The World's Need

Source: Favim

So many gods, so many creeds-- 

So many paths that wind and wind, 

While just the art of being kind 

Is all the sad world needs.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

All Roads That Lead To God Are Good

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

All roads that lead to God are good.
What matters it, your faith, or mine?
Both centre at the goal divine
Of love’s eternal Brotherhood.

The kindly life in house or street –
The life of prayer and mystic rite –
The student’s search for truth and light –
These paths at one great Junction meet.

Before the oldest book was writ,
Full many a prehistoric soul
Arrived at this unchanging goal,
Through changeless Love, that leads to it.

What matters that one found his Christ
In rising sun, or burning fire?
In faith within him did not tire,
His longing for the Truth sufficed.

Before our modern hell was brought
To edify the modern world,
Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled
In lakes of fire by its own thought.

A thousand creeds have come and gone,
But what is that to you or me?
Creeds are but branches of a tree –
The root of love lives on and on.

Though branch by branch proved withered wood,
The root is warm with precious wine.
Then keep your faith, and leave me mine –
All roads that lead to God are good.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

All Roads That Lead To God Are Good

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

All roads that lead to God are good.
What matters it, your faith, or mine?
Both centre at the goal divine
Of love’s eternal Brotherhood.

The kindly life in house or street –
The life of prayer and mystic rite –
The student’s search for truth and light –
These paths at one great Junction meet.

Before the oldest book was writ,
Full many a prehistoric soul
Arrived at this unchanging goal,
Through changeless Love, that leads to it.

What matters that one found his Christ
In rising sun, or burning fire?
In faith within him did not tire,
His longing for the Truth sufficed.

Before our modern hell was brought
To edify the modern world,
Full many a hate-filled soul was hurled
In lakes of fire by its own thought.

A thousand creeds have come and gone,
But what is that to you or me?
Creeds are but branches of a tree –
The root of love lives on and on.

Though branch by branch proved withered wood,
The root is warm with precious wine.
Then keep your faith, and leave me mine –
All roads that lead to God are good.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life's Harmonies

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

__________________________________

If I were asked to give what I consider the single most useful bit of advice for all humanity it would be this: Expect trouble as an inevitable part of life and when it comes, hold you head high, look it squarely in eye and say, "I will be bigger than you. You cannot defeat me." ~ Ann Landers

Life's Harmonies

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

__________________________________

If I were asked to give what I consider the single most useful bit of advice for all humanity it would be this: Expect trouble as an inevitable part of life and when it comes, hold you head high, look it squarely in eye and say, "I will be bigger than you. You cannot defeat me." ~ Ann Landers

It Might Have Been

Photo credit: darnok from morguefile.com

We will be what we could be. Do not say,

"It might have been, had not this, or that, or this."

No fate can keep us from the chosen way;

He only might who is.

We will do what we could do. Do not dream

Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve.

I hold, all men are greatly what they seem;

He does, who could achieve.

We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not

Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height.

What eagle ever missed the peak he sought?

He always climbs who might.

I do not like the phrase "It might have been!"

It lacks force, and life's best truths perverts:

For I believe we have, and reach, and win,

Whatever our deserts.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

It Might Have Been

Photo credit: darnok from morguefile.com

We will be what we could be. Do not say,

"It might have been, had not this, or that, or this."

No fate can keep us from the chosen way;

He only might who is.

We will do what we could do. Do not dream

Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve.

I hold, all men are greatly what they seem;

He does, who could achieve.

We will climb where we could climb. Tell me not

Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height.

What eagle ever missed the peak he sought?

He always climbs who might.

I do not like the phrase "It might have been!"

It lacks force, and life's best truths perverts:

For I believe we have, and reach, and win,

Whatever our deserts.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Which are You?

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

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?

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Which are You?

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

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?

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

In the Long Run

Photo credit: puravida from morguefile.com

In the long run fame finds the deserving man.
The lucky wight may prosper for a day,
But in good time true merit leads the van,
And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way.
There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,
But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,
In the long run.

In the long run all goodly sorrow pays,
There is no better thing than righteous pain,
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,
Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,
But sorrow yields a glorious dividend
In the long run.

In the long run all hidden things are known,
The eye of truth will penetrate the night,
And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,
However well 't is guarded from the light.
All the unspoken motives of the breast
Are fathomed by the years and stand confest
In the long run.

In the long run all love is paid by love,
Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;
The great eternal Government above
Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.
Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;
So beautiful a thing was never lost
In the long run.

- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

In the Long Run

Photo credit: puravida from morguefile.com

In the long run fame finds the deserving man.
The lucky wight may prosper for a day,
But in good time true merit leads the van,
And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way.
There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,
But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,
In the long run.

In the long run all goodly sorrow pays,
There is no better thing than righteous pain,
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,
Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end,
But sorrow yields a glorious dividend
In the long run.

In the long run all hidden things are known,
The eye of truth will penetrate the night,
And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,
However well 't is guarded from the light.
All the unspoken motives of the breast
Are fathomed by the years and stand confest
In the long run.

