David V. Bush Famous Poems

David V. Bush (188-1959) was a poet and author who wrote books on poetry as well as psychology. His poetry inspired many people. Here are some of the best collections of his poetry.

My Regrets To The Man Who Gives Up

Poet: David V. Bush

David V. Bush Famous Poems

My regrets from a heart of compassion and pain,
If you’ve fled from the fray and will not try again.
For the road’s just as broad, just as smooth, just as bright
In the beckoning future, if only you’ll fight.
The men who have climbed to the uttermost peak
Are the men who have failed, but have scorned to be weak;
If you quit in the fight ere it draws to its end.
You’ve my deepest regrets — and the hope you’ll amend!

My regrets to the man who has reached middle life.
And who ceases to dream or to plan for the strife;
Who thinks that for him there’s no honor or fame,
And has lost his old zest for the combat and game.
Though once he had started to conquer or die,
He now gives it up and no longer will try;
I’m sorry for him, but I’m sorrier still
For the loved ones depending upon his dead will.

My regrets to the man who deserts in the fray
When there’s heaviest danger of losing the day;
Perhaps when he quits, the worst fighting is done.
And a brief moment longer would show he had won.
More than one hapless fighter has pummeled his foe
Almost down to the mat, then too early let go;
He may have already come through the main round,
Yet he staggers off beaten — his wreath on the ground!

My regrets to the man without vision of youth,
Who has turned a deaf ear to the promptings of truth;
Who thinks it too late to strive on toward the goal
That once he had set with a vigorous soul;
Who quits on the turnpike of struggle and pain,
And ceases to win as he deems it all vain.
But in parting I mention a thing that is true —
It is never too late for a come-back — for YOU!


Do Not Lose Your Pep

by David V. Bush

If you’ve; been flayed by Failure’s lash,
Do not lose your pep!
If you have lost your friends and cash,
Do not lose your pep!
The lash in time will ravel out;
You’ll gain more friends who will not doubt;
With new-earned wealth your cares you’ll flout-
Do not lose your pep!

If blasting winds have blown your way.
Do not lose your pep!
No wind or storm can last for aye.
Do not lose your pep!
If frowning fortune threatens you
And wicked lightning streaks the blue,
Stand firm and fast; for peace ne’er sue —
Do not lose your pep!

If Fate assails you ill by ill,
Do not lose your pep!
If evil strikes with claws to kill,
Do not lose your pep!
Though grave and grievous be your plight;
Though not a star shine forth at night;
That is no time to quit the fight —
Do not lose your pep!

If all your plans have come to naught,
Do not lose your pep!
‘Tis much to say you bravely fought;
Do not lose your pep!
If your bright star is on the wane,
Cease not your task — plunge in again!
Vict’ry will come through grief and pain –
Do not lose your pep!


Keep Plodding

Poet: David V. Bush

If you think you’re “down and out,”
Keep plodding.
If today you’re on the rout,
Keep plodding.
Other days are coming yet
When you’ll win, that you can bet.
Frequently ’tis best to sweat
By plodding.

If you’ve tried and if you’ve failed,
Keep plodding.
Other heroes who’ve been hailed
Kept plodding.
Other men saw all was lost,
On misfortune’s billows tossed;
Yea, they too have paid the cost
By plodding.

If your ship has not come in,
Keep plodding.
For some time you’re bound to win
By plodding.
Every ship must meet the gale;
Every effort, every sail.
Must be used if we prevail –
Keep plodding.

If your own’s not come to you,
Keep plodding.
You’ll succeed, if you but knew,
By plodding.
Just across the roughest street
There success you’ll surely meet –
You your efforts will complete
By plodding.


Has Christianity Failed?

Poet: David V. Bush

Christianity, say you, has failed!
Ah, friend, it has never been tried.
Though loudly we’ve preached and we’ve prayed,
I fear that we often have lied.
We vowed that like God we would give
Our love both to friends and to foes;
But ever the deed of our lives
The words of our lips would oppose.

We claimed to be Christians indeed;
But little we lived of the truth.
Though Christian in name, in our lives
We seemed more like heathen, forsooth.
The spirit of Christ we have lost;
And little our words have availed.
We flout Him in plan and in act,
And then say ’tis Christ who has failed.

