppressor
May grind the weak in the dust,
And the voices of fame with one acclaim
May call him great and just,
Let those who applaud take warning,
And keep this motto in sight,--
No question is ever settled
Until it is settled right.
Let those who have failed take courage;
Tho' the enemy seems to have won,
Tho' his ranks are strong, if he be in the wrong
The battle is not yet done;
For, sure as the morning follows
The darkest hour of the night,
No question is ever settled
Until it is settled right.
O man bowed down with labor!
O woman young, yet old!
O heart oppressed in the toiler's breast
And crushed by the power of gold!
Keep on with your weary battle
Against triumphant might;
No question is ever settled
Until it is settled right.
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902.
It is easy enough to be pleasant
When life flows by like a song,
But the man worth while is one who will smile
When everything goes dead wrong.
WORTH WHILE
It is easy enough to be pleasant,
When life flows by like a song,
But the man worth while is one who will smile,
When everything goes dead wrong.
For the test of the heart is trouble,
And it always comes with the years,
And the smile that is worth the praises of earth,
Is the smile that shines through tears.
It is easy enough to be prudent,
When nothing tempts you to stray,
When without or within no voice of sin
Is luring your soul away;
But it's only a negative virtue
Until it is tried by fire,
And the life that is worth the honor on earth,
Is the one that resists desire.
By the cynic, the sad, the fallen,
Who had no strength for the strife,
The world's highway is cumbered to-day,
They make up the sum of life.
But the virtue that conquers passion,
And the sorrow that hides in a smile,
It is these that are worth the homage on earth
For we find them but once in a while.
Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906.
Hide in your heart a bitter thought,
Still it has power to blight.
Think Love, although you speak it not,
It gives the world more light.
THOUGHTS
Thoughts do not need the wings of words
To fly to any goal.
Like subtle lightnings, not like birds,
They speed from soul to soul.
Hide in your heart a bitter thought
Still it has power to blight.
Think Love, although you speak it not,
It gives the world more light.
Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906.
So when the restless impulse rises, driving
Your calm content before it, do not grieve;
It is the upward reaching of the spirit,
Of the God in you to achieve, achieve!
BE NOT CONTENT
Be not content, contentment means inaction,
The growing soul aches on its upward quest;
Satiety is twin to satisfaction--
All great achievements spring from life's unrest.
The tiny roots, deep in the dark mould hiding,
Would never bless the earth with leaf and flower
Were not an inborn restlessness abiding
In seed and germ, to stir them with its power.
Were man contented with his lot forever,
He had not sought strange seas with sails unfurled,
And the vast wonder of our shores had never
Dawned on the gaze of an admiring world.
Prize what is yours, but be not quite contented,
There is a healthful restlessness of soul
By which a mighty purpose is augmented
In urging men to reach a higher goal.
So when the restless impulse rises, driving
Your calm content before it, do not grieve;
It is the upward reaching of the spirit
Of the God in you to achieve, achieve.
Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906.
O skies, be calm! O winds, blow free!
Blow all my ships safe in to me.
But if thou sendest some a-wrack!
To never more come sailing back
Send any--all that skim the sea--
But bring my love-ship home to me.
My Ship
If all the ships I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
Laden with precious gems and gold,
Ah well! the harbor could not hold
So many sails as there would be,
If all my ships came in from sea.
If half my ships came home from sea,
And brought their precious freight to me,
Ah, well! I should have wealth as great
As any king who sits in state,
So rich the treasures that would be
In half my ships now out at sea.
If just one ship I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
Ah well! the storm clouds then might frown;
For if the others all went down,
Still rich and proud, and glad, Id be,
If that one ship came back to me.
If that one ship were down at sea,
And all the others came to me,
Weighed down with gems and wealth untold,
With glory, honour, riches, gold--
The poorest soul on earth Id be
If that one ship came not to me.
O skies, be calm! O winds, blow free!
Blow all my ships safe home to me;
But if thou sendest some a-wrack
To never more come sailing back,
Send any--all that skim the sea,
But bring my love-ship home to me.
Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 191
There are blessings unnumbered about us--
Like the leaves of the forest they grow;
And the fault is our own--not the Giver's--
That we have not an Eden below.
OUR BLESSINGS
Sitting to-day in the sunshine
That touched me with fingers of love,
I thought of the manifold blessings
God scatters on earth, from above;
And they seemed, as I numbered them over,
Far more than we merit, or need,
And all that we lack is the angels
To make earth a heaven indeed.
The winter brings long, pleasant evenings,
The spring brings a promise of flowers
That summer breathes into fruition;
And autumn brings glad, golden hours.
