• Author: Tarkington, Lousie F.
• Editor: B-7413
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume 6
• Page Number:
• Date: 7 18 1917
• Tags:
• poetry

THE LAND OF BEGINNING AGAIN

I wish that there were some wonderful place Called the Land of Beginning Again, Where all our mistakes, and all our heartaches, And all of our poor selfish grief Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door, And never put on again.

I wish we could come on it all unaware, Like the hunter who finds the lost trail; [done And I wish that.the one whom our blindness had The greatest injustice of all Could be at the gates, like an old friend that waits, For the comrade he’s gladdest to hail.

We would find all the things we intended to do, But forgot, and remembered too late; Little praises spoken, little promises broken, And all of the thousand and one Little duties neglected that might have perfected The day for one less fortunate.

It wouldn’t be possible not to be kind In the Land of Beginning Again; And the ones we misjudged And the ones whom we grudged Their moment of victory here, Would find in the grasp of our loving handclasp More than penitent lips could explain.

For what had been hardest we’d known had been best, And what had seemed loss would be gain; For there isn’t a sting that will not take wing When we’ve faced it and laughed it away; [after And I think that the laughter is most what we’re In the Land of Beginning Again.

So I wish that there were some wonderful place Called the Land of Beginning Again, Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches, And all of our poor selfish grief Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door, And never put on again.

—Louise F. Tarkington.