Why say that Christ’s teachings have failed,
When none of them yet has been tried?
How dare we the Master reproach,
When we’ve put His doctrine aside?
When Christ is our guide, and our creed
Is service to God and to man,
No horror like war can arise.
To thwart His beneficent plan.

‘Tis we who have failed to apply
The lesson of Calvary’s cross.
We’ve spurned the pure gold of His Word,
And counted His teaching but dross.
It is not the Christ who has failed;
For His is the one perfect way.
‘Tis error and pride in our hearts
Which lead us so often astray.

When Christ is the Master of earth,
And holds in our hearts the first place,
As true Prince of Peace He will reign,
And war-thoughts forever efface.
So blame not this holiest Guide,
That men have distorted His creed;
But strive that the day may arrive
When all men His teaching shall heed.


You Can’t Always Hit The Bull’s-Eye

Poet David V. Bush

No man can hit the bull’s-eye
Full ten times out of ten;
The one who is the best shot
Will miss it now and then.
The same old gun, though faithful,
Not always rings the bell.
And why it didn’t do it
The owner ne’er can tell.

And so in life the best man
Will miss a shot or two.
But though he err a moment
That does not mean he’s through;
For with a sportsman’s spirit
Again he takes an aim,
And ere the powder’s vanished
He’s brought down his big game.

In life, then be a sportsman.
And if by chance today
You miss the gleaming target.
Hold firm your nerve and pray;
Again brace gun and shoulder
And at the target fire,
For yet you’ll hit the bull’s-eye
Though now your luck seems dire.

Some men to be a crack shot
Almost a lifetime spend,
And through their faithful practice
Are victors in the end.
The game of life is bigger,
But if you practice well
Some day in joy and triumph
At last you’ll ring the bell!

The target of your lifetime
Is looming just ahead.
So keep your rifle ready
No matter what is said.
Fail not to do your firing
With steady nerve and aim;
And when you pull your trigger,
Bang! Down will come YOUR game!


The Man With Faith

Poet: David V. Bush

The man who has faith that his plans will yet carry
Despite all adverses and sorrow
Is the man who will win thru thick and thru thin
Though broke and often must borrow.

The man who has faith in his help and his neighbor
And lends then a hand when they need it,
Will have many friends – for joy so depends –
The wise man will learn this and heed it.

So the man who has faith in humanity’s make up
Himself seeks little leisure
The faith in a power for every new hour
Shall succeed with joy beyond measure.


How To Have Friends

Poet: David V. Bush

And would you have a host of friends,
On land or on the sea?
Then look that you remember well
That YOU a friend must be.

And would you have the greatest joy
That heaven to man can send?
Go, take your neighbor by the hand.
And say, ‘I am your friend.”


Let Me Be Kind

Poet: David V. Bush

I pray for things I could not use;
I pray for things I do not need:
One prayer there is I often make –
I pray and fail sometimes to heed.

I pray, “O God do make me kind:’’
The world needs kindness much, my sire:
I pray I might be kind, and then
I fail to be what I desire.

To friends around I should be kind;
To those who blame and know me not
And do me wrong, I pray for them,
I pray, and soon that prayer’s forgot.

O make me kind to man and beast;
To stranger, babe and hairs of grey:
O may I not by word or deed
Be aught but kind to all, I pray.

O make me kind when I forget,
O make me kind I pray today,
Yea, make me kind, O God of love,
Teach me the noble art, I pray.

O make me kind to friend and foe,
To all I know and meet and see:
The world cries out for this I know,
O teach Thy kindness, Lord, to me.

If you have done me wrong today,
I should forget and kindness be:
To friend and foe, my heart cries out,
I would be kind, yea kind to thee.


Success Will Come

Poet: David V. Bush

The man who will steer through the thickest of storms,
And sail for his goal never daunted,
Will triumph at last o’er each perilous blast
That the gods of ill-fortune have flaunted.

The man who unyielding will hew to the line
When the shadows of hopelessness hover,
Will find that each blow leads him out of his woe,
*Til the trials and worries are over.