The woodlands re-echo with music,
The moonbeams ensilver the sea;
There is sunlight and beauty about us,
And the world is as fair as can be.
But mortals are always complaining!
Each one thinks his own a sad lot,
And forgetting the good things about him,
Goes mourning for those he has not.
Instead of the star-spangled heavens,
We look on the dust at our feet;
We drain out the cup that is bitter,
Forgetting the one that is sweet.
We mourn o'er the thorn in the flower,
Forgetting its odor and bloom;
We pass by a garden of blossoms,
To weep o'er the dust of the tomb.
There are blessings unnumbered about us--
Like the leaves of the forest they grow;
And the fault is our own--not the Giver's--
That we have not Eden below.
Maurine by Ella Wheeler
Milwaukee: Cramer, Aikens & Cramer, 1876
.
Why should the poet of these pregnant times
Be asked to sing of war's unholy crimes?
Are there not better themes in this great age
For pen of poet, or for voice of sage
Than those old tales of killing? Song is dumb
Only that greater song in time may come.
When comes the bard, he whom the world waits for,
He will not sing of War.
THE POET'S THEME
"What is the explanation of the strange silence of American poets concerning America's triumphs on sea and land?"-- Literary Digest .
Why should the poet of these pregnant times
Be asked to sing of war's unholy crimes?
To laud and eulogize the trade which thrives
On horrid holocausts of human lives.
Man was a fighting beast when earth was young
And war the only theme when Homer sung.
'Twixt might and might the equal contest lay;
Not so the battles of our modern day.
Too often now the conquering hero struts
A Gulliver among the Liliputs.
Success no longer rests on skill or fate
But on the movements of a syndicate.
Of old men fought and deemed it right and just.
To-day the warrior fights because he must,
And in his secret soul feels shame because
He desecrates the higher manhood's laws.
Oh, there are worthier themes for poet's pen
In this great hour, than bloody deeds of men
Or triumphs of one hero (though he be
Deserving song for his humility).
The rights of many--not the worth of one--
The coming issues, not the battle done.
The awful opulence, and awful need--
The rise of brotherhood--the fall of greed.
The soul of man replete with God's own force,
The call "to heights" and not the cry, "to horse"--
Are there not better themes in this great age
For pen of poet, or for voice of sage
Than those old tales of killing? Song is dumb
Only that greater song in time may come.
When comes the bard, he whom the world waits for,
He will not sing of War
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902
Like one blindfolded groping out his way
I will not try to touch beyond to-day.
Since all the future is concealed from sight
I need but strive to make the next step right.
NOW
I leave with God, to-morrow's where and how,
And do concern myself but with the Now,
That little word though half the future's length
Well used, holds twice its meaning and its strength.
Like one blindfolded groping out his way,
I will not try to touch beyond to-day.
Since all the future is concealed from sight
I need but strive to make the next step right.
That done the next, and so on, till I find
Perchance some day I am no longer blind,
And looking up, behold a radiant Friend
Who says, "Rest, now, for you have reached the end."
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902.
We get what we give in our measure;
We can not give pain and get pleasure.
NEW YEAR
New Year, I look straight in your eyes,
Our ways and our interests blend,
You may be a foe in disguise
But I shall believe you a friend.
We get what we give in our measure,
We cannot give pain and get pleasure,
I give you good will and good cheer
And you must return it, New Year.
We get what we give in this life,
Though often the giver indeed
Waits long upon doubting and strife
Ere proving the truth of my Creed.
But somewhere, someway, and forever
Reward is the meed of endeavor--
And if I am really worth while,
New Year, you will give me your smile.
You hide in your mystical hand
No "luck" that I cannot control,
If I trust my own courage and stand
On the Infinite strength of my soul.
Man holds in his brain and his spirit
A power that is God-like, or near it,
And he who has measured his force
Can govern events and their course.
You come with a crown on your brow,
New Year, without blemish or spot.
Yet you, and not I, sir, must bow,
For time is the servant of thought.
Whatever you bring me of trouble
Shall turn into good and then double.
If my spirit looks up without fear
To the Source that you came from, New Year
Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906
Luck is the tuning of our inmost thought
To chord with God's great plan; that done, ah know,
Thy silent wishes to results shall grow,
And day by day shall miracles be wrought.
Once let thy being selflessly be brought
To chime with universal good, and lo
What music from the spheres shall through thee flow!
What benefits shall come to thee unsought!
LUCK
Luck is the tuning of our inmost thought
To chord with God's great plan. That done, ah, know,
Thy silent wishes to results shall grow,
And day by day shall miracles be wrought.
