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+
+be peace on earth, good will to men
+and let this now our carol be
+if on the land, or on the sea
+we still will sing the glad refrain
+and in the closing light of day
+good words of peace and cheer will say
+
+the babe that in the manger born
+has risen high above the star
+to judge in peace, or judge in war
+to judge at night or judge at morn
+the star that told us of his birth
+has given us joy and lasting mirth
+
+the man that suffered on the tree
+is risen high above all men
+then swell the glad refrain again
+he died for me, he died for thee
+then peace be ever on the earth
+to one and all of human birth
+
+
+the apple tree has fallen, now
+the axe has laid it low
+the blossoms sparkled ere it fell
+but now they wither so
+
+its shade we now shall seek in vain
+the spot we loved so well
+has vanished since the apple tree
+so loudly crashing fell
+
+no more the wind sings through the leaves
+the song so dear to me
+ah! yes, that rustling far above
+was one of melody
+
+no more we see that staunch old tree
+the axe has laid it low
+and much we’ll miss it, evermore
+that fall was one of woe
+
+
+the angel of peace flew over the land
+and the country was wild with glee
+and she stilled the wave in the stormy night
+on a rolling and restless sea
+
+but the angel of death flew over the land
+and a babe was taken that night
+and an angel sweet in heaven appeared
+in the land of glory and light
+
+
+in a palace sad and lonely
+flit two spectres all the day
+spectres chasing joy and brightness
+from each window far away
+
+one is sorrow clad in raiment
+sombre as the shades of night
+while her trailing robes of darkness
+chase away each ray of light
+
+but the other one is envy
+clad in blackness, clad with woe
+sorrow’s only sad companion
+flitting ever to and fro
+
+by the windows ever gliding
+filling all with thoughts of pain
+all who gaze are doomed forever
+ne’er to see bright joy again
+
+
+all around us, ever floating
+silently yet swiftly on
+pass the years in quick succession
+years that are forever gone
+
+years that soon are past recalling
+years of gladness or of woe
+we can never stop their fleeting
+but forever they will go
+
+years of sorrow passing round us
+dark and dreary as the night
+years of gladness quickly follow
+bringing thoughts all fair and bright
+
+still the years continue passing
+swiftly as the years can be
+till we leave our pains and sorrow
+till we find eternity
+
+
+i would i had some magic pen
+that would my thoughts convey
+there were a mighty pen that would
+the world astound to-day
+
+they come and go as fountains flow
+unceasing, always flowing
+for while some thoughts are coming fast
+the others fast are going
+
+
+on the bright red coals before me
+pictures come and pictures go
+pictures of the waiting future
+filled with gladness or with woe
+
+by the fireside do i picture
+to myself my destiny
+who knows but these golden raptures
+may be real unto me
+
+though the storm outside be raving
+and the snowflakes drift on high
+by the fireside i am safely
+counting on what may be nigh
+
+all the flames fly ever upward
+coiling into every form
+fairies circle ever round me
+heedless of the outside storm
+
+still i watch the weird wild raptures
+of the golden dream so nigh
+let us love our happy fancies
+e’er the time has passed us by
+
+
+see the grass upon its threshold
+see the ivy on its wall
+vacant are its crumbling windows
+vacant is its mossy hall
+
+ah! the step of man upon it
+shall resound along no more
+for the spirits of the dead ones
+ever flit about the door
+
+there the whisperings of the voices
+of the spirits of the dead
+those of friends and enemies
+ever murmur ’round your head
+
+let us leave the haunted ruin
+spirits walk the crumbling floor
+light their step, but oh! their voices
+haunt the building evermore
+
+
+peaceful be for we have reached it
+lighter, lighter ever tread
+’tis a sacred spot and hallowed
+’tis the kingdom of the dead
+
+silent kingdom, sad and lonely
+though so many in it dwell
+who can number all its people
+who, ah! who can ever tell
+
+still and peaceful is their resting
+in their last and humble bed
+tread ye lightly, ’tis the kingdom
+of the sacred holy dead
+
+
+hear ye not the howling wind
+sad and wild
+in its wake come dismal fancies
+never mild
+
+like the moaning of the lost
+comes the wind
+moaning, sighing--viewless phantoms
