Edmund Vance Cooke

You may batter your way through the thick of the fray,
You may sweat, you may swear, you may read more

You may batter your way through the thick of the fray,
You may sweat, you may swear, you may grunt;
You may be a jack-fool, if you must, but this rule
Should ever be kept at the front;--
Don't fight with your pillow, but lay down your head
And kick every worriment out of the bed.

But maybe prayer is a road to rise,
A mountain path leading toward the skies
To assist read more

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!

So you tell yourself you are pretty find clay
To have tricked temptation and turned it away,
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So 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!

I have seen men march to the wars, and then
I have watched their homeward tread,
And read more

I 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 fold and dead.
So, Buddy no matter what else the fame,
No matter what else the prize,
I want you to come back thru The Flame
With the boy-look still in your eyes!

But as for all the rest,
There's hardly one (I may say none) who stands the Artist's test.
read more

But as for all the rest,
There's hardly one (I may say none) who stands the Artist's test.
The Artist is a rare, rare breed. There were but two, forsooth,
In all me time (the stage's prime!) and The Other One was Booth.