Wednesday, October 30, 2013

When This Day is Done...

Oh, when this day is done
Its jargon and its jest
And when the morning sun
Melts bronze beneath the west
Will we, when it is gone
Sealed in past’s soldered chest
Be satisfied because
We offered it our best?

Oh, when this little day
Joins history’s mute cast
To spill its gold and gray
In pictures of the past
And when its echoes splay
In memory’s caress
Will we be glad to say
Today we did our best?

When dusk returns to hide
This ripple in Time’s stream
And claim within its tide
The discourse of its dream
When this day’s stills its stride
To rest where all days rest
Will we be satisfied
Because we did our best?

© Janet Martin

Life is What We Make Of It
by Edgar A. Guest
Life is a jest;
Take the delight of it.
Laughter is best;
Sing through the night of it.
Swiftly the tear
And the hurt and the ache of it
Find us down here;
Life must be what we make of it.

 Life is a song;
Dance to the thrill of it.
Grief's hours are long,
And cold is the chill of it.
Joy is man's need;
Let us smile for the sake of it.
This be our creed:
Life must be what we make of it.

Life is a soul;
The virtue and vice of it,
Strife for a goal,
And man's strength is the price of it.
Your life and mine,
The bare bread and the cake of it
End in this line:
Life must be what we make of it.

I think it is safe to say I love every single one of his poems!

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!