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Be Not Content Post by :gtelivwa Category :Poems Author :Ella Wheeler Wilcox Date :April 2011 Read :2218

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Be Not Content

Be not content--contentment means inaction;
The growing soul aches on its upward quest;
Satiety is twin to satisfaction;
All great achievements spring from life's unrest.

The tiny roots, deep in the dark mould hiding,
Would never bless the earth with leaf and flower
Were not an inborn restlessness abiding
In seed and germ, to stir them with its power.

Were man contented with his lot forever,
He had not sought strange seas with sails unfurled,
And the vast wonder of our shores had never
Dawned on the gaze of an admiring world.

Prize what is yours, but be not quite contented.
There is a healthful restlessness of soul
By which a mighty purpose is augmented
In urging men to reach a higher goal.

So when the restless impulse rises, driving
Your calm content before it, do not grieve;
It is the upward reaching of the spirit
Of the God in you to achieve--achieve.

(The end)
Ella Wheeler Wilcox's poem: Be Not Content

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Action Action

For ever stars are winging Their swift and endless race;For ever suns are swinging Their mighty globes through space.Since by his law requiredTo join God's spheres inspired,The earth has never tired, But whirled and whirled and whirled.For ever streams are flowing,For ever seeds are growing,Alway is Nature showing That Action rules the world.And since by God requested To BE, the glorious lightHas never paused or rested, But travelled day and night.Yet pigmy man, unseeingThe purpose of his being,Demands escape and freeing From universal force.But law is law

The All-creative Spark The All-creative Spark

The All-creative Spark
Pain can go guised as joy, dross pass for gold, Vulgarity can masquerade as wit,Or spite wear friendship's garments; but I hold That passionate feeling has no counterfeit.Chief jewel from Jove's crown 'twas sent men, lentFor inspiration and for sacrament.Jove never could have made the Universe Had he not glowed with passion's sacred fire;Though man oft turns the blessing to a curse, And burns himself on his own funeral pyre,Though scarred the soul be where its light burns bright,Yet where it is not, neither is there might.Yea, it was set in Jove's resplendent