A Quote by Edgar Guest

The things are mighty few on earth that wishes can attain. Whate'er we want of any worth, we've got to work to gain. — © Edgar Guest
The things are mighty few on earth that wishes can attain. Whate'er we want of any worth, we've got to work to gain.
The man who wants a garden fair, or small or very big, With flowers growing here and there, Must bend his back and dig. The things are mighty few on earth That wishes can attain. Whate'er we want of any worth We've got to work to gain. It matters not what goal you seek, It's secret here reposes: You've got to dig from week to week To get Results or Roses.
And I read the moral--A brave endeavour To do thy duty, whate'er its worth, Is better than life with love forever, And love is the sweetest thing on earth.
Whate'er thy joys, they vanish with the day: Whate'er thy griefs, in sleep they fade away, To sleep! to sleep! Sleep, mournful heart, and let the past be past: Sleep, happy soul, all life will sleep at last.
Whate'er the talents, or howe'er designed, We hang one jingling padlock on the mind.
Christ wishes to raise men up to heaven, and has given them all the means to attain this; whilst the Devil, who himself for his pride was cast down from heaven into the dominions of the air, wishes by every means to attach men to earthly,- sensual, transitory things, and, in order to attain this end, he employs the most powerful, most prodigious means.
Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. . . . He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. . . . Toiling,-rejoicing,-sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.
It fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so: That, howsoe'er I stray and range, Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change. I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip Thou dost not fall.
Know'st not whate'er we do is done in love?
Dear God, I prayed, all unafraid (as we're inclined to do), I do not need a handsome man but let him be like You; I do not need one big and strong nor yet so very tall, nor need he be some genius, or wealthy, Lord, at all; but let his head be high, dear God, and let his eye be clear, his shoulders straight, whate'er his state, whate'er his earthly sphere; and let his face have character, a ruggedness if soul, and let his whole life show, dear God, a singleness of goal; then when he comes (as he will come) with quiet eyes aglow, I'll understand that he's the man I prayed for long ago.
They say that man is mighty, He governs land and sea, He wields a mighty sceptre, O'er lesser powers that be.
Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
Joy, grief, desire or fear, whate'er the name The passion bears, its influence is the same; Where things exceed your hope or fall below, You stare, look blank, grow numb from top to toe.
Whate'er is well conceived is clearly said, And the words to say it flow with ease.
Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, Not one will change his neighbor with himself.
Whate'er my doom; It cannot be unhappy: God hath given me The boon of resignation.
Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on land is seen.
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