‘A Lyttl Sooth Sermun.’
If, on December 31,
When the old year is nearly run,
And night is nearing twelve o’clock,
You turn your mind to taking stock,
Seeking what progress has been made,
What ghosts of ancient evil laid,
What combats fought and lost or won,
What has been thought and said and done-
Your conscience fills the debit side
With scenes of sin and evil pride ;
Of man still chewing Disobedience,
And putting Good below Expedience ;
Of craft and fear, and fraud and guile,
Where all, including Man, is vile ;
Of spite and strife, of hates and wars,
Of prejudice and Man-made laws
In short, an out-of-joint-ful time,
As vulgar as my cockney rhyme. . . .
Now, as you stand two years between,
Now consider the might-have-been ;
Look you back and count the cost
Of every little moment lost ;
The moment’s gone, and though you would
You cannot make that moment good ;
And you who walked and would not run,
Have lost the race you might have won.
To get the whole world out of bed,
And washed, and dressed, and warmed, and fed,
To work, and back to bed again,
Believe me, Saul, costs worlds of fain.
The poet sees, in those four verses,
Gleams of everlasting mercies. . . .
So when the morning rises red,
Remember that the world’s in bed,
And you have got to share its pain
Before it gets to bed again.
Go out into the dust and heat,
And justify the food you eat ;
Mind, if you overeat, you burke
Excess by equal overwork,
For body and spirit and mind likewise
Thrive alone by exercise.
Success won’t keep your spirit hale ;
Sometimes it’s good for you to fail ;
But when you fail, do not complain,
But take your failure up again,
And turn to see its other side :
All will not fail, if all be tried.
And should you hear the weakling drone,
‘ He runs the best who runs alone,’
Tell him he lives by means, not ends ;
You cannot run without your friends ;
And friends are they to whom you give
All that can help them best to live ;
And though the giving of all your store
Only burdens you the more,
Grin and bear it and having grinned,
You’ll find, maybe, your second wind !
So give yourself, nor strike a balance
Between your tales of toils and talents :
All for all, not each for each . . .
And so, once more into the breach !
(Frank Sidgwick)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, World Poems, Night Poems, Mind Poems, Time Poems, War & Peace Poems, Friendship Poems, Fear Poems, Success Poems, Belief & Faith Poems, Morning PoemsBased on Keywords: man-made, combats, burke, weakling, might-have-been, cockney, overwork, expedience, debit, overeat