The nature of thy thoughts. Who bends the bow,
And lets the arrow from the strained string go,
Strikes somewhere near the object of his aim.

We build our ships from timbers of the brain;
With products of the soul we load the hold;
Where lies the blame if they bring back no gold,
Or if they spring a leak upon the main?

There is no Fate, no Providence, no Chance,
The will is all. So be it thou art pure,
And strong of purpose, thy success is sure;
But fools and sluggards prate of circumstance.



SIMPLE CREEDS



If this were our creed it were creed enough
To keep us thoughtful and make us brave;
On this sad journey o'er pathways rough
That lead us steadily on to the grave.

Speak no evil, and cause no ache,
Utter no jest that can pain awake;
Guard your actions and bridle your tongue,
Words are adders when hearts are stung.