The man who hoes corn while his neighbor’s asleep.
And digs in the field without ceasing,
May suffer a while, but will finally smile
As his harvest swells rich and increasing.

The man who stays game while the multitude quit.
And courage with helpfulness mellows;
Is the chap who will lead when the others stampede,
And win honors and bays from his fellows.


For You Are Mine, Mine, Mine!

Poet: David V. Bush

Our lives were for each other made,
I feel it in my heart;
Nor could I live in sun or shade
From your dear side apart.
God surely linked our kindred lives
With tenderness divine.
And endlessly that link survives,
For you are mine, mine, mine!

And when the Fates our paths divide
Across the sea or land.
We still, by love’s soft cord allied,
Seem wand’ ring hand in hand.
Of many strands our cord is wrought.
That like pure silver shine;
They bind us heart and soul and thought,
For you are mine, mine, mine!

Your roseate cheeks my heart enchain,
Your smiles enchant my soul;
Your winsome eyes a power maintain
To keep my spirit whole;
Your lily hands and auburn hair
Are e’er to me a shrine.
And naught our love apart can tear,
For you are mine, mine, mine!

But more than flesh us two unites,
And makes our spirits one;
A higher flame our union lights,
That e’en outshines the sun.
Each to the other, gladly we
Our souls and lives assign;
Your very fibre cleaves to me,
For you are mine, mine, mine!


What’s Your Aim

Poet: David V. Bush

If you have missed the cherished goal
That you have sought for years,
Try something less beyond your soul,
And waste no time in tears.
Without a zeal for greater things
The less might never be.
So let your fancy use its wings.
And let your mind soar free.

The world’s best shots don’t always hit
The marks at which they aim.
And when they miss they scorn to quit,
But seek a lesser fame.
The trials that have gone before
Give practice, skill, and strength;
So quick they seize their guns once more,
And shoot at shorter length.

You do not have to hit each time
The target that you set.
But from each failure you must climb,
And new ambitions get.
Let no mishap your courage drain,
Or forward progress halt;
To fail need give no conscience pain –
For aiming low’s the fault!


Some One Can Do It

by David V. Bush

When some one says, “It can’t be done”,
And squirms ‘neath manhood’s toiling;
Complains about ”No battles won” —
His speech with whimpers boiling;
Some other man with steady tread
Success attains — how was it?
Pursues his course with aching head;
Plods on and works and does it!

“It can’t be done!” He strikes his pate
And rails against his station,
While off ‘ring to the god of Fate
His daily weak oblation.
Yet other men whose lot in life
Was ‘”down”‘ from Fate’s worst stacking,
Go on with plucky gain through strife.
And win without a backing!

When some one says, “It ain’t no use —
I’ve had no hand that boosted;
My head’s been thrust within a noose;
Ill luck on me has roosted” —
Some other man far lower down
On Fortune ‘s fateful ladder
Mounts on his way and wins the crown —
For ill luck none the sadder!

When some one says, “It can’t be done”,
Believe it not one minute;
For near at hand one’s on the run
To see the prize and win it.
The baffled losers rub their eyes,
And idly cry ‘”How was it?”
But while they yearn to grasp the prize
Their next-door neighbor does it!


Do Not Grumble

by David V. Bush

Misfortune’s bruised your brow again;
The clouds have poured their floods of rain;
The lightning from an angry sky
Has hit you hard as you passed by!
Your cup of sorrow’s at the brim;
You’re facing life with spirit grim;
O’er all resounds Misfortune’s mumble,
Be glad for life and do not grumble!

The one you loved has found relief,
So that you sit alone in grief;
No friend can bring a ray of cheer,
You pine because “She is not here.”
Your thirty years of joy and bloom
Lie still and pallid in the tomb;
Mourn not your lot, for all things crumble-
Be glad for love, and do not grumble!

The rains of spring have washed away
The grain you planted yesterday.
So that your ground must languish drear
And bare until another year!
Do not complain, for left to you
Are fertile fields and heavens blue;
What if your plans are all a- jumble?
Be glad for land, and do not grumble!

