Poems for Dad

The Broken Chain
We little knew the day that
It broke our hearts to lose you
But you didn’t go alone.
For part of us went with you
The day God called you home.

You left us peaceful memories.
Your love is still our guide,
And though we cannot see you
You are always at our side.

Our family chain is broken
and nothing seems the same,
but as God calls us one by one
the chain will link again. 

     by Ron Tranmer

Not, How Did He Die, But How Did He Live?

Not, how did he die, but how did he live?
Not, what did he gain, but what did he give?
These are the units to measure the worth
Of a man as a man, regardless of his birth.
Nor what was his church, nor what was his creed?
But had he befriended those really in need?

Was he ever ready, with words of good cheer,
To bring back a smile, to banish a tear?
Not what did the sketch in the newspaper say,
But how many were sorry when he passed away?

What Is Success?
by Ralph Waldo Emerson

To laugh often and much;to win the respect of the intelligent people and the affection of children;to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;to appreciate beauty;to find the best in others;to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;to know that one life has breathed easier because you lived here.

This is to have succeeded.

Promises
by David Chadwick Rites of Passage

You promised me you'd always be there.
You sat there, in that chair and promised me.
Large as life, ebullient, robust;
they were the words that sealed your promise
You stood by the shore
As we laughed and squealed with delight as
you picked up rocks and tossed them with ease
Splashing us with expectations of your invincibility.
You were invincible. weren't you Daddy?
Or was it just a trick of time
That made me believe that you could live forever?

Daddy, if tears could build a stairway,
And memories a lane,
I'd walk right up to heaven
And bring you home again.

Looking Back
by Edgar A Guest

I might have been rich if I'd wanted the gold instead of the friendships I've made.

I might have had fame if I'd sought for renown in the hours when I purposely played.

Now I'm standing to-day on the far edge of life, and I'm just looking backward to see

What I've done with the years and the days that were mine, and all that has happened to me.

I haven't built much of a fortune to leave to those who shall carry my name,

And nothing I've done shall entitle me now to a place on the tablets of fame.

But I've loved the great sky and its spaces of blue; I've lived with the birds and the trees;

I've turned from the splendor of silver and gold to share in such pleasures as these.

I've given my time to the children who came; together we've romped and we've played,

And I wouldn't exchange the glad hours spent with them for the money that I might have made.

I chose to be known and be loved by the few, and was deaf to the plaudits of men;

And I'd make the same choice should the chance come to me to live my life over again.

I've lived with my friends and I've shared in their joys, known sorrow with all of its tears;

I have harvested much from my acres of life, though some say I've squandered my years.

For much that is fine has been mine to enjoy, and I think I have lived to my best,

And I have no regret, as I'm nearing the end, for the gold that I might have possessed.

What I Call Living
by Edgar A Guest

The miser thinks he's living when he's hoarding up his gold;
The soldier calls it living when he's doing something bold;
The sailor thinks it living to be tossed upon the sea,
And upon this vital subject no two of us agree.
But I hold to the opinion, as I walk my way along,
That living's made of laughter and good-fellowship and song.

I wouldn't call it living always to be seeking gold,
To bank all the present gladness for the days when I'll be old.
I wouldn't call it living to spend all my strength for fame,
And forego the many pleasures which to-day are mine to claim.
I wouldn't for the splendor of the world set out to roam,
And forsake my laughing children and the peace I know at home.
Oh, the thing that I call living isn't gold or fame at all!
It's good-fellowship and sunshine, and it's roses by the wall;
It's evenings glad with music and a hearth fire that's ablaze,
And the joys which come to mortals in a thousand different ways.
It is laughter and contentment and the struggle for a goal;
It is everything that's needful in the shaping of a soul.

Fear Death?
Robert Browning (1812–1889)

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
The post of the foe;
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
Yet the strong man must go:
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
And the barriers fall,
Though a battle’s to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,
The best and the last!
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,
And bade me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
The heroes of old,
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life’s arrears
Of pain, darkness and cold.
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
The black minute’s at end,
And the elements’ rage, the fiend-voices that rave,
Shall dwindle, shall blend,
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,
Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
And with God be the rest!

His Epitaph
by Robert Louis Stevenson 

Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live, and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

The Mystic (an excerpt)
by Cale Young Rice

I have ridden the wind,
I have ridden the force that flies
With far intent thro’ the firmament
And each to each allies.
And everywhere
That a thought may dare
To gallop, mine has trod—
Only to stand at last on the strand
Where just beyond lies God.

Lives of great men
by Henry Longfellow 

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Bite off more than you can chew
Anonymous

Bite off more than you can chew, then chew it.
Plan more than you can do, then do it.
Point your arrow at a star, take your aim and there you are.
Arrange more time than you can spare, then spare it.
Take on more than you can bear, then bear it.
Plan your castle in the air, then build a ship to take you there.

To laugh is to risk
by Anonymous 

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool: laugh anyway.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental; weep anyway.
To reach out for another is to risk involvement; get involved anyway.
To place your ideas and dreams before a crowd is to risk their loss; share your ideas anyway, and dream anyway.
To love is to risk being loved in return; risk love anyway.
To live is to risk dying; risk living anyway.
To hope is to risk failure; you must have hope anyway.
But risks must be taken. The greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing and do nothing - you will dull the spirit.
You may avoid suffering and sorrow, but cannot learn, feel change, grow, love and live. 
Chained by your attitude, you are a slave.
You have forfeited freedom.
Only if you risk are you free.

Crossing The Bar
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sunset and evening star, 
And one clear call for me! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar, 
When I put out to sea, 
But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
Too full for sound and foam, 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
Turns again home. 
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark! 
And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
When I embark; 
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 
The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
When I have crossed the bar."

His charming ways…

His charming ways and smiling face;
Are a pleasure to recall;
He had a kindly word for each;
And died beloved by all.

He suffered patiently and long;
His hope was bright,
his faith was strong,
The peace of Jesus filled his breast;
And in His arms he sank to rest.

All his toils and conflicts o'er.
Lo, he dwells with Christ above;
Oh, what glories he's discovered;
In the Saviour whom he loved.

You're not forgotten father, dear;
Nor ever shall you be;
As long as life and memory last;
I shall remember thee.

His weary hours and days of pain;
His troubled nights are past;
And in our aching hearts we know;
He has found sweet peace at last.

Gone is the face we loved so dear;
Silent is the voice we loved to hear;
Too far away for sight or speech;
But not too far for thought to reach;

Sweet to remember him who once was here;
And who though absent, is just as dear.
His smiling way and pleasant face;
Are a pleasure to recall;
He had a kindly word for each;
And died beloved by all.

Some day we hope to meet him;
To clasp his hand in a better land;
Someday we know not when;
Never to part again.

Our family circle has been broken;
A link gone from our chain;
But though we're parted for awhile;
We know we'll meet again.

We shall meet with many a loved one;
That was torn from our embrace;
We shall listen to their voices;
And behold them face to face.
Sunshine passes, shadows fall;
Love's remembrance outlasts all