But maybe prayer is a road to rise, A mountain path leading toward the skies To assist the spirit who truly tries. But it isn't a shibboleth, creed, nor code, It isn't a pack-horse to carry your load, It isn't a wagon, it's only a road. And perhaps the reward of the spirit who tries Is not the goal, but the exercise!
Edmund Vance CookeSo you tell yourself you are pretty find clay To have tricked temptation and turned it away, But wait, my friend, for a different day; Wait till you want to want to!
Edmund Vance CookeDon't fight with the pillow, but lay down your head And kick every worriment out of the bed.
Edmund Vance CookeKisses kept are wasted; Love is to be tasted. There are some you love, I know; Be not loathe to tell them so. Lips go dry and eyes grow wet Waiting to be warmly met. Keep them not in waiting yet; Kisses kept are wasted.
Edmund Vance CookeI have seen men march to the wars, and then I have watched their homeward tread, and they brought back bodies of living men, But their eyes were cold and dead.
Edmund Vance CookeOh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce Or a trouble is what you make it, And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it.
Edmund Vance Cooke