Suppose you’ve lost a hand or eye;
‘Twill do no good to sit and cry,
For other souls have had like pains,
And through them all have found their gains.
Misfortunes come to train the mind,
To bear and struggle and be kind;
So though you oft may trip and tumble,
Be glad for feet, and do not grumble!

Suppose that wealth has taken flight
And each day aggravates your plight;
These trials hurt, we must admit.
But where is he who’s ne’er been hit?
Life is not made of gems and gold.
You’ll gain again if brave and bold.
If wealth has left you poor and humble.
Be glad ’twas yours, and do not grumble!

No man on earth has gone through life
Without some bruises in the strife;
Each in his day has made mistakes.
And in confusion nursed his aches.
No time on bygone errors spend —
The game is on; play to the end.
The baseball ace who ne’er could fumble
Is yet unborn — so do not grumble!


Be A Booster

by David V. Bush

Boost, and the world boosts with you;
Knock, and you knock alone;
If you’re out to win through thick and thin
You must have the booster’s tone!

Kick, and your toes will suffer;
Boost, and you’ll put it through;
For the throng can’t halt while you find fault,
But will pay you for what you do!

Boost, and the world respects you;
Knock, and it turns its face;
You must help, not balk; for the railer’s talk
Keeps him back in the busy race.

Knock, and the doors are bolted;
Boost, and they open wide;
There is little use for sour abuse.
And they’re looking for smiles inside!

Lift, and the load is easy;
Lean, and it seems too great;
You should throw your force in the proper course
If you want it to move the weight!

Boost, and the Fates will help you;
Knock, and the ill winds fret;
You can’t keep afloat if you rock the boat,
Or speed if your brake is set!

Boost, and your spirit’s happy;
Knock, and your fate’s unkind;
You can reap no boon when you’re out of tune,
For the crowd never stops to mind!

Boost, and the world is with you;
Knock, and you pine alone;
So blithely stand for your task and land.
And the world will become your own!


It Cannot Be Done And They Know It

by David V. Bush

From the days of creation, it’s been just the same,
And it will be to judgment day.
They tell you, each one, that it cannot be done;
At least not in this or that way!

Every time this old world has been boosted ahead: –
“That cannot be done,” and they knew it.
They left him alone to hold fast to his own,
To cling to his own and to do it.

”You’ll never do that; it cannot be done.”
It could not be done and they knew it.
‘Mid their dolorous song he just trotted along –
Just trotted along bound to do it!

“We never can fly,” that’s what they all said;
We never could fly and they knew it;
Yet ignoring them there, paying scoffs with a prayer –
They just smiled, and went forward to do it.

“You’ll never succeed, or at least in that way;
We know that you surely will rue it;”
But while they shouted nay, every night, every day,
He went right on determined to do it.

“Oh, do not risk that, for you’ll never succeed;
Every cent that you own you’ll lose through it.”
But while other folks blame, and in horror exclaim,
Someone soon will bob up and just do it.

So you be the first struggler to shoulder your load;
Push on, friend, and blaze your way to it.
And while they sit near, paralyzed by their fear,
Just go to it, old comrade, and do it!


Which Side Of The Bed?

by David V. Bush

Which side of the bed did you sleep in last night?
Which side did you get out this morning?
Is the face that you carry a dolorous sight,
Or is there a bright smile adorning?
You hardly need tell us which side that your head
Lay through the long night hours a-dreaming,
For with ease we can see what you leave all unsaid —
Your looks — be they sullen or beaming!

So when in the eve you make ready for sleep
With a vision or thought for the morrow,
See to it that brightness pervades what you keep,
And trouble be sure not to borrow;
And when in the morning around your bright room
You see the gay sunbeams beguiling,
Don’t rise on the side that will drive you to gloom.
But the side that will turn you to smiling!

Don’t go to your office with visage that shows
You slipped from the side that’s for worry,
For every last soul of your office force knows
That a grouch should be ducked in a hurry;
They’ll slight all their tasks to keep out of your way,
And be nervous at sight of your fretting;
And another will land the big deals of the day —
The orders you ought to be getting!

