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!