failure

Failure is a rocky hill:

   Climb it! Climb it with a will!

Failure is a broken bone:

   Set it! Grin, and do not groan!

Failure is a tangled string:

   Puzzle out the knotted thing!

Failure is a river swift:

   Swim it! Swim, and do not drift!

Failure is a black morass:

   Cross it! There are tufts of grass!

Failure is a treacherous pit:

   Scramble! Clamber out of it!

Failure is an inky night:

   Sing! Expect the morning light!

Failure is an ugly coal:

   Fuse it to a diamond soul!

Failure 

Who killed the Plan?

"I," said the Critic,

"I knew how to hit it,

I killed the Plan."

Who killed the Plan?

"I," the Bore said.

"I talked it dead,

I killed the Plan."

Who killed the Plan?

"I," said the Sloth.

"I lagged and was loth.

And I killed the Plan."

Who killed the Plan?

"I," said Ambition.

"With my selfish vision

I killed the Plan."

Who killed the Plan?

"I," said the Crank,

"With my nonsense rank

I kil1ed the Plan."

Who killed the Plan?

Deeply and long the sap must flow

Ere the merest layer of elm can grow.

Many a wave's recurrent shock

Is needed to smooth the tiniest rock.

Thousands of leaves must fade and fall

To make the mold by the garden wall.

Thus, as the patient seasons roll,

Slowly is fashioned a human soul.

Purpose and failure and purpose still,

Steadily moved by a quiet will,—

Layer on layer in sturdy way,

Hardly seen the growth of a day,—

Times of failure and fear and fall,

But one strong tendency through it all,—

God and purpose and sun by sun

Reach the stars before they are done!

Purpose

"God pity the poor!" I cry.

And I feel a virtuous glow;

Not many so tender as I

To the weight of the sad world's woe.

"God pity the poor!" I shout,

And draw back my garment's hem.

God pities the poor, no doubt;

But how am I pitying them?

God pity the poor!

There is one thing nobly worth while,

   Though the parrots chatter and scream,

Though the critics howl and the cynics smile,

   And life seems a mocking dream.

There is one thing that grandly counts,

   In the face of the tempting glare,

In the tempests of doubt on the lonely mounts,

   In the thickets of thorny care.

And that's to hold the truth!

   To abide with justice and right,

To be a man in genuine sooth,

   With heaven's invincible might.

There are bowers of beauty and love,

   There are trumpets of lordly fame,

There are pleasures below and blessings above

   That flash with a lifting flame.

Let them flaunt their allurements high,

   Let them beckon and call and cajole;

There is only one worth in the earth and the sky,

   And that is an honest soul.

The Goal

Amos Russel Wells

(December 23, 1862 - March 6, 1933)

«That part of the image which others call red, appears to me little more than a shade, or defect of light; after that the orange, yellow and green seem one colour, which descends pretty uniformly from an intense to a rare yellow, making what I should call different shades of yellow.»

 "Extraordinary facts relating to the vision of colours: with observations" - John Dalton (1798)