A Bag Of Tools
Isn’t it strange
That princes and kings,
And clowns that caper
In sawdust rings,
And common people
Like you and me
Are builders for eternity?
Each is given a bag of tools,
A shapeless mass,
A book of rules;
And each must make -
Ere life is flown -
A stumbling block
Or a steppingstone.
By R. L. Sharpe (about 1890)
The poem “A Bag of Tools” shown above is possibly a shortened, or revised version, of the poem “Makers of Eternity,” by the same author, which follows below.
Makers Of Eternity
Isn’t it strange, that princes and kings
and clowns that frolic in circus rings,
And ordinary folk like you and me
are makers of eternity.
For each is given a bag of tools,
an hourglass, and a book of rules;
And each shall have built when his hour has flown,
a stumbling block or a stepping stone.
One step upon another and the longest walk is ended,
one stitch upon another and the longest rend is mended,
So never be discouraged by the things you have to do,
and think that such a mighty task you never shall get through;
Just endeavor day by day,
another point to gain,
And soon the mountain that you feared
will have become a plain.
By R. L. Sharpe
Robert Lee Sharpe once told the following story: “One spring day when I was just a kid, my father called me to go with him to Trussell’s blacksmith shop. He had left a rake and a hoe to be repaired. And there they were ready, fixed like new. Father handed over a silver dollar for the repairing. But Mr. Trussell refused to take it. ‘No,’ he said, ‘there’s no charge for that little job.’ But father insisted that he take payment. ‘If I live to be a thousand years,’ said Sharpe, ‘I’ll never forget that old blacksmith’s reply.’ ‘Sid,’ he said to my father, ‘can’t you let an old man do something now and then - just to stretch his soul?’ It’s the old law. The giver receives more than the receiver gets. Bread cast upon the waters comes back a thousand-fold. One who stretches his soul into deeds of love and kindness, unfailingly reaps a just reward.”
Robert Lee Sharpe was born on 14 August 1872 in Georgia, United States of America. For several years he worked with his father, Edwin R. Sharp, who owned the “Carrollton Free Press” newspaper and a printing shop in Carrollton. Following in his father’s footsteps, Robert Lee Sharpe became the owner of Sharpe’s Modern Printing Plant in Carrollton. The story behind why Carrollton became known as the ‘City of Smiles’ is that Robert Lee Sharpe published a book every year called “Smiles,” in which he printed pictures of every person that he could get to smile. In the 1920’s and 1930’s, he traveled extensively, as a freelance writer for magazines. Robert Lee Sharpe passed on at 78 years of age on 19 April 1951 in Carrollton City, Carroll County, Georgia, United States of America.
Isn’t it strange
That princes and kings,
And clowns that caper
In sawdust rings,
And common people
Like you and me
Are builders for eternity?
Each is given a bag of tools,
A shapeless mass,
A book of rules;
And each must make -
Ere life is flown -
A stumbling block
Or a steppingstone.
By R. L. Sharpe (about 1890)
The poem “A Bag of Tools” shown above is possibly a shortened, or revised version, of the poem “Makers of Eternity,” by the same author, which follows below.
Makers Of Eternity
Isn’t it strange, that princes and kings
and clowns that frolic in circus rings,
And ordinary folk like you and me
are makers of eternity.
For each is given a bag of tools,
an hourglass, and a book of rules;
And each shall have built when his hour has flown,
a stumbling block or a stepping stone.
One step upon another and the longest walk is ended,
one stitch upon another and the longest rend is mended,
So never be discouraged by the things you have to do,
and think that such a mighty task you never shall get through;
Just endeavor day by day,
another point to gain,
And soon the mountain that you feared
will have become a plain.
By R. L. Sharpe
Robert Lee Sharpe once told the following story: “One spring day when I was just a kid, my father called me to go with him to Trussell’s blacksmith shop. He had left a rake and a hoe to be repaired. And there they were ready, fixed like new. Father handed over a silver dollar for the repairing. But Mr. Trussell refused to take it. ‘No,’ he said, ‘there’s no charge for that little job.’ But father insisted that he take payment. ‘If I live to be a thousand years,’ said Sharpe, ‘I’ll never forget that old blacksmith’s reply.’ ‘Sid,’ he said to my father, ‘can’t you let an old man do something now and then - just to stretch his soul?’ It’s the old law. The giver receives more than the receiver gets. Bread cast upon the waters comes back a thousand-fold. One who stretches his soul into deeds of love and kindness, unfailingly reaps a just reward.”
