Don't want medals on my breast, Don't want all the glory, I'm not worrying greatly lest The world won't hear my story. A chance to dream beside a stream Where fish are biting free; A day or two, 'neath skies of blue, Is joy enough for me. I do not ask a hoard of gold, Nor treasures rich and rare; I don't want all the joys to hold; I only want a share. Just now and then, away from men And all their haunts of pride, If I can steal, with rod and reel, I will be satisfied. I'll gladly work my way through life; I would not always play; I only ask to quit the strife For an occasional day. If I can sneak from toil a week To chum with stream and tree, I'll fish away and smiling say That life's been good to me. See It Through When you're up against a trouble, Meet it squarely, face to face; Lift your chin and set your shoulders, Plant your feet and take a brace. When it's vain to try to dodge it, Do the best that you can do; You may fail, but you may conquer, See it through! Black may be the clouds about you And your future may seem grim, But don't let your nerve desert you; Keep yourself in fighting trim. If the worst is bound to happen, Spite of all that you can do, Running from it will not save you, See it through! Even hope may seem but futile, When with troubles you're beset, But remember you are facing Just what other men have met. You may fail, but fall still fighting; Don't give up, whate'er you do; Eyes front, head high to the finish. See it through! To the Humble If all the flowers were roses, If never daisies grew, If no old-fashioned posies Drank in the morning dew, Then man might have some reason To whimper and complain, And speak these words of treason, That all our toil is vain. If all the stars were Saturns That twinkle in the night, Of equal size and patterns, And equally as bright, Then men in humble places, With humble work to do, With frowns upon their faces Might trudge their journey through. But humble stars and posies Still do their best, although They're planets not, nor roses, To cheer the world below. And those old-fashioned daisies Delight the soul of man; They're here, and this their praise is: They work the Master's plan.