I love the man who speaks the truth,
And never tells a lie,
Whose honesty bloomed in his youth,
And was not born to die.
I love to see him take his place,
In busy ranks of men,
And love to see his honest face,
Glowing with manhood then.
In office, or in place of trust,
Watching the people's vault,
His ev'ry act is right and just,
And no one fears default.
With soul upright and conscience clear,
And heart in virtue strong,
There is no force can make him steer
In any course that's wrong.
He pays his debts whene'er he can
And never should be prest,
No need pursue the honest man,
He always does his best.
His conscience is his beacon light,
It always guides his way.
His path is blazed with glory bright,.
He does not go astray.
He loves his God and loves his soul,
And knows that both love him;
He gladly yields to their control,
And with them keeps in trim.
Adversity's dread winds may blow,
And carry off his wealth,
And fell disease its seeds may sow,
And undermine his health.
His fortune which is breakable,
His foes may rend apart,
They'll find his soul impregnable,
And can not break his heart.
His soul approves each manly deed.
And cheers him in his race,
And in the time of greatest need,
Wreathes smiles upon his face.
His truest friends endorse his plan,
And admire for his worth,
God's noblest work, the honest man,
As nothing else on earth.
Duty
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
To do your little bit of toil.
To play life's game with head erect;
To stoop to nothing that would soil
Your honor or your self-respect;
To win what gold and fame you can,
But first of all to be a man.
To know the bitter and the sweet.
The sunshine and the days of rain;
To meet both victory and defeat.
Nor boast too loudly nor complain;
To face whatever fates befall
And be a man throughout it all.
To seek success in honest strife.
But not to value it so much
That, winning it, you go through life
Stained by dishonor's scarlet touch.
What goal or dream you choose, pursue,
But be a man whate'er you do!
It matters little where I was born,
Or if my parents were rich or poor;
Whether they shrank from the cold world's scorn
Or walked in the pride of wealth secure;
But whether I live an honest man,
And hold my integrity firm in my clutch,
I tell you, my brother, as plain as I can,
It matters much!
It matters little how long I stay
In a world of sorrow, sin, and care;
Whether in youth I am called away,
Or live till my bones and pate are bare;
But whether I do the best I can
To soften the weight of adversity's touch
On the faded cheek of my fellow man,
It matters much!
It matters little where be my grave,
On the land or on the sea,
By purling brook or 'neath stormy wave �
It matters little or naught to me;
But whether the Angel of Death comes down
And marks my brow with his loving touch,
As one that shall wear the victor's crown,
It matters much!
The Honest Man's Fate
Poet: Crocket McElroy
Friends have advised me to give up my plan
And shun the sad fate of the honest man.
They tell me 'tis hard, his comforts are few,
And what they tell me I know to be true;
But still I prefer to stick to my plan,
And cherish the fate of the honest man.
I have dear children to clothe and to feed,
And a father's love that knows what they need,
Grief comes to my heart, gray hairs on my head,
For fear I will fail to keep them in bread,
Yet I am trying to do what I can,
And cherish the fate of the honest man.
My wife is gloomy, down-hearted and sad,
She fears my troubles will make me go mad,
Poor soul,she don't know how heavy the weight
That hangs on my heart and threatens my fate.
Still I'm determined to do what I can,
And cherish the fate of the honest man.
Debts overwhelm me and creditors call,
No more can I pay, they already have all.
The sheriff may come to bleed me afresh,
And take by the law one pound of my flesh;
But now, nor never, will I change my plan,
For I cherish the fate of the honest man.
In liquid poisons I do not indulge,
Nor by vile language my weakness divulge :
From labor and right I never do quail,
And still my efforts continue to fail,
Yet I keep trying to do what I can
To merit the fate of the honest man.
O, God of the poor, extend thy good word,
And grant the honest a better reward,
Save them from Shylocks, temptation and pain,
Make troubles on earth in heaven their gain,
O, give me the strength to live by my plan,
And die the proud death of the honest man.
It matters little where I was born.
Whether my parents were rich or poor,
Whether they shrank from the cold world's scorn
Or walked in the pride of wealth secure;
But whether I live as an honest man,
And hold my integrity firm in my clutch,
I tell you, brother, plain as I am,
It matters much.
Honesty A Virtue
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
Honesty, a virtue pure and bold,
A trait to cherish, dear to hold.
It echoes truth, can't be sold,
More precious than silver or gold.
In life's grand theater, it�s our role,
Never lose it, make it your soul's goal.
Engraved on your heart like an ancient scroll,
Honesty is what makes a person whole.