A lesson learned again...

I don't consider myself poetic in any way, but there are two poems that always come to mind whenever I feel the need to hear or talk about a good poem. I believe that both are correct, but the latter of course trumps the first. The only reason that I post these is because I've just been through hell and back, mostly for reasons that I can usually face by myself and which I generally don't talk about with other people. Personal reasons, but when they show their ugly faces I can usually stare them right back down. While that's gotten me this far, I found a better way to deal with the situation.

First.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

I am my own host,and faithful witness
Or shall the shadows of hell learey me through the night,
So I will take this sword, and banish it in the afterlife

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Nice. But, Orson Whitney (an apostle who saw the savior suffering in gethsemane) owns my number one spot.

Art thou in truth? Then what of him
Who bought thee with his blood?
Who plunged into devouring seas
And snatched thee from the flood?

Who bore for all our fallen race
What none but him could bear,
The God who died that man might live,
And endless glory share?

Of what avail thy vaunted strength,
Apart from his vast might?
Pray that his Light may pierce the gloom,
That thou mayest see aright.

Men are as bubbles on the wave,
As leaves upon the tree.
Thou, captain of thy soul, forsooth!
Who gave that place to thee?

Free will is thine — free agency,
To wield for right or wrong;
But thou must answer unto him
To whom all souls belong.

Bend to the dust that head unbowed
Small part of Life’s great whole!
And see in him, and him alone,
The Captain of thy soul.