Robert Lee Sharpe was born on 14 August 1872 in Georgia, United States of America. For several years he worked with his father, Edwin R. Sharp, who owned the “Carrollton Free Press” newspaper and a printing shop in Carrollton. Following in his father’s footsteps, Robert Lee Sharpe became the owner of Sharpe’s Modern Printing Plant in Carrollton. The story behind why Carrollton became known as the ‘City of Smiles’ is that Robert Lee Sharpe published a book every year called “Smiles,” in which he printed pictures of every person that he could get to smile. In the 1920’s and 1930’s, he traveled extensively, as a freelance writer for magazines. Robert Lee Sharpe passed on at 78 years of age on 19 April 1951 in Carrollton City, Carroll County, Georgia, United States of America.
Paddle Your Own Canoe
Voyager upon life’s sea,
To yourself be true,
And whatever your lot may be,
Paddle your own canoe.
Never, though the winds may rave,
Falter or look back;
But upon the darkest wave
Leave a shining track.
Paddle your own canoe.
Nobly dare the wildest storm,
Stem the hardest gale,
Brave of heart and strong of arm
You will never fail.
When the world is cold and dark,
Keep your aim in view;
And toward the beacon work,
Paddle your own canoe.
Would you crush the giant wrong,
In the world’s free fight?
With a spirit brave and strong,
Battle for the right.
And to break the chains that bind
The many to the few
To enfranchise slavish mind, -
Paddle your own canoe.
Nothing great is lightly won,
Nothing won is lost,
Every good deed, nobly done,
Will repay the cost.
Leave to Heaven, in humble trust,
All you will to do:
But if succeed, you must
Paddle your own canoe.
By Sarah T. Bolton: as published in “Harper’s New Monthly Magazine” (May 1854)
Sarah Tittle Bolton was born as Sarah Tittle Barrett on 18 December 1814 in Newport, Kentucky, United States of America. She became a poet and a singer. She was married to Nathaniel Bolton, an editor of the newspaper in which her early poems appeared. Her published works include, “The Life and Poems of Sarah T. Bolton” (1880). Sarah Tittle Bolton passed on at 78 years of age on 5 August 1893 in Indianapolis, Indiana, United States of America.
Voyager upon life’s sea,
To yourself be true,
And whatever your lot may be,
Paddle your own canoe.
Never, though the winds may rave,
Falter or look back;
But upon the darkest wave
Leave a shining track.
Paddle your own canoe.
Nobly dare the wildest storm,
Stem the hardest gale,
Brave of heart and strong of arm
You will never fail.
When the world is cold and dark,
Keep your aim in view;
And toward the beacon work,
Paddle your own canoe.
Would you crush the giant wrong,
In the world’s free fight?
With a spirit brave and strong,
Battle for the right.
And to break the chains that bind
The many to the few
To enfranchise slavish mind, -
Paddle your own canoe.
Nothing great is lightly won,
Nothing won is lost,
Every good deed, nobly done,
Will repay the cost.
Leave to Heaven, in humble trust,
All you will to do:
But if succeed, you must
Paddle your own canoe.
By Sarah T. Bolton: as published in “Harper’s New Monthly Magazine” (May 1854)
Sarah Tittle Bolton was born as Sarah Tittle Barrett on 18 December 1814 in Newport, Kentucky, United States of America. She became a poet and a singer. She was married to Nathaniel Bolton, an editor of the newspaper in which her early poems appeared. Her published works include, “The Life and Poems of Sarah T. Bolton” (1880). Sarah Tittle Bolton passed on at 78 years of age on 5 August 1893 in Indianapolis, Indiana, United States of America.
It’s Fine Today
Sure, this world is full of trouble
I ain’t said it ain’t.
Lord, I’ve had enough and double
Reason for complaint;
Rain and storm have come to fret me,
Skies are often gray;
Iloms* and brambles have beset me
On the road - but say,
Ain’t it fine today?
What’s the use of always weepin’,
Making trouble last?
What’s the use of always keepin’
Thinkin’ of the past?
Each must have his tribulation -
Water with his wine;
Life, it ain’t no celebration,
Trouble? - I’ve had mine -
But today is fine!
