My Virtual Reading Room

Garden Experience

It was difficult to work with; it was stubborn yellow clay,
So we dug it from the garden and we threw it all away,
And we bought a load of top soil, very rich and very black,
Which with scarcely any effort, would with blossoms pay us back.

Yellow clay is dull to work with and it bakes beneath the sun
And the man who has to fight it knows his work seems never done.
So we threw it in the alley, for impatient folks are we,
And we wanted flowers in summer without such a costly fee.

But our roses failed to flourish and we saw them pine and die,
And we called upon a gardener who knew to tell us why.
He looked the bushes over in his wise and kindly way
And said, "If you want roses what you need is yellow clay."

In our ignorance we'd fancied only richer soils were good.
That the heavy clay held virtue we had never understood.
It had seemed so dull and stubborn that we found to our dismay
We had had the stuff for roses, but had thrown it all away.

(Edgar A. Guest)

Great post-EMPT story:

rileyc.livejournal.com/560615.html

As It Is

I might wish the world were better,
I might sit around and sigh
For a water that is wetter
And a bluer sort of sky.

There are times I think the weather
Could be much improved upon,
But when taken altogether
It's a good old world we're on.

I might tell how I would make it,
But when I have had my say
It is still my job to take it
As it is, from day to day.

I might wish that men were kinder,
And less eager after gold;
I might wish that they were blinder
To the faults they now behold.

And I'd try to make them gentle,
And more tolerant in strife
And a bit more sentimental
O'er the finer things of life.

But I am not here to make them,
Or to work in human clay;
It is just my work to take them
As they are from day to day.

Here's a world that suffers sorrow,
Here are bitterness and pain,
And the joy we plan to-morrow
May be ruined by the rain.

Here are hate and greed and badness,
Here are love and friendship, too,
But the most of it is gladness
When at last we've run it through.

Could we only understand it
As we shall some distant day,
We should see that He who planned it
Knew our needs along the way.

(Edgar A. Guest)

You know who you are! XD

Cat

THE ORGANIST

"I played so badly," said the organist,
"I'm thankful but a few
Came here to-night through all the fog and mist
To hear me through.

"My fingers seemed to fumble with the keys
As if, they, too, were proud
And would not bend a little, just to please
So small and poor a crowd."

And saying this, he left the cold, dim hall;
But one there was who stayed,
Still lingering, as if trying to recall
Some melody he'd played.

"How glorious it was!" she said to me.
"What matters rain,
When one by music can uplifted be
Above all pain?"

And so I set this down in hope that he
May learn and smile,
Finding that work, which poor he deemed to be,
Was still worth while.

(Edgar A. Guest)

My Goals

A little braver when the skies are gray,
A little stronger when the road seems long,
A little more of patience through the day,
And not so quick to magnify a wrong.

A little kinder, both of thought and deed,
A little gentler with the old and weak,
Swifter to sense another's pressing need,
And not so fast the hurtful phrase to speak.

These are my goals--not flung beyond my power,
Not dreams of glory, beautiful but vain,
Not the great heights where buds of genius flower,
But simple splendors which I ought to gain.

These I can do and be from day to day
Along the humble pathway where I plod,
So that at last when I am called away
I need not make apologies to God.

(Edgar A. Guest)