+come behind
+
+in the darkness come the spirits
+of the night
+howling, with their dismal groaning
+in their flight
+
+absent friends come in our fancies
+evermore
+as the demons flee from hades
+rush and roar
+
+hear ye not the moaning wind
+moan and quiver
+like the moaning of the lost
+lost forever
+
+
+
+over hill and over valley
+over meadows rich and green
+playing with the summer grasses
+fairer sights were never seen
+
+not a mortal ever saw me
+though i see them ev’ry day
+passing like a viewless spirit
+on my happy singing way
+
+often do i rise up skyward
+chasing fast the cloudlets there
+and i drive them headlong onward
+till they all in fragments tear
+
+often on the field of battle
+’mid the storm that works them woe
+do i cheer ’mid cannon’s rattle
+kissing both the friend and foe
+
+and the wounded, as he listens
+to me as i whistle on
+thinks of home and friends and parents
+and of days that now have gone
+
+i often whistle through the woods
+and toss the hunter’s hair
+he sits him down upon a log
+while i caress him there
+
+his brow with sweat is covered o’er
+he feels my cooling sway
+i toss about his silver locks
+that deck his head of gray
+
+but on i go until i find
+the farmer in his field
+i whistle o’er his garnered store
+the willing land doth yield
+
+he hails me as his merry friend
+and thus i am to him
+i never pass without i cheer
+his features calm and grim
+
+i cheer the poet as he sings
+beside some flowing stream
+and looks upon the dim, dim past
+a vision or a dream
+
+
+he hails me, as i sail along
+in accents clear and free
+i answer in an unknown tongue
+and pass on cheerily
+
+he knows me well, and loves me too
+he watches till i find
+his resting place where he may leave
+all earthly cares behind
+
+i visit oft where lovers sit
+i hear their vows of love
+the bright green grass is all below
+the sky of blue above
+
+and there they sit and talk of love
+as only lovers know
+they think the world a paradise
+and all things bright below
+
+
+i visit oft the city’s haunts
+i raise the dust on high
+and whirl it like a water-wheel
+as ever on i fly
+
+i play with wigs and hats and cloaks
+and whistle by the house
+then to a gentle zephyr turn
+as quiet as a mouse
+
+then breaking in an angry fit
+i whistle by the bell
+that hangs within the steeple tall
+and sound a faint, low knell
+
+by ruins old i make my way
+i tear the ivy vines
+and fill with dust and sand and dirt
+the ancient sculptured lines
+
+
+i ramble on the deep, dark sea
+and toss those waves of blue
+i scare the boasting mariner
+and tear the sails in two
+
+the clouds that hang far overhead
+are dropping to the sea
+the waves as mountains now become
+i roar out in my glee
+
+the captain stands with face aghast
+with terror in his eyes
+the fork-ed lightning strikes its wings
+that waft it from the skies
+
+the thunder stops, the clouds pass by
+the waves are resting now
+the gallant ship before my breath
+with magic speed doth plow
+
+
+ye frightened goodly mariners
+that angels were before
+the storm has quit, you curse again
+you’re sinners wild once more
+
+and when the next storm rocks the ship
+and the thunders roll and roar
+you drop upon your knees again
+art sainted then once more
+
+i cross the sea, and soon i find
+europa’s golden coast
+the spanish pride;--the english tar
+makes well his frequent boast
+
+
+i love the clime of africa
+the dark man’s native home
+i love that central, torrid zone
+wherever i may roam
+
+i also love the northern pole
+auroras glisten there
+i love the regions still and cold
+the icebergs standing bare
+
+the water trickling down their sides
+i waft them towards the south
+the walrus suns him as we go
+and opes his giant mouth
+
+i love to sway the trees in spring
+when all in green they stand
+in winter do i move their boughs
+while roaming o’er the land
+
+sometimes i frolic round about
+between the earth and sky
+and it is true where’er i go
+
+i love to whirl the storm around
+and roar out ev’rywhere
+and superstitious people, too
+i often sadly scare
+
+i’ve seen fair eden’s leafy trees
+i’ve seen the first of man
+and i shall see the last of him
+i saw how he began
+
+
+i saw the star of bethlehem
+i heard the angels sing
+i saw the manger and the christ
+the great and goodly king
+
+i saw the cæsar in his rome
+who raised her towers on high
+she raised those towers aloof from earth