In the long run all love is paid by love,
Though undervalued by the hosts of earth;
The great eternal Government above
Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth.
Give thy love freely; do not count the cost;
So beautiful a thing was never lost
In the long run.

- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life

Photo credit: inatashko from morguefile.com

All in the dark we grope along,
And if we go amiss
We learn at least which path is wrong,
And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race,
By only running right,
We have to tread the mountain's base
Before we reach its height.

The Christs alone no errors made;
So often had they trod
The paths that lead through light and shade,
They had become as God.

As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again,
They passed along the way,
And left those mighty truths which men
But dimly grasp to-day.

But he who loves himself the last
And knows the use of pain,
Though strewn with errors all his past,
He surely shall attain.

Some souls there are that needs must taste
Of wrong, ere choosing right;
We should not call those years a waste
Which led us to the light.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life

Photo credit: inatashko from morguefile.com

All in the dark we grope along,
And if we go amiss
We learn at least which path is wrong,
And there is gain in this.

We do not always win the race,
By only running right,
We have to tread the mountain's base
Before we reach its height.

The Christs alone no errors made;
So often had they trod
The paths that lead through light and shade,
They had become as God.

As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again,
They passed along the way,
And left those mighty truths which men
But dimly grasp to-day.

But he who loves himself the last
And knows the use of pain,
Though strewn with errors all his past,
He surely shall attain.

Some souls there are that needs must taste
Of wrong, ere choosing right;
We should not call those years a waste
Which led us to the light.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Solitude

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

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.

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 nectared 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 long and lordly train,

But one by one we must all file on

Through the narrow aisles of pain.

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Solitude

Photo credit: hotblack from morguefile.com

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.

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 nectared 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 long and lordly train,

But one by one we must all file on

Through the narrow aisles of pain.

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Thanksgiving

Photo credit: blinkbaby1822 from morguefile.com

We walk on starry fields of white

And do not see the daisies;

For blessings common in our sight

We rarely offer praises.

We sigh for some supreme delight

To crown our lives with splendor,

And quite ignore our daily store

Of pleasures sweet and tender.

Our cares are bold and push their way

Upon our thought and feeling.

They hang about us all the day,

Our time from pleasure stealing.

So unobtrusive many a joy

We pass by and forget it,

But worry strives to own our lives

And conquers if we let it.

There’s not a day in all the year

But holds some hidden pleasure,

And looking back, joys oft appear

To brim the past’s wide measure.

But blessings are like friends, I hold,

Who love and labor near us.

We ought to raise our notes of praise

While living hearts can hear us.

Full many a blessing wears the guise

Of worry or of trouble.

Farseeing is the soul and wise

Who knows the mask is double.

But he who has the faith and strength

To thank his God for sorrow

Has found a joy without alloy

To gladden every morrow.

We ought to make the moments notes

Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;

The hours and days a silent phrase

Of music we are living.

And so the theme should swell and grow

As weeks and months pass o’er us,

And rise sublime at this good time,

A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Thanksgiving

Photo credit: blinkbaby1822 from morguefile.com

We walk on starry fields of white

And do not see the daisies;

For blessings common in our sight

We rarely offer praises.

We sigh for some supreme delight

To crown our lives with splendor,

And quite ignore our daily store

Of pleasures sweet and tender.

Our cares are bold and push their way

Upon our thought and feeling.

They hang about us all the day,

Our time from pleasure stealing.

So unobtrusive many a joy

We pass by and forget it,

But worry strives to own our lives

And conquers if we let it.

There’s not a day in all the year

But holds some hidden pleasure,

And looking back, joys oft appear

To brim the past’s wide measure.

But blessings are like friends, I hold,

Who love and labor near us.

We ought to raise our notes of praise

While living hearts can hear us.

Full many a blessing wears the guise

Of worry or of trouble.

Farseeing is the soul and wise

Who knows the mask is double.

But he who has the faith and strength

To thank his God for sorrow

Has found a joy without alloy

To gladden every morrow.

We ought to make the moments notes

Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;

The hours and days a silent phrase

Of music we are living.

And so the theme should swell and grow

As weeks and months pass o’er us,

And rise sublime at this good time,

A grand Thanksgiving chorus.

-- Ella Wheeler Wilcox

As You Go Through Life

Photo credit: kakisky from morguefile.com

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’s 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.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

As You Go Through Life

Photo credit: kakisky from morguefile.com

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’s 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.

~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I told you

Photo credit: anon from morguefile.com

I told you the winter would go, love,
I told you the winter would go,
That he'd flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.
You said the blustering fellow
Would never yield to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death
The flowers, the birds, and trees.

And I told you the snow would melt, love,
In the passionate glance o' the sun;
And the leaves o' the trees, and the flowers and bees,
Would come back again, one by one.
That the great, gray clouds would vanish,
And the sky turn tender and blue;
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring
And, love, it has all come true.

I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again;
That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.

I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and full of warm light
That 'twould waken at length, in its smile.
Ah, love! was I not a true prophet?
There's a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown - the snow-drift is gone,
And the buttercups bloom in its place.

- by Ella Wheeler Wilcox