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Desiderata
by Max Ehrman
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As
far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen
to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you
may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements
as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise
caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there
is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity
and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to
shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and
loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether
or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in
the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.
"TWO DAYS WE SHOULD NOT WORRY"
Author Unknown
There are two days in every week
about which we should not worry,
Two days which should be
Kept free from fear and apprehension.
One of these days is Yesterday
With all its mistakes and cares,
Its faults and blunders, its aches and pains.
Yesterday has passed forever beyond
our control.
All the money in the world
Cannot bring back Yesterday.
We cannot undo a single act we performed;
We cannot erase a single word we said.
Yesterday
is gone forever.
The other day we should not
Worry about is Tomorrow
With all its possible adversities, its burdens,
Its large promise and its poor performance;
Tomorrow
is also beyond our immediate control.
Tomorrow's sun will rise,
Either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds,
But it will rise.
Until it does, we have no stake in Tomorrow,
For it is yet to be born.
This leaves only
one day, Today.
Any person can fight the battle of just one day.
It is when you and I add
The burdens of those two awful eternities,
Yesterday and Tomorrow that we break down.
It is not the experience
of Today
That drives a person mad,
It is the remorse or bitterness of something
Which happened Yesterday
And the dread of what Tomorrow may bring.
Let us, therefore, Live but one day at a time.
"Captain! My Captain!"
by
Walt Whitman
Captain! my Captain!
Our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack,
The prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear,
The people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel,
The vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead!
O Captain! my Captain!
Rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up -for you the flag is flung -
For you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths -
For you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass,
Their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath
your head!
It is some dream that on the deck
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer,
His lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm,
He has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchored safe and sound,
Its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip
The victor ship comes in with object won:
Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells!
But I with mournful tread
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
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"Seven Ages Of Man"
by
William Shakespeare
All the world's a stage,
And all the
men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His
acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whiling schoolboy with
his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like
furnace, with a woeful ballad
Madew to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like
the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth.
And then, the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full
of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With
spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
Fir his shrunk shank, and his
big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That
ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans
everything,
Stopping
By Woods On A Snowy Evening"
by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To
watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between
the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's
some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and
deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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