Each day
I shall be resurrected
From the grave
Of some disappointment or sorrow.
I will not make a fetish
Of my defeats,
Nor hang them
In the halls of my heart,
Nor worship them.
The loves, hopes and ambitions
That have failed me,
Or perchance that I have failed,
Are dead, and I will not live
In the putrid atmosphere of sorrow.
I shall bury them,
Reverently, for what they have been
And for what they have taught me;
Deeply, for what they have ceased to be.
Upon the graves
I shall plant the flowers
Of kind remembrance,
And for one brief hour,
Water them
With the sincere tears of regret.
Then I shall emulate the Psalmist,
And “LIFT UP MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS
FROM WHENCE COMETH MY HELP.”
I shall be true to the life
With which the CREATOR
Has endowed me.
I shall not bury it with the dead,
Nor crucify it
By keeping vigil beside a grave.
But with that life,
I shall follow
The glowing star of faith
Far thru the valley,
And at length to the heights
Where mortal life blends
Into eternity.
William H. Meehan
Poem by William H. Meehan
Those Audacious Meehans
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