Once let thy being selflessly be brought
To chime with universal good, and lo!
What music from the spheres shall through thee flow!
What benefits shall come to thee unsought!
Shut out the noise of traffic! Rise above
The body's clamor! With the soul's fine ear
Attune thyself to harmonies divine.
All, all are written in the key of Love;
Keep to the score, and thou hast naught to fear,
Achievements yet undreamed of shall be thine.
Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906
Do you know what makes sweet songs
Ring for me above earth's strife?
'Tis the love, love, love
That you bring into my life.
Oh, the glory of the songs
In the heart where love belongs.
THE REASON
Do you know what moves the tides
As they swing from low to high?
'Tis the love, love, love,
Of the moon within the sky.
Oh, they follow where she guides,
Do the faithful hearted tides.
Do you know what moves the earth
Out of winter into spring?
'Tis the love, love, love,
Of the sun, the mighty king.
Oh, the rapture that finds birth,
In the kiss of sun and earth.
Do you know what makes sweet songs
Ring for me above earth's strife?
'Tis the love, love, love,
That you bring into my life,
Oh, the glory of the songs
In the heart where love belongs.
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902
The Reason.
Love is the source of all supreme delight,
Love is the bitter fountain of despair.
Who follows Love shall stand upon the height,
Yet through the darkest depths, Love, too, leads there.
Songs from the Turret.
SONGS FROM THE TURRET
Love is the source of all supreme delight,
Love is the bitter fountain of despair;
Who follows Love shall stand upon the height,
Yet through the darkest depths, Love, too, leads there.
Courage needs he who would with bold Love fare,
Let him set forth with all his strength bedight;
Yet in his heart this song to banish care--
"Love is the source of all supreme delight."
And he must sing this song both day and night,
Though he be led down shadowy pathways where
Black waters moan, through valleys struck with blight,
"Love is the bitter fountain of despair."
Let him be brave, and bravely let him dare
Whate'er betide, and feel no coward fright.
Who shares the worst, the best deserves to share;
Who follows Love shall stand upon the height.
Ah! sweet is peace to those who faced the fight,
And bright the crown those faithful ones shall wear,
Who whispered, when the shadows veiled their sight,
"Yet through the darkest depths, Love, too, leads there."
To hearts that best know Love, his dark is fair,
His sorrow gladness, and his wrong is right.
All joys lie waiting on his winding stair;
All ways, all paths of Love lead to the light.
Love is the source.
Three Women . By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago ; New York : W.B. Conkey Company, 1897
The world will never adjust itself
To suit your whims to the letter,
Some things must go wrong your whole life long,
And the sooner you know it the better.
It is folly to fight with the Infinite
And go under at last in the wrestle,
The wiser man shapes into God's plan
As water shapes into a vessel.
As You Go Through Life.
AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE
Don't look for the flaws as you go through life;
And even when you find them,
It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind
And look for the virtue behind them.
For the cloudiest night has a hint of light
Somewhere in its shadows hiding;
It is better by far to hunt for a star,
Than the spots on the sun abiding.
The current of life runs ever away
To the bosom of God's great ocean.
Don't set your force 'gainst the river's course
And think to alter its motion.
Don't waste a curse on the universe--
Remember it lived before you.
Don't butt at the storm with your puny form,
But bend and let it go o'er you.
The world will never adjust itself
To suit your whims to the letter.
Some things must go wrong your whole life long,
And the sooner you know it the better.
It is folly to fight with the Infinite,
And go under at last in the wrestle;
The wiser man shapes into God's plan
As water shapes into a vessel
Kingdom of love and How Salvator won by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago, W.B. Conkey company [1902]
A woman
Whose heart is wholly feminine and human,
And not unsexed by hobbies, likes to be
The object of that tender chivalry,--
That guardianship which man bestows on her,
Yet mixed with deference; as if she were
Half child, half angel.
I step across the mystic border-land,
And look upon the wonder-world of Art.
How beautiful, how beautiful its hills!
And all its valleys, how surpassing fair!
The winding paths that lead up to the heights
Are polished by the footsteps of the great.
The mountain-peaks stand very near to God:
The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon
Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked.
Here are no sounds of discord--no profane
Or senseless gossip of unworthy things--
Only the songs of chisels and of pens,
Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains
Of souls surcharged with music most divine.
Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief
For any day or object left behind--
For time is counted precious, and herein
Is such complete abandonment of Self
That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance
The beauty of the land where all is fair.
Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land.
Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here
Where the great artists of the world have trod--
The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth?
