#robertwilliamservice

[righttotruth]

Robert W. Service's Birth Anniversary

[williambutlerblog]

It's easy to fight when everything's right, And you're mad with the thrill and the glory; It's easy to cheer when victory's near, And wallow in fields that are gory. It's a different song when everything's wrong, When you're feeling infernally mortal; When it's ten against one, and hope there is none, Buck up, little soldier, and chortle: Carry on! Carry on! There isn't much punch in your blow. You're glaring and staring and hitting out blind; You're muddy and bloody, but never you mind. Carry on! Carry on! You haven't the ghost of a show. It's looking like death, but while you've a breath, Carry on, my son! Carry on! And so in the strife of the battle of life It's easy to fight when you're winning; It's easy to slave, and starve and be brave, When the dawn of success is beginning. But the man who can meet despair and defeat With a cheer, there's the man of God's choosing; The man who can fight to Heaven's own height Is the man who can fight when he's losing. Carry on! Carry on! Things never were looming so black. But show that you haven't a cowardly streak, And though you're unlucky you never are weak. Carry on! Carry on! Brace up for another attack. It's looking like hell, but -- you never can tell: Carry on, old man! Carry on! There are some who drift out in the deserts of doubt, And some who in brutishness wallow; There are others, I know, who in piety go Because of a Heaven to follow. But to labour with zest, and to give of your best, For the sweetness and joy of the giving; To help folks along with a hand and a song; Why, there's the real sunshine of living. Carry on! Carry on! Fight the good fight and true; Believe in your mission, greet life with a cheer; There's big work to do, and that's why you are here. Carry on! Carry on! Let the world be the better for you; And at last when you die, let this be your cry: Carry on, my soul! Carry on! by Robert William Service #robertwilliamservice #carryon

[camandsee]

The Men That Don’t Fit In

There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood, And they climb the mountain's crest; Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood, And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far; They are strong and brave and true; But they're always tired of the things that are, And they want the strange and new. They say: "Could I find my proper groove, What a deep mark I would make!" So they chop and change, and each fresh move Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance; He has just done things by half. Life's been a jolly good joke on him, And now is the time to laugh. Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost; He was never meant to win; He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone; He's a man who won't fit in.

Robert William Service

[yellowanderings]

Because..

The Wanderlust has blest me ... in a ragged blanket curled, I've watched the gulf of Heaven foam with stars; I've walked with eyes wide open to the wonder of the world, I've seen God's flood of glory burst its bars. I've seen the gold a-blinding in the riffles of the sky, Till I fancied me a bloated plutocrat; But I'm freedom's happy bond-slave, and I will be till I die, And I've got to thank the Wanderlust for that.

Wild heart, child heart, all of the world your home. Glad heart, mad heart, what can you do but roam? Oh, I'll beat it once more in the morning, boys, With a pinch of tea and a crust; For you cannot deny When you hark to the cry Of the Wan-der-lust.

The Wanderlust will claim me at the finish for its own. I'll turn my back on men and face the Pole. Beyond the Arctic outposts I will venture all alone; Some Never-never Land will be my goal. Thank God! there's none will miss me, for I've been a bird of flight; And in my moccasins I'll take my call; For the Wanderlust has ruled me, And the Wanderlust has schooled me, And I'm ready for the darkest trail of all.

Grim land, dim land, oh, how the vastness calls! Far land, star land, oh, how the stillness falls! For you never can tell if it's heaven or hell, And I'm taking the trail on trust; But I haven't a doubt That my soul will leap out On its Wan-der-lust.

~ excerpt from The Wanderlust by Robert William Service