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Inspirational Poems
Inspirational Poems
Inspirational Poems
Invictus When you get what you want in your struggle for pelf,
And the world makes you King for a day,
Out of the night that covers me, Then go to the mirror and look at yourself,
Black as the pit from pole to pole, And see what that guy has to say.
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul. For it isn't your Father, or Mother, or Wife,
Who judgement upon you must pass.
In the fell clutch of circumstance The feller whose verdict counts most in your life
I have not winced nor cried aloud. Is the guy staring back from the glass.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed. He's the feller to please, never mind all the rest,
For he's with you clear up to the end,
Beyond this place of wrath and tears And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
Looms but the Horror of the shade, If the guy in the glass is your friend.
And yet the menace of the years
You may be like Jack Horner and "chisel" a plum,
And think you're a wonderful guy,
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
If you can't look him straight in the eye. Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
You can fool the whole world down the pathway of years, But has trouble enough of its own.
And get pats on the back as you pass, Sing, and the hills will answer;
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears Sigh, it is lost on the air;
If you've cheated the guy in the glass. The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
- Dale Wimbrow 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.
I bargained with Life for a penny, Be glad, and your friends are many;
And Life would pay no more, Be sad, and you lose them all-
However I begged at evening There are none to decline your nectared wine,
When I counted my scanty store; But alone you must drink life's gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
For Life is a just employer, Fast, and the world goes by.
He gives you what you ask, Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But once you have set the wages, But no man can help you die.
Why, you must bear the task. There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
I worked for a menial's hire, But one by one we must all file on
Only to learn, dismayed, Through the narrow aisles of pain.
That any wage I had asked of Life,
Life would have paid.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Jessie B. Rittenhouse
Life is a game with a glorious prize,
If we can only play it right.
It is give and take, build and break,
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And often it ends in a fight;
And sorry I could not travel both But he surely wins who honestly tries
And be one traveler, long I stood (Regardless of wealth or fame),
And looked down one as far as I could He can never despair who plays it fair
To where it bent in the undergrowth; How are you playing the game?
Then took the other, as just as fair, Do you wilt and whine, if you fail to win
And having perhaps the better claim, In the manner you think your due?
Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Do you sneer at the man in case that he can
Though as for that the passing there And does, do better than you?
Had worn them really about the same, Do you take your rebuffs with a knowing grin?
Do you laugh tho' you pull up lame?
And both that morning equally lay Does your faith hold true when the whole world's blue?
In leaves no step had trodden black. How are you playing the game?
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way, Get into the thick of it - wade in, boys!
I doubted if I should ever come back. Whatever your cherished goal;
Brace up your will till your pulses thrill,
I shall be telling this with a sigh And you dare to your very soul!
Somewhere ages and ages hence: Do something more than make a noise;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— Let your purpose leap into flame
I took the one less traveled by, As you plunge with a cry, "I shall do or die,"
And that has made all the difference. Then you will be playing the game.
Anonymous
Robert Frost
If you sit down at set of sun The Fighter
And count the acts that you have done,
And, counting, find I fight a battle every day
One self-denying deed, one word Against discouragement and fear;
That eased the heart of him who heard-- Some foe stands always in my way,
One glance most kind, The path ahead is never clear!
That fell like sunshine where it went-- I must forever be on guard
Then you may count that day well spent. Against the doubts that skulk along;
I get ahead by fighting hard,
But if, through all the livelong day, But fighting keeps my spirit strong.
You've cheered no heart, by yea or nay--
If, through it all I hear the croakings of Despair,
You've nothing done that you can trace The dark predictions of the weak;
That brought the sunshine to one face-- I find myself pursued by Care,
No act most small No matter what the end I seek;
That helped some soul and nothing cost-- My victories are small and few,
Then count that day as worse than lost. It matters not how hard I strive;
Each day the fight begins anew,
But fighting keeps my hopes alive.
George Eliot
My dreams are spoiled by circumstance,
My plans are wrecked by Fate or Luck;
It isn't the thing you do, dear, Some hour, perhaps, will bring my chance,
Its the thing you leave undone But that great hour has never struck;
That gives you a bit of a heartache My progress has been slow and hard,
At setting of the sun. I've had to climb and crawl and swim,
The tender work forgotten, Fighting for every stubborn yard,
The letter you did not write, But I have kept in fighting trim.
The flowers you did not send, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts at night. I have to fight my doubts away,
And be on guard against my fears;
The stone you might have lifted The feeble croaking of Dismay
Out of a brother's way; Has been familiar through the years;
The bit of heartsome counsel My dearest plans keep going wrong,
You were hurried too much to say; Events combine to thwart my will,
The loving touch of the hand, dear, But fighting keeps my spirit strong,
The gentle, winning tone And I am undefeated still!
