My Name Is Trouble
My name is Trouble—I’m a busy bloke— I am the test of Courage—and of Class—
I bind the coward to a bitter yoke,
I drive the craven from the crowning pass;
Weaklings I crush before they come to fame; But as the red star guides across the night,
I train the stalwart for a better game; I drive the brave into a harder fight.
My name is Hard Luck—the wrecker of rare dreams— I follow all who seek the open fray;
I am the shadow where the far light gleams For those who seek to know the open way;
Quitters I break before they reach the crest,
But where the red field echoes with the drums,
I build the fighter for the final test
And mold the brave for any drive that comes.
My name is Sorrow—I shall come to all To block the surfeit of an endless joy;
Along the Sable Road I pay my call Before the sweetness of success can cloy;
And weaker souls shall weep amid the throng And fall before me, broken and dismayed;
But braver hearts shall know that I belong And take me in, serene and unafraid.
My name’s Defeat—but through the bitter fight,
To those who know, I’m something more than friend;
For I can build beyond the wrath of might And drive away all yellow from the blend;
For those who quit, I am the final blow,
But for the brave who seek their chance to learn,
I show the way, at last, beyond the foe,
To where the scarlet flames of triumph burn.
Song of Endeavor
Tis not by wishing that we gain the prize, Nor yet by ruing,
But from our falling, learning how to rise, And tireless doing.
The idols broken, nor our tears and sighs, May yet restore them.
Regret is only for fools; the wise Look but before them.
Nor ever yet Success was wooed with tears; To notes of gladness
Alone the fickle goddess turns her ears, She hears not sadness.
The heart thrives not in the dull rain and mist Of gloomy pining.
The sweetest flowers are the flowers sun-kissed, Where glad light’s shining.
Look not behind thee; there is only dust And vain regretting.
The lost tide ebbs; in the next flood thou must Learn, by forgetting.
For the lost chances be ye not distressed To endless weeping;
Be not the thrush that o’er the empty nest Is vigil keeping.
But in new efforts our regrets to-day To stillness whiling,
Let us in some pure purpose find the way To future smiling.
James W. Foley.
Don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens – The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
Like the star
That shines afar,
And without rest,
Let each man wheel with steady sway
Round the task that rules the day,
And do his best.
Be The Best of Whatever You Are
by Douglas Malloch
If you can’t be a pine on the top of the hill
Be a scrub in the valley—but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush if you can’t be a tree.
If you can’t be a bush be a bit of the grass,
And some highway some happier make;
If you can’t be a muskie then just be a bass—
But the liveliest bass in the lake!
We can’t all be captains, we’ve got to be crew,
There’s something for all of us here.
There’s big work to do and there’s lesser to do,
And the task we must do is the near.
If you can’t be a highway then just be a trail,
If you can’t be the sun be a star;
It isn’t by size that you win or you fail—
Be the best of whatever you are!