Poem Collection

(Feed the soul)

Hug O'War
Shel Silverstein

I will not play at tug o'war,
I'd rather play at hug o'war.
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs
And everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug.
Where everyone kisses
And everyone grins
And everyone cuddles
And everyone wins.

Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

Edwin Markham

He drew a circle that shut me out--
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him In!

Forever -- Is composed of Nows --
Emily Dickinson

Forever -- is composed of Nows --
'Tis not a different time --
Except for Infiniteness --
And Latitude of Home --

From this -- experienced Here --
Remove the Dates -- to These --
Let Months dissolve to further Monthes --
And Years -- exhale in Years --

Without Debate -- or Pause --
Or Celebrated Days --
No different Our Years would be
From Anoo Dominies --

Photo cred: Hanalei in Light of the Y

Lon Woodrum

I met a stranger in the night,
Whose lamp had ceased to shine;
I paused and let him light
His lamp from mine.

A tempest sprang up later on,
And shook the world about,
And when the wind was gone,
My lamp was out.

But back came to me the stranger--
His lamp was glowing fine;
He held the precious flame
And lighted mine.

Orson F. Whitney

Enter this door as if the floor...were gold;
And every wall of jewels all of wealth untold;
As if a choir in robes of fire were singing here;
Nor shout nor rush but hush...for God is here.

Life’s Book
Sally Pipkin

No matter what else you are doing
From cradle days through to the end,
You are writing your life's secret story--
Each night sees another page penned.

Each month ends a thirty-page chapter,
Each year means the end of a part--
And never an act is misstated
Or even one wish of the heart.

Each day when you wake, the book opens,
Revealing a page clean and white--
What thoughts and what words and what doings
Will cover its surface by night?

God leaves that to you--you're the author--
And never a word shall grow dim,
Until one day you will write the word “finished”
And give your life's book back to Him.

Little People
by John Greenleaf Whittier 

A dreary place would be this earth
Were there no little people in it;
The Song of life would lose its mirth,
Were there no children to begin it.

No little forms, like buds to grow,
And make the admiring heart surrender,
No little hands on breast and brow,
To keep the thrilling love-chords tender.

The sterner souls would grow more stern,
Unfeeling nature more inhuman,
And man to stoic coldness turn,
And Woman would be less than woman.

Life's song, indeed, would lose its charm,
Were there no babies to begin it;
A doleful place this world would be
Were there no little people in it.

Good Timber
by Douglas Mallock

Good timber does not grow with ease,
The stronger wind, the stronger trees,
The further sky, the greater length,
The more the storm the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.

Ode to little brother

Build High
by Christie Lund

Build High, my boy!  You are building a life,
A life that must go as you say.
To stand as a monument or as a shrine
On the deeds you are doing this day.

Build strong, my boy!  You are building a man,
A man that the whole world must see.
A man to be worthy or ugly and mean
Whatever you say, he must be.

Build clean, my boy!  You are building a soul,
It is forming now in the paths you trod.
A soul that in spite of the roads you walk
Must some day bear reckoning with God.

Build well, my boy!  This life, this soul,
For you can build only this one,
And the things that you do this hour, this day,
Can never be quite undone.

This life is your own, you can build as you will
There is nothing that can stop you but you,
Whatever you dream in your heart, you can be;
Your loveliest dreams can come true.

No, don’t be content to be one of the crowd
Who never aspire, who never dare try:
Go forth with this life that is yours to be lived,
And build sure, my boy, and build high!

Prayer of the Breton Fishermen
Dear God, be good to me.
The sea is so wide and my boat is so small.

The Nantucket Girl's Song

Then I'll haste to wed a sailor, and send him off to sea.
For a life of independence is the pleasant life for me.
But every now and then I shall like to see his face,
For it always seems to me to beam with manly grace,
With his brow so nobly open, and his bright and kindly eyes,
Oh my heart beats fondly towards him whenever he is nigh,
But when he says, "Goodbye my love, I'm off across the sea,"
First I cry for his departure, then laugh because I'm free.

Back of the Bread
M. D. Babcock

At the back of the bread is the flour.
At the back of the flour is the mill.
At the back of the mill is the wind
And the rain and the Father's will.

Let's be Brave
Edgar Guest

Let's be brave when the laughter dies
And the tears come into our troubled eyes,
Let's cling to the faith and the old belief
When the skies grow gray with the clouds of grief,
Let's bear the sorrow and hurt and pain
And wait till the laughter comes again.

Let's be brave when the trials come
And our hearts are sad and our lips are dumb,
Let's strengthen ourselves in the times of test
By whispering softly that God knows best;
Let us still believe, though we cannot know,
We shall learn sometime it is better so.

Let's be brave when the joy departs,
Till peace shall come to our troubled hearts,
For the tears must fall and the rain come down
And each brow be pressed to the thorny crown;
Yet after the dark shall the sun arise,
So let's be brave when the laughter dies.

Grandma Eva leaves her mark.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swifter uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines in the night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die.

Let me Walk With You

Let me walk with you
Although my steps are small.
Stay beside me, hold my hand,
And never let me fall.

Rock Me to Sleep
Elizabeth Akers Allen

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;--
Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears,--
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,--
Take them, and give me my childhood again!
I have grown weary of dust and decay,--
Weary of flinging my soul-wreath away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;--
Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,
Mother O mother, my heart calls for you!
Many a summer the grass has grown green,
Blossomed and faded, our faces between;
Yet, with the strong yearning and passionate pain,
Long I to-night for your presence again.
Come from the silence so long and so deep;--
Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures,--
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:
None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;--
Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,
Fall on your shoulders again as of old;
Let it drop over my forehead to-night,
Shading my faint eyes away from the light;
For with its sunny-edged shadoes once more
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;--
Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long
Since I last listened your lullaby song:
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
Womanhood's years have been only a dream.
Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;--
Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

1 comment:

  1. Stephanie, I have never taken time to notice that this is hear! What a jem you are!