It’s today that I am livin’,
Not a month ago.
Havin’; losin’; takin’; givin’;
As time wills it so.
Yesterday a cloud of sorrow
Fell across the way,
It may rain again tomorrow,
It may rain - but say,
Ain’t it fine today?
By Douglas Malloch
*some versions of the poem show ‘thorns’ rather than ‘iloms.’
Douglas Malloch, Senior was born on 5 May 1877 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America. He grew up in the midst of logging camps, sawmills, and lumber yards. He became enamored with writing poems and stories about lumbering scenes and eventually became known as the ‘Lumbermen’s Poet.’ He wrote his first poem at 10 years of age, which was published in the “Detroit News.” After leaving school, he took a job on the editorial staff at the “Muskegon Chronicle,” where he remained for 13 years, becoming a reporter and feature writer for the paper. After leaving the “Muskegon Chronicle,” he joined the staff of the “American Lumberman” in 1903 as a syndicated columnist. Mr. Malloch soon became a popular and nationally renowned humorist, lecturer, and radio personality. His column was often written in the form of a poem and eventually the poems were collected into a series of books with “In Forest Land” (1906) being his first published work and a national best seller. Douglas Malloch, Senior passed on at 61 years of age on 2 July 1938 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America.
Sure, this world is full of trouble
I ain’t said it ain’t.
Lord, I’ve had enough and double
Reason for complaint;
Rain and storm have come to fret me,
Skies are often gray;
Iloms* and brambles have beset me
On the road - but say,
Ain’t it fine today?
What’s the use of always weepin’,
Making trouble last?
What’s the use of always keepin’
Thinkin’ of the past?
Each must have his tribulation -
Water with his wine;
Life, it ain’t no celebration,
Trouble? - I’ve had mine -
But today is fine!
It’s today that I am livin’,
Not a month ago.
Havin’; losin’; takin’; givin’;
As time wills it so.
Yesterday a cloud of sorrow
Fell across the way,
It may rain again tomorrow,
It may rain - but say,
Ain’t it fine today?
By Douglas Malloch
*some versions of the poem show ‘thorns’ rather than ‘iloms.’
Douglas Malloch, Senior was born on 5 May 1877 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America. He grew up in the midst of logging camps, sawmills, and lumber yards. He became enamored with writing poems and stories about lumbering scenes and eventually became known as the ‘Lumbermen’s Poet.’ He wrote his first poem at 10 years of age, which was published in the “Detroit News.” After leaving school, he took a job on the editorial staff at the “Muskegon Chronicle,” where he remained for 13 years, becoming a reporter and feature writer for the paper. After leaving the “Muskegon Chronicle,” he joined the staff of the “American Lumberman” in 1903 as a syndicated columnist. Mr. Malloch soon became a popular and nationally renowned humorist, lecturer, and radio personality. His column was often written in the form of a poem and eventually the poems were collected into a series of books with “In Forest Land” (1906) being his first published work and a national best seller. Douglas Malloch, Senior passed on at 61 years of age on 2 July 1938 in Muskegon, Michigan, United States of America.
To Those Who Fail
Courage, brave heart, nor in thy purpose falter;
Go on and win the fight at any cost,
Though sick and weary after conflict,
Rejoice to know the battle is not lost.
The field is open still to those brave spirits
Who nobly struggle till the strife is done,
Through sun and storm with courage all undaunted
Working and waiting till the battle’s won.
The fairest pearls are found in deepest waters,
The brightest jewels in the darkest mine;
And through the very blackest hour of midnight
The star of Hope doth ever brightly shine.
Press on! press on! the path is steep and rugged,
The storm clouds almost hide Hope’s light from view;
But you can pass where other feet have trodden;
A few more steps may bring you safely through.
The battle o’er, a victor crowned with honors,
By patient toil each difficulty past,
You then may see these days of bitter failure
But spurred you on to greater deeds at last.
By Nellie Barlow: as published in Henry Davenport Northrop, compiler and editor: “New Popular Speaker and Writer: Being a Choice Treasury of New and Popular Recitations, Readings, Dialogues, Original and Adapted Comedies, Tableaux, Etc., Comprising the Best Selections from the Most Celebrated Authors and Composers Including Descriptive, Dramatic, Pathetic, Humorous Recitals and Readings with Music, for Schools, Lodges, Public Entertainments, Anniversaries, Sunday-Schools, Etc, Etc.” (1900)
Courage, brave heart, nor in thy purpose falter;
Go on and win the fight at any cost,
Though sick and weary after conflict,
Rejoice to know the battle is not lost.