+she rose, and but to die
+
+then passing in the flight of years
+i saw napoleon’s day
+i saw the time when he did rise
+and when he fell away
+
+i saw the hero, washington
+who for his country fought
+“i’ll free my country from her bonds,”
+that was his only thought
+
+i’ve known more things than history
+and if i brought to light
+these things ’twould make the stoutest heart
+to start aback with fright
+
+i’ve witnessed murders never seen
+by any human eye
+i’ve seen the very best of men
+by violence to die
+
+i’ve touched the knife that did the deed
+i’ve kissed the brow in vain
+no sign of life upon the face
+so dark and black with pain
+
+
+i know of secrets never known
+to any one but me
+i’ve seen when death had come at last
+and set the captive free
+
+then listen as i pass along
+for aye and evermore
+i sing my only song to you
+as i pass by your door
+
+
+often have i sung this story
+when at midnight’s solemn reign
+like a ghost or howling demon
+will i sing it oft again
+
+i have lived through all the ages
+and will live for many more
+blowing by the stormy ocean
+on the sea and on the shore
+
+on the shore or on the ocean
+ne’er deserting, always constant
+as my zephyrs gently fly
+
+you will find me in the future
+just as i have always been
+free from all unjust transgressions
+free from any kind of sin
+
+often do i waft the odors
+from the fields of clover sweet
+when with breath of sweetest perfume
+do i all the woodlands greet
+
+
+so good-bye; i must be speeding
+stirring up the autumn leaves
+i must visit now the farmer
+as he binds his golden sheaves
+
+i must visit now the smithy
+and his anvil ringing clear
+even now his clanking irons
+do i faintly seem to hear
+
+now, adieu; i must be speeding
+where the wild wings swiftly fly
+and the clouds go by me floating
+so i bid you all “good-bye.”
+
+
+oh, bright the day when england’s crown
+came forth to crown the king
+and in the minds of those around
+it seemed no trifling thing
+
+“give back the crown!” was william’s word
+“or my good sword shall pay
+with heavy thrust and bleeding cut
+for this you’ve done to-day.”
+
+for edward’s will that crown had sent
+to grace stern william’s head
+but harold too had claimed the right
+and for that right he bled
+
+aye! bled, and died, and lost the crown
+he’d struggled so to save
+and ah! that struggle led him to
+his solitary grave
+
+yes! godwin’s son was born to fight
+to chase and not to fly
+and he was born for hasting’s fate
+and that fate was to die
+
+ah! weep ye noble saxon men
+the last king of your line
+shall sleep the cold, still sleep of death
+that solemn sleep divine
+
+to-day we merry are and joy
+doth reign supreme around
+and music seems in every noise
+and ev’ry passing sound
+
+to-morrow comes--that joy is gone
+there lies the human clay
+the spirit to its rest has gone
+where brighter shines the day
+
+we know not when that bidding comes
+that bears us from the earth
+how few the years that stand between
+our death-call and our birth
+
+thus was’t with harold--in the night
+carousing in the tent
+his joy was great, but ’morrows light
+his knee in suppliance bent
+
+the cup went round,--and small thought they
+upon the next day’s fight
+that harold soon in death should lie
+within the waning light
+
+in william’s camp no cup went round
+but heads were bent in prayer
+and plans were laid; then silence kept
+its peaceful reigning there
+
+oh! solemn was the prayer they said
+and solemn was the scene
+the archers with their bows stood by
+with grave and silent mien
+
+the morning came,--the proud array
+stood silent as the dead
+the battle-axes in their hands
+did rise far overhead
+
+and in the midst, his armor bright
+stood harold with his sword
+and far and near around stood those
+who waited at his word
+
+the banner rose above them all
+its warrior stood on high
+and precious stones did mark him there
+that scarcely wealth could buy
+
+duke william led his heroes forth
+and gave them to the fray
+ah, many of those heroes there
+ne’er saw another day
+
+the battle raged, and sunset came
+and flashed on armor bright
+and all around were mangled men
+it was an awful sight
+
+king harold fell, the arrow pierced
+and bore him to the ground
+ah! then was heard a trampling noise
+a wildly flying sound
+
+the warrior and the banner fell
+and dyed were they in blood
+no more the saxon’s sang their shout
+“god’s rood! aye, holy rood!”
