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  2. Doggerel of the Day - The Quitter
November 17, 2025 at 9:30 PM

Doggerel of the Day - The Quitter

Seawriter
@Seawriter

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Did Robert Service write doggerel? Yeah, pretty much. But it was good doggerel, worth reading. One example is the poem below:

The Quitter

Robert W. Service

When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle
To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"
And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it's easy to blow . . .
It's the hell-served-for-breakfast that's hard.

"You're sick of the game!" Well, now, that's a shame.
You're young and you're brave and you're bright.
"You've had a raw deal!" I know — but don't squeal,
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It's the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don't be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit; it's so easy to quit:
It's the keeping-your-chin-up that's hard.

It's easy to cry that you're beaten — and die;
It's easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope's out of sight —
Why, that's the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each gruelling bout,
All broken and beaten and scarred,
Just have one more try — it's dead easy to die,
It's the keeping-on-living that's hard.

This post was promoted to the Main Feed at the recommendation of Ricochet's members.

Discussion (12)

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    EB@EB·47w

    I have always loved Robert Service. Thanks for including this poem - very apt for today's world.

  • To read this bio, please join Ricochet.

    Mark Camp@MarkCamp·47w
    ReplyingtoEB

    EB (View Comment):

    I have always loved Robert Service. Thanks for including this poem – very apt for today’s world.

    I hope my hijack ends in a single response to this: "Have you been recently promoted to uppercase?"

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    Orange Gerald@Jose·47w

    My father had little aesthetic appreciation, and none at all for poetry. Or so I thought until I found this Robert Service poem in Dad's scrapbook.

    The Cremation of Sam McGee

    There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

    Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

  • CONTRIBUTOR

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    Seawriter@Seawriter·47w

    Yeah. Service is a poet for people who normally don't like poetry.

  • To read this bio, please join Ricochet.

    EB@EB·47w
    ReplyingtoMark Camp

    EB (View Comment):

    I have always loved Robert Service. Thanks for including this poem – very apt for today’s world.

    Mark Camp (View Comment):

    I hope my hijack ends in a single response to this: “Have you been recently promoted to uppercase?”

    ???

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