Which you had no time nor thought for
With troubles enough of your own. S.E. Kiser
Those little acts of kindness If you can't be a pine on the top of the hill
So easily out of mind, Be a scrub in the valley--but be
Those chances to be angels The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Which we poor mortals find Be a bush if you can't be a tree.
They come in night and silence,
Each sad, reproachful wraith, If you can't be a bush be a bit of the grass,
When hope is faint and flagging, And some highway some happier make;
And a chill has fallen on faith. If you can't be a muskie then just be a bass--
But the liveliest bass in the lake!
For life is all too short, dear,
And sorrow is all to great, We can't all be captains, we've got to be crew,
To suffer our slow compassion There's something for all of us here.
That tarries until too late: There's big work to do and there's lesser to do,
And it isn't the thing you do, dear, And the task we must do is the near.
It's the thing you leave undone
Which gives you a bit of heartache If you can't be a highway then just be a trail,
At the setting of the sun. If you can't be the sun be a star;
It isn't by size that you win or you fail--
Be the best of whatever you are!
Margaret E. Sangster
Douglas Malloch
For once it is welcomed 'twill break any
How often we wish for another chance man;
to make a fresh beginning. Whatever the goal you are seeking, keep trying
A chance to blot out our mistakes And answer this demon by saying: "I can."
And change failure into winning.
It does not take a new day
To make a brand new start, Edgar A. Guest
It only takes a deep desire
To try with all our heart.
To live a little better
And to always be forgiving
And to add a little sunshine
To the world in which we're living.
So never give up in despair
And think that you are through,
For there's always a tomorrow If the day looks kinder gloomy
And the hope of starting new. And your chances kinder slim,
If the situation's puzzlin'
And the prospect's awful grim,
Helen Steiner Rice If perplexities keep pressin'
Till hope is nearly gone,
Just bristle up and grit your teeth
Can't is the worst word that's written or spoken; And keep on keepin' on.
Doing more harm here than slander and lies;
On it is many a strong spirit broken, Frettin' never wins a fight
And with it many a good purpose dies. And fumin' never pays;
It springs from the lips of the thoughtless each There ain't no use in broodin'
morning In these pessimistic ways;
And robs us of courage we need through the Smile just kinder cheerfully
day: Though hope is nearly gone,
It rings in our ears like a timely-sent warning And bristle up and grit your teeth
And laughs when we falter and fall by the And keep on keepin' on.
way.
There ain't no use in growlin'
Can't is the father of feeble endeavor, And grumblin' all the time,
The parent of terror and half-hearted work; When music's ringin' everywhere
It weakens the efforts of artisans clever, And everything's a rhyme.
And makes of the toiler an indolent shirk. Just keep on smilin' cheerfully
It poisons the soul of the man with a vision, If hope is nearly gone,
It stifles in infancy many a plan; And bristle up and grit your teeth
It greets honest toiling with open derision And keep on keepin' on.
And mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a
man.
Anonymous
Can't is a word none should speak without
blushing;
To utter it should be a symbol of shame; To keep my health!
Ambition and courage it daily is crushing; To do my work!
It blights a man's purpose and shortens his To live!
aim. To see to it I grow and gain and give!
Despise it with all of your hatred of error; Never to look behind me for an hour!
Refuse it the lodgment it seeks in your brain; To wait in weakness, and to walk in power;
Arm against it as a creature of terror, But always fronting onward to the light,
And all that you dream of you some day shall Always and always facing towards the right.
gain. Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide astray--
On, with what strength I have!
Can't is the word that is foe to ambition, Back to the way!
An enemy ambushed to shatter your will;
Its prey is forever the man with a mission
And bows but to courage and patience and Charlotte Perkins Gilman
skill.
Hate it, with hatred that's deep and undying,
Stand forth, my soul, and grip thy woe, Today upon a bus I saw a girl with golden hair;
Buckle the sword and face thy foe. She seemed so gay, I envied her, and wished that I were
What right hast thou to be afraid half so fair;
When all the universe will aid? I watched her as she rose to leave, and saw her hobble
Ten thousand rally to thy name, down the aisle.
Horses and chariots of flame. She had one leg and wore a crutch, but as she passed--a
Do others fear? Do others fail? smile.
My soul must grapple and prevail. Oh, God, forgive me when I whine;
My soul must scale the mountainside I have two legs--the world is mine.
And with the conquering army ride--
Stand forth, my soul! Later on I bought some sweets. The boy who sold them
had such charm,
Stand forth, my soul, and take command. I thought I'd stop and talk awhile. If I were late, t'would do
'Tis I, thy master, bid thee stand. no harm.
Claim thou thy ground and thrust thy foe, And as we talked he said, "thank you, sir, you've really
Plead not thine enemy should go. been so kind .
Let others cringe! My soul is free, It's nice to talk to folks like you because, you see, I'm
No hostile host can conquer me. blind."