+
+
+drifting down the tide we go
+nay! we hoist the sail
+speeding fast and faster still
+with the blowing gale
+
+come sign the pledge and get on board
+and leave behind your woe
+for the sky is bright, and the gale is right
+as like the wind we go
+
+we sail between the shores of green
+on the waters shining breast
+oh! sign the pledge and the ribbon don
+and forever you’ll find rest
+
+sweet rest upon our temperance ship
+and leave behind your woe
+for the sky is bright and the gale is right
+as like the wind we go
+
+
+there is a hall of memory
+within a happy land
+the walls are high and marble clear
+with wealth on every hand
+
+the railings on the stairway
+are made of purest gold
+the marble steps below them
+are hard and stern and cold
+
+i love the hall of memory
+i love to linger there
+sweet visions coming evermore
+its pictures bright and fair
+
+its walls are decked with pictures
+made by a masters hand
+the marble figures far and near
+alive they seem to stand
+
+but there is one fair picture
+i love to gaze upon
+it is the picture of a time
+that is forever gone
+
+there is a hall of memory
+its walls are stern and high
+the treasures it contains for me
+no wealth can ever buy
+
+
+the cold moon-light is shining clear
+the tall trees shadows throw
+and all is spectral far and near
+as far as eye can go
+
+a peaceful calm rests o’er the scene
+the clouds no longer fly
+the busy world is hushed and still
+its cares have passed us by
+
+but when to-morrow’s light has come
+then comes the care and pain
+the strife and warfare of our lives
+is rushing on again
+
+but still the white clouds fleck the sky
+and peace is reigning on
+but soon the beauty of the night
+will fade and fast be gone
+
+
+far in the west is the sunset land
+where flows a mighty river
+it flows right o’er the crimson clouds
+and it follows the sun forever
+
+the stars come chasing through the sky
+they chase and they twinkle and play
+and they love the clouds of the sunset land
+that soon will be far away
+
+and the twilight jealous and sombre and sad
+comes down with his robes of gray
+and he chases the light of the sunset land
+far from the west away
+
+
+when the weary day at last
+with its cares and strife is past
+
+when i lay me down to sleep
+while the angels vigils keep
+
+comes an echo far away
+of the doings of the day
+
+ere my weary eyelids close
+ere my being seeks repose
+
+comes a voice from far away
+“what hast thou performed this day?”
+
+yes the air is full of spirits
+many does each man inherit
+
+but at night each one will say
+“what hast thou performed this day?”
+
+ere my weary eyelids close
+ere i calmly seek repose
+
+comes an echo far away
+“what hast thou performed this day?”
+
+
+the seagull screamed and flopped his wings
+and hied him to his home
+the breakers dashed upon the shore
+their crests were filled with foam
+
+the briny mounts were thrown on high
+where reeled a ship; the gale
+had shorn her of her masts, and torn
+in shreds each flying sail
+
+alas! a wail comes o’er the deep
+the ship is sinking fast