Poems of Alma Rogers

Courtesy of Dorothy Wilkins.

A Friend Like You

A friend like you is good to know,

In summer’s sun or winter’s snow;

The skies are fairer, deeper blue

To one who has a friend like you!

A friend like you is good to see

When passing hours hold agony;

When days bring treachery and grief,

And doubts the only real belief.

For friends like you upon my way,

I thank God gratefully each day.

Here’s to you, friend! And may I too,

Be to my friends a friend like you.

Isn’t It So

Some fellows stay right in the rut,

While others head the throng.

All men may be born equal, but

They don’t stay that way long.

There is many a man with a gallant air

Goes galloping to the fray

But the valuable man is the man who is there

When the smoke has cleared away.

Some “don’t get nuthin out of life”

But when their whines begin

We often can remind them that

They “don’t put nuthin in”.

Tell It To Him

If with pleasure you are viewing any work a man is doing,

If you like him; if you love him; tell him now.

Don’t withhold your approbation till the parson makes oration,

And he lies with snowy lilies o’er his brow.

For no matter if you shout it he won’t really know about it,

He won’t know how many teardrops you have shed;

If you think some praise is due him

Now’s the time to slip it to him.

For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead.

More than fame and more than money

Is the comment kind and sunny,

And the hearty, warm, approval of a friend.

For it gives to life a savor

And it makes you stronger, braver,

And it gives you heart and spirit to the end;

If he earns your praise bestow it;

If you like him let him know it.

Let the ward of true encouragement be said;

Do not wait till life is over

And he is underneath the clover,

For he cannot read his tombstone

When he’s dead.

The Bridge Builder

An old man going a lone highway

Came at the evening, cold and gray,

To a chasm vast and wide and steep,

With waters rolling cold and deep.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim,

The sullen stream had no fears for him,

But he turned when safe on the other side,

And built a bridge to span the tide.

“Old Man”, said a fellow pilgrim near,

“You are wasting your strength with building here.

Your journey will end with the ending day,

You never again will pass this way.

You’ve crossed the chasm deep and wide,

Why build you this bridge at eventide”?

The builder lifted his old gray head;

“Good friend in the path I have come,” he said,

“There follows after me today a youth

Whose feet must pass this way,

A chasm that was as naught to me

To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be:

He too, must cross in the twilight dim good friend,

I am building this bridge for him.”