There lives no circumstance so great Oh, God , forgive me when I whine;
Can make me yield, or doubt my fate. I have two eyes--the world is mine.
My soul must know what kings have known.
Must reach and claim its rightful throne-- Later, walking down the street, I met a boy with eyes so
Stand forth, my soul! blue.
But he stood and watched the others play, it seemed he
Angela Morgan knew not what to do.
I paused, and then I said," Why don't you join the others,
dear?"
But he looked straight ahead without a word, and then I
Nothing to do but work, knew, he couldn't hear.
Nothing to eat but food,
Nothing to wear but clothes Oh, God forgive me when I whine;
To keep one from going nude. I have two ears--the world is mine.
Two legs to take me where I go,
Nothing to breathe but air Two eyes to see the sunset's glow,
Quick as a flash 'tis gone; Two ears to hear all I should know,
Nowhere to fall but off, Oh, God, forgive me when I whine;
Nowhere to stand but on. I'm blest, indeed, the world is mine.
Nothing to see but sights, "What of Abe Lincoln?" I asked. "Would you say
Nothing to quench but thirst, That he was much richer than you are to-day?
Nothing to have but what we've got; He hadn't your chance of making his mark,
Thus thro' life we are cursed. And his outlook was often exceedingly dark;
Yet he clung to his purpose with courage most grim
Nothing to strike but a gait; And he got to the top. Was the world against him?
Everything moves that goes.
Nothing at all but common sense "What of Ben Franklin? I've oft heard it said
Can ever withstand these woes. That many a time he went hungry to bed.
He started with nothing but courage to climb,
But patiently struggled and waited his time.
Ben King He dangled awhile from real poverty's limb,
Yet he got to the top. Was the world against him?
"I could name you a dozen, yes, hundreds, I guess, While his tortured heart is crying and he lifts beseeching
Of poor boys who've patiently climbed to success; hands!--
All boys who were down and who struggled alone, How she bends, but never breaks,
Who'd have thought themselves rich if your fortune they'd When his good she undertakes....
known; How she uses whom she chooses
Yet they rose in the world you're so quick to condemn, And with every purpose fuses him,
And I'm asking you now, was the world against them?" By every art induces him
To try his splendor out--
Nature knows what she's about.
Edgar A. Guest
When Nature wants to take a man
And shake a man
And wake a man;
When Nature wants to make a man
To do the Future's will;
When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child, When she tries with all her skill
And Death looks you bang in the eye, And she yearns with all her soul
And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle To create him large and whole....
To cock your revolver and . . . die. With what cunning she prepares him!
But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"
And self-dissolution is barred. How she goads and never spares him,
In hunger and woe, oh, it's easy to blow . . . How she whets him and she frets him
It's the hell-served-for-breakfast that's hard. And in poverty begets him....
How she often disappoints
"You're sick of the game!" Well, now that's a shame. Whom she sacredly anoints,
You're young and you're brave and you're bright. With what wisdom she will hide him,
"You've had a raw deal!" I know — but don't squeal, Never minding what betide him
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight. Though his genius sob with slighting and his pride may
It's the plugging away that will win you the day, not forget!
So don't be a piker, old pard! Bids him struggle harder yet.
Just draw on your grit, it's so easy to quit. Makes him lonely
It's the keeping-your chin-up that's hard. So that only
God's high messages shall reach him
It's easy to cry that you're beaten — and die; So that she may surely teach him
It's easy to crawfish and crawl; What the Hierarchy planned.
But to fight and to fight when hope's out of sight —
Why that's the best game of them all! Though he may not understand
And though you come out of each gruelling bout, Gives him passions to command--
All broken and battered and scarred, How remorselessly she spurs him,
Just have one more try — it's dead easy to die, With terrific ardor stirs him
It's the keeping-on-living that's hard. When she poignantly prefers him!
S.E. Kiser
Author Unknown
Start where you stand and never mind the past, With doubt and dismay you are smitten
The past won't help you in beginning new, You think there's no chance for you, son?
If you have left it all behind at last Why, the best books haven't been written
Why, that's enough, you're done with it, you're through; The best race hasn't been run,
This is another chapter in the book, The best score hasn't been made yet,
This is another race that you have planned, The best song hasn't been sung,
Don't give the vanished days a backward look, The best tune hasn't been played yet,
Start where you stand. Cheer up, for the world is young!
The world won't care about your old defeats No chance? Why the world is just eager
If you can start anew and win success, For things that you ought to create
The future is your time, and time is fleet Its store of true wealth is still meagre
Its needs are incessant and great, To help folks along with a hand and a song;
It yearns for more power and beauty Why, there's the real sunshine of living.
More laughter and love and romance,
More loyalty, labor and duty, Carry on! Carry on!