The field is open still to those brave spirits
Who nobly struggle till the strife is done,
Through sun and storm with courage all undaunted
Working and waiting till the battle’s won.
The fairest pearls are found in deepest waters,
The brightest jewels in the darkest mine;
And through the very blackest hour of midnight
The star of Hope doth ever brightly shine.
Press on! press on! the path is steep and rugged,
The storm clouds almost hide Hope’s light from view;
But you can pass where other feet have trodden;
A few more steps may bring you safely through.
The battle o’er, a victor crowned with honors,
By patient toil each difficulty past,
You then may see these days of bitter failure
But spurred you on to greater deeds at last.
By Nellie Barlow: as published in Henry Davenport Northrop, compiler and editor: “New Popular Speaker and Writer: Being a Choice Treasury of New and Popular Recitations, Readings, Dialogues, Original and Adapted Comedies, Tableaux, Etc., Comprising the Best Selections from the Most Celebrated Authors and Composers Including Descriptive, Dramatic, Pathetic, Humorous Recitals and Readings with Music, for Schools, Lodges, Public Entertainments, Anniversaries, Sunday-Schools, Etc, Etc.” (1900)
I’ll Try
“The others will laugh,” said the Bugbear*,
“And ridicule you on the sly.”
“Never mind,” said Jenny Endeavor,
“I’ll try.”
“You’ll surely break down.” said the Bugbear;
“You know you are terribly shy.”
“Never mind,” said Billy Endeavor,
“I’ll try.”
“It’s really too hard,” said the Bugbear;
“You might as well venture to fly.”
“Never mind,” said Susie Endeavor,
“I’ll try.”
“Just put the thing off,” said the Bugbear.
“And others the lack will supply.”
“I’ll not,” answered Tommy Endeavor,
“I’ll try.”
By Author Unknown
*bugbear: an imaginary being invoked to frighten people, typically a sort of hobgoblin or bogeyman.
“The others will laugh,” said the Bugbear*,
“And ridicule you on the sly.”
“Never mind,” said Jenny Endeavor,
“I’ll try.”
“You’ll surely break down.” said the Bugbear;
“You know you are terribly shy.”
“Never mind,” said Billy Endeavor,
“I’ll try.”
“It’s really too hard,” said the Bugbear;
“You might as well venture to fly.”
“Never mind,” said Susie Endeavor,
“I’ll try.”
“Just put the thing off,” said the Bugbear.
“And others the lack will supply.”
“I’ll not,” answered Tommy Endeavor,
“I’ll try.”
By Author Unknown
*bugbear: an imaginary being invoked to frighten people, typically a sort of hobgoblin or bogeyman.
Autobiography In Five Short Chapters
Chapter I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost . . . I am hopeless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
Chapter II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
Chapter III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in . . . it’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
Chapter IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
Chapter V
I walk down another street.
By Portia Nelson (1977)
Portia Nelson was born as Betty Mae Nelson on 27 May 1920 in Brigham City, Utah, United States of America. She became a singer, a songwriter, an actress, a poet, and a writer. She appeared in live performances in theater; portrayed Sister Berthe in “The Sound of Music” (1965), Sarah in “Doctor Dolittle” (1967), and Mrs. Gurney in “All My Children” (1983 -1991). Her collected poems were published as “There’s a Hole in My Sidewalk” (1977). Portia Nelson passed on at 80 years of age on 6 March 2001 in New York City, New York, United States of America.
Chapter I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost . . . I am hopeless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
Chapter II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
Chapter III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in . . . it’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
Chapter IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
Chapter V
I walk down another street.
By Portia Nelson (1977)
Portia Nelson was born as Betty Mae Nelson on 27 May 1920 in Brigham City, Utah, United States of America. She became a singer, a songwriter, an actress, a poet, and a writer. She appeared in live performances in theater; portrayed Sister Berthe in “The Sound of Music” (1965), Sarah in “Doctor Dolittle” (1967), and Mrs. Gurney in “All My Children” (1983 -1991). Her collected poems were published as “There’s a Hole in My Sidewalk” (1977). Portia Nelson passed on at 80 years of age on 6 March 2001 in New York City, New York, United States of America.