You cannot afford to climb out of your bed
In a way that will spoil time to follow,
For your rivals and foes are a long way from dead,
And your triumphs may turn out all hollow;
So climb to the floor on the side that is bright.
And if ever amiss you should tumble,
Never tell to a soul that you didn’t rise right,
But work on with a smile — and don’t grumble!


The Successful Man

by David V. Bush

Successful men are always kicked, they’re kicked with envious wrath,
No matter what their line may be, on life’s laborious path.
The man who wins is always kicked, they kick him black and blue;
He’s thumped with “mud” and “rotten-egged”; gets number fourteen shoe.

Because he’s always on the job; industrious at his work,
Because he plods and plugs away, while other men may shirk.
Because he puts more in his work and gets more in return;
And stirs things up and gets things done, he’s kicked by those who yearn.

The men who set the world ahead are kicked in jealous spite!
They lift us to a higher plane, but feel green envy’s blight;
No matter, sir, what lives they save, no matter what they give,
If they do more than other men, they’re punctured like a sieve.

If you’re not kicked, I wonder now if you have lost your hope?
Do you play fair and do your best, or sulk and grunt and mope?
If you’re not kicked, you won’t rise far; so man get in the game.
And let them kick you all around — kick hard until they’re lame.

So do your work and play your game — play fair and hard all day;
And let the townsmen wag their tongues, the gossips have their say,
And never mind their cutting ways, nor see that surly frown,
For in the end you’ll beat them all — although you’re oft kicked down!


Do It Better

by David V. Bush

There’s just one certain way to climb up to the top,
Where there’s plenty of room to expand,
Where each thing’s more congenial and not quite so menial,
With chances to think and command;
It is simple, yet not for the shirk or the drone
Whom the bonds of dull indolence fetter.
For the way to get there in foul weather or fair
Is to work just a little bit better!

There’s promotion ahead — will the honor be yours,
Or be left for some “luckier” neighbor?
For it rests with just you what the future will do
To reward your industrious labor.
The man who mounts high, leaving others behind,
Must be never a whiner or fretter;
For we don’t reach the goal with a sorrowful soul,
But by working a little bit better!

There is work you can do, and how well it is done
Is for you and you only to say;
But who does it the best will stand first in the test
That leads on to the bright better way.
So buckle right down to outdo your own past,
And each moment toil square to the letter;
For the prize-winning man sticks to one golden plan,
And works just a little bit better!


You’ll Strike Your Stride
by David V. Bush

All men, like horses, have a stride —
To find it, they have often sighed.
And feared themselves withheld by Fate,
From falling in their proper gait.
But many heroes, holding fast.
Have found the cherished gait at last;
So never quit the race, for you
Will strike your stride if you push through!

The stride we have, our running gait.
To some comes soon, to some comes late;
Nor should the one who lags behind
Despair that he the stride will find.
He has the power with pluck and grace
At length to win the toilsome race;
For in each one there rests the stride
That to the brave is ne’er denied.

If then your proper stride you seek
Curse not your fate in accents weak.
But be a man, and in the strife.
Plunge with the strength of all your life.
The man who has the nerve and grit
Will like the bulldog, never quit.
But win the race and pass the wire —
He’s found his stride and cannot tire!



Poet: David V. Bush

How many a man has wrecked his skiff
Upon that little measly IF!

If I my precious youthful hours
In study close had spent;
If I had trained my latent powers;
I should not now repent.

If I had learned to save my cash,
Instead of spending all
In pleasures vain and ventures rash,
My “roll” would be less small.

If I had done the other thing.
Instead of what I did;
If I had fled from folly’s sting,
From smiling vice had hid;

If I had shunned the social glass,
And clung to honest work;
Today I might be rich, alas!
Not slaving like a Turk.

Ah, yes; if you had done but that,
And not the other thing;
Today your purse would not be flat;
You might live like a king.

“IF” ranks with “but”, “perhaps”‘ and “can*t”,
To cow the feeble soul;
For shame! Forget this coward rant;
Press boldly toward the goal.

How many a man has wrecked his skiff
Upon that little measly IF!


Read More: John Kendrick Bangs Famous Poems

Leave a Comment