No chance--why there's nothing but chance! Fight the good fight and true;
Believe in your mission, greet life with a cheer;
For the best verse hasn't been rhymed yet, There's big work to do, and that's why you are here.
The best house hasn't been planned, Carry on! Carry on!
The highest peak hasn't been climbed yet, Let the world be better for you;
The mightiest rivers aren't spanned, And at last when you die, let this be your cry:
Don't worry and fret, faint hearted, Carry on, my soul! Carry on!
The chances have just begun,
For the Best jobs haven't been started,
The Best work hasn't been done. Robert Service
Berton Braley
If you want a thing bad enough
To go out and fight for it,
Work day and night for it,
It's easy to fight when everything's right, Give up your time and your peace and your sleep for it
And you're mad with the thrill and the glory; If only desire of it
It's easy to cheer when victory's near, Makes you quite mad enough
And wallow in fields that are gory. Never to tire of it,
It's a different song when everything's wrong. Makes you hold all other things tawdry and cheap for it
When you're feeling infernally mortal; If life seems all empty and useless without it
When it's ten against one, and hope there is none, And all that you scheme and you dream is about it,
Buck up, little soldier, and chortle; If gladly you'll sweat for it,
Fret for it,
Carry on! Carry on! Plan for it,
There isn't much punch in your blow. Lose all your terror of God or man for it,
You're glaring and staring and hitting out blind; If you'll simply go after that thing that you want,
You're muddy and bloody, but never you mind. With all your capacity,
Carry on! Carry on! Strength and sagacity,
You haven't the ghost of a show. Faith, hope and confidence, stern pertinacity,
It's looking like death, but while you've a breath, If neither cold poverty, famished and gaunt,
Carry on, my son! Carry on! Nor sickness nor pain
Of body or brain
And so in the strife of the battle of life Can turn you away from the thing that you want,
It's easy to fight when you're winning; If dogged and grim you besiege and beset it,
It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave, You'll get it!
When the dawn of success is beginning.
But the man who can meet despair and defeat Berton Braley
With a cheer, there's the man of God's choosing;
The man who can fight to Heaven's own height
Is the man who can fight when he's losing. Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
Carry on! Carry on! That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
Things never were looking so black. Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.
But show that you haven't a cowardly streak, So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
And though you're unlucky you never are weak. on his face. If he worried he hid it.
Carry on! Carry on! He started to sing as he tackled the thing
Brace up for another attack. That couldn't be done, and he did it.
It's looking like hell, but -- you never can tell:
Carry on, old man! Carry on! Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it";
There are some who drift out in the deserts of doubt, But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And some who in brutishness wallow; And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.
There are others, I know, who in piety go With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Because of a Heaven to follow. Without any doubting or quiddit,
But to labour with zest, and to give of your best, He started to sing as he tackled the thing
For the sweetness and joy of the giving; That couldn't be done, and he did it.
Give me no pity, nor spare me;
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, Calm not the wrath of my Foe.
There are thousands to prophesy failure; See where he beckons to dare me!
There are thousands to point out to you one by one, Bleeding, half beaten--I go.
The dangers that wait to assail you. Not for the glory of winning,
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin, Not for the fear of the night;
Just take off your coat and go to it; Shunning the battle is sinning--
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing Oh, spare me the heart to fight!
That "cannot be done," and you'll do it.
Red is the mist about me;
Edgar A. Guest Deep is the wound in my side;
"Coward" thou criest to flout me?
O terrible Foe, thou hast lied!
Everything's easy after it's done; Here with my battle before me,
Every battle's a "cinch" that's won; God of the fighting Clan,
Every problem is clear that's solved-- Grant that the woman who bore me
The earth was round when it revolved! Suffered to suckle a Man!
But Washington stood amid grave doubt
With enemy forces camped about; John G. Neihardt
He could not know how he would fare
Till after he'd crossed the Delaware.
Hold to the course, though the storms are about you;
Though the river was full of ice Stick to the road where the banner still flies;
He did not think about it twice, Fate and his legions are ready to rout you--
But started across in the dead of night, Give 'em both barrels--and aim for their eyes.
The enemy waiting to open the fight.
Likely feeling pretty blue, Life's not a rose bed, a dream or a bubble,
Being human, same as you, A living in clover beneath cloudless skies;
But he was brave amid despair, And Fate hates a fighter who's looking for trouble,
And Washington crossed the Delaware! So give 'im both barrels--and shoot for the eyes.
So when you're with trouble beset, Fame never comes to the loafers and sitters,
And your spirits are soaking wet, Life's full of knots in a shifting disguise;
When all the sky with clouds is black, Fate only picks on the cowards and quitters,
Don't lie down upon your back So give 'em both barrels--and aim for the eyes.
And look at them. Just do the thing;
Though you are choked, still try to sing. Grantland Rice
If times are dark, believe them fair,
And you will cross the Delaware!