Words Of Tom Walsh
Something I realized a few years ago in one of those, “Of course - I should have realized that all along!” moments is that encouragement is absolutely free. It doesn’t cost me a cent to give it out, but its payoff is incredible. A brighter smile, improved performance on any sort of task, much more enjoyment in doing something - I see these in people constantly when I or someone else encourages them. I often read stories by adults who have succeeded in life largely in part because just one person saw their potential and encouraged them when they were younger, and they have never forgotten those people or their words. Wouldn’t you love to feel that something like that would be possible with you as the remembered person? I know that I would, but unless I plant the seeds today, that sort of harvest will never come to pass.
By Tom Walsh
Something I realized a few years ago in one of those, “Of course - I should have realized that all along!” moments is that encouragement is absolutely free. It doesn’t cost me a cent to give it out, but its payoff is incredible. A brighter smile, improved performance on any sort of task, much more enjoyment in doing something - I see these in people constantly when I or someone else encourages them. I often read stories by adults who have succeeded in life largely in part because just one person saw their potential and encouraged them when they were younger, and they have never forgotten those people or their words. Wouldn’t you love to feel that something like that would be possible with you as the remembered person? I know that I would, but unless I plant the seeds today, that sort of harvest will never come to pass.
By Tom Walsh
Always Have Faith In Yourself
It is not easy to
Live life sometimes,
And face the world with a smile.
When you’re crying inside,
It takes a lot of courage
To reach down inside yourself
Hold on to that strength
That’s still there,
And know that tomorrow
Is a new day -
With new possibilities
But if you can just hold on
Long enough to see this through,
You’ll come out a new person -
Stronger,
With more understanding,
And with a new pride in yourself
From knowing you made it.
By Kathy Obara
It is not easy to
Live life sometimes,
And face the world with a smile.
When you’re crying inside,
It takes a lot of courage
To reach down inside yourself
Hold on to that strength
That’s still there,
And know that tomorrow
Is a new day -
With new possibilities
But if you can just hold on
Long enough to see this through,
You’ll come out a new person -
Stronger,
With more understanding,
And with a new pride in yourself
From knowing you made it.
By Kathy Obara
His Other Chance
He was down and out, and his pluck was gone,
And he said to me in a gloomy way:
“I’ve wasted my chances, one by one,
And I’m just no good, as the people say.
Nothing ahead, and my dreams all dust,
Though once there was something I might have been,
But I wasn’t game, and I broke my trust,
And I wasn’t straight and I wasn’t clean.”
“You’re pretty low down,” says I to him,
“But nobody’s holding you there, my friend.
Life is a stream where men sink or swim,
And the drifters come to a sorry end;
But there’s two of you living and breathing still -
The fellow you are, and he’s tough to see,
And another chap, if you’ve got the will,
The man that you still have a chance to be.”
He laughed with scorn. “Are there two of me?
I thought I’d rid myself of the other one.
I once knew a chap that I hoped to be,
And he was decent, but now he’s gone.”
“Well,” says I, “it may seem to you
That life has little of joy in store,
But there’s always something you still can do,
And there’s never a man but can try once more.
By Edgar A. Guest
Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.
He was down and out, and his pluck was gone,
And he said to me in a gloomy way:
“I’ve wasted my chances, one by one,
And I’m just no good, as the people say.
Nothing ahead, and my dreams all dust,
Though once there was something I might have been,
But I wasn’t game, and I broke my trust,
And I wasn’t straight and I wasn’t clean.”
“You’re pretty low down,” says I to him,
“But nobody’s holding you there, my friend.
Life is a stream where men sink or swim,
And the drifters come to a sorry end;
But there’s two of you living and breathing still -
The fellow you are, and he’s tough to see,
And another chap, if you’ve got the will,
The man that you still have a chance to be.”
He laughed with scorn. “Are there two of me?
I thought I’d rid myself of the other one.
I once knew a chap that I hoped to be,
And he was decent, but now he’s gone.”
“Well,” says I, “it may seem to you
That life has little of joy in store,
But there’s always something you still can do,
And there’s never a man but can try once more.
By Edgar A. Guest
Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.
Life
Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.
By Author Unknown
Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.
By Author Unknown
