Be not content, contentment means inaction,
The growing soul aches on its upward
quest;
Satiety is twin to satisfaction--
All great achievements spring from life's
unrest.
The tiny roots, deep in the dark mould hiding,
Would never bless the earth with leaf
and flower
Were not an inborn restlessness abiding
In seed and germ, to stir them with
its power.
Were man contented with his lot forever,
He had not sought strange seas with
sails unfurled,
And the vast wonder of our shores had never
Dawned on the gaze of an admiring world.
Prize what is yours, but be not quite contented,
There is a healthful restlessness of
soul
By which a mighty purpose is augmented
In urging men to reach a higher goal.
So when the restless impulse rises, driving
Your calm content before it, do not
grieve;
It is the upward reaching of the spirit
Of the God in you to achieve, achieve.
Poems of sentiment by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago, IL : W. B. Conkey Company, c1906.
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