Only the singer of a little song;
Yet loving Art with such a mighty love
I hold it greater to have won a place
Just on the fair land's edge, to make my grave,
Than in the outer world of greed and gain
To sit upon a royal throne and reign
>Maurine.
Love largely and hate nothing; hold no aim that
does not chord with universal good.
Attainment.
ATTAINMENT
Use all your hidden forces. Do not miss
The purpose of this life, and do not wait
For circumstance to mould or change your fate.
In your own self lies Destiny. Let this
Vast truth cast out all fear, all prejudice,
All hesitation. Know that you are great,
Great with divinity. So dominate
Environment, and enter into bliss.
Love largely and hate nothing. Hold no aim
That does not chord with universal good.
Hear what the voices of the Silence say,
All joys are yours if you put forth your claim.
Once let the spiritual laws be understood,
Material things must answer and obey.
.
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902
.
However meagre be my worldly wealth,
Let me give something that shall aid my kind;
A word of courage, or a thought of health
Dropped as I pass for troubled hearts to find.
Morning Prayer.
Morning Prayer
Let me to-day do something that shall take
A little sadness from the world's vast store,
And may I be so favored as to make
Of joy's too scanty sum a little more.
Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed
Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend;
Nor would I pass, unseeing, worthy need,
Or sin by silence when I should defend.
However meager be my worldly wealth
Let me give something that shall aid my kind,
A word of courage, or a thought of health,
Dropped as I pass for troubled hearts to find.
Let me to-night look back across the span
'Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscience say--
Because of some good act to beast or man--
"The world is better that I lived to-day."
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902.
Oh, the earth is full of sinning
And of trouble, and of woe,
But the devil makes an inning
Every time you say it's so,
And the way to set him scowling,
And to put him back a pace,
Is to stop this stupid growling
And to look things in the face.
The World Grows Better.
THE WORLD GROWS BETTER
Oh, the earth is full of sinning
And of trouble and of woe,
But the devil makes an inning
Every time we say it's so.
And the way to set him scowling,
And to put him back a pace,
Is to stop this stupid growling,
And to look things in the face.
If you glance at history's pages,
In all lands and eras known,
You will find the buried ages
Far more wicked than our own.
As you scan each word and letter,
You will realize it more,
That the world to-day is better,
Than it ever was before.
There is much that needs amending
In the present time, no doubt,
There is right that needs amending,
There is wrong needs crushing out.
And we hear the groans and curses
Of the poor who starve and die
While the men with swollen purses
In the place of hearts, go by.
But in spite of all the trouble
That obscures the sun to-day
Just remember it was double,
In the ages passed away.
And those wrongs shall all be righted,
Good shall dominate the land,
For the darkness now is lighted
By the torch in Science's hand.
Forth from little motes in Chaos,
We have come to what we are,
And no evil force can stay us,
We shall mount from star to star,
We shall break each bond and fetter
That has bound us heretofore,
And the earth is surely better,
Than it ever was before
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902
Over and over and over
These truths I will say and sing,
That love is mightier far than hate;
That a man's own thought is a man's own fate,
And that life is a goodly thing.
Repetition.
REPETITION
Over and over and over
These truths I will weave in song,
That God's great plan needs you and me,
That will is greater than destiny
And that love moves the world along.
However mankind may doubt it,
It shall listen and hear my creed,
That God may ever be found within---
That the worship of self is the only sin,
And the only devil is greed.
Over and over and over
These truths I will say and sing,
That love is mightier far than hate
That a man's own thought is a man's own fate,
And that life is a goodly thing
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902
Thou canst not force my soul to wish thee ill;
That is the only evil that can kill.
Unconquered.
UNCONQUERED
HOWEVER skilled and strong art thou, my foe,
However fierce is thy relentless hate
Though firm thy hand, and strong thy aim, and straight
Thy poisoned arrow leaves the bended bow,
To pierce the target of my heart, ah! know
I am the master yet of my own fate.
Thou canst not rob me of my best estate,
Though fortune, fame and friends, yea love shall go.Not to the dust shall my true self be hurled;
Nor shall I meet thy worst assaults dismayed.
When all things in the balance are well weighed,
There is but one great .danger in the world--
Thou canst not force my soul to wish thee ill,
That is the only evil that can kill.Custer and other poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
W. B. Conkey Company Chicago, Ill. (1896)
If some despondent soul to hope is stirred,
Some sad lip made to smile,
By any act of ours, or any word,
Then life has been worth while.
Does It Pay?
"DOES IT PAY."
IF one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road,
Who meets us by the way,
Goes on less conscious of his galling load,
Then life indeed, does pay.
If we can show one troubled heart the gain,
That lies alway in loss,
Why, then, we too, are paid for all the pain
Of bearing life's hard cross.
If some despondent soul to hope is stirred,
Some sad lip made to smile,
By any act of ours, or any word,
Then, life has been worth while
.
Custer and other poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
W. B. Conkey Company Chicago, Ill. (1896)
And however dark the skies may appear,
And however souls may blunder,
I tell you it all will work out clear,
For good lies over and under.
Insight.
INSIGHT
On the river of life, as I float along,
I see with the spirit's sight
That many a nauseous weed of wrong
Has root in a seed of right.
For evil is good that has gone astray,
And sorrow is only blindness,
And the world is always under the sway
Of a changeless law of kindness.
The commonest error a truth can make
Is shouting its sweet voice hoarse,
And sin is only the soul's mistake
In misdirecting its force.
And love, the fairest of all fair things
That ever to man descended,
Grows rank with nettles and poisonous things
Unless it is watched and tended.
There could not be anything better than this
Old world in the way it began,
And though some matters have gone amiss
From the great original plan;
And however dark the skies may appear,
And however souls may blunder,
I tell you it all will work out clear,
For good lies over and under
Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906.
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 life-time's gain.
Life's Harmonies.
LIFE'S HARMONIES.
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.
Custer and other poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
W. B. Conkey Company Chicago, Ill. (1896
.
Love thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty
To those who walk beside thee down life's road;
Make glad their days by little acts of beauty
And help them bear the burden of earth's load.
Love Thyself Last.
"LOVE THYSELF LAST."
LOVE thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty
To those who walk beside thee down life's road;
Make glad their days by little acts of beauty,
And help them bear the burden of earth's load.
Love thyself last. Look far and find the stranger,
Who staggers 'neath his sin and his despair;
Go lend a hand, and lead him out of danger,
To hights where he may see the world is fair.
Love thyself last. The vastnesses above thee
Are filled with Spirit Forces, strong and pure.
And fervently, these faithful friends shall love thee:
Keep thou thy watch o'er others, and endure.
Love thyself last; and oh, such joy shall thrill thee,
As never yet to selfish souls was given.
Whate'er thy lot, a perfect peace will fill thee,
And earth shall seem the ante-room of Heaven.
Love thyself last, and thou shall grow in spirit
To see, to hear, to know, and understand.
The message of the stars, lo, thou shall hear it,
And all God's joys shall be at thy command
.
Custer and other poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
W. B. Conkey Company Chicago, Ill. (1896)
But underneath whate'er seems sad, and is not understood,
I know there lies hid from our sight a living germ of good.
And this belief stands firm by me, my sermon, motto, text--
The sorriest things in this life will seem grandest in the next.
Sorry.
SORRY
THERE is much that makes me sorry as I journey down life's way.
And I seem to see more pathos in poor human lives each day.
I'm sorry for the strong brave men, who shield the weak from harm,
But who, in their own troubled hours find no protecting arm.
I'm sorry for the victors who have reached success, to stand
As targets for the arrows shot by envious failure's hand.
I'm sorry for the generous hearts who freely shared their wine,
But drink alone the gall of tears in fortune's drear decline.
I'm sorry for the souls who build their own fame's funeral pyre,
Derided by the scornful throng like ice deriding fire.
I'm sorry for the conquering ones who know not sin's defeat,
But daily tread down fierce desire 'neath scorched and bleeding feet.
I'm sorry for the anguished hearts that break with passion's strain,
But I'm sorrier for the poor starved souls that never knew love's pain.
Who hunger on through barren years not tasting joys they crave,
For sadder far is such a lot than weeping o'er a grave.
I'm sorry for the souls that come unwelcomed into birth,
I'm sorry for the unloved old who cumber up the earth.
I'm sorry for the suffering poor in life's great maelstrom hurled,
In truth I'm sorry for them all who make this aching world.
But underneath whate'er seems sad and is not understood,
I know there lies hid from our sight a mighty germ of good.
And this belief stands firm by me, my sermon, motto, text--
The sorriest things in this life will seem grandest in the next
Custer and other poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
W. B. Conkey Company Chicago, Ill. (1896)
And 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.
Which Are You?
WHICH ARE YOU?
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
Be not impatient in delay,
But wait as one who understands;
When spirit rises and commands,
The gods are ready to obey.
Will.
WILL
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!
Custer and other poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
W. B. Conkey Company Chicago, Ill., (1896)
Go to our donations page and send a donation today to support this work!
home | about us | new additions |
great links | audio Books | Terms Of Service |
contact Serving NewThought |
Copyright © 1998, 2005, 2010 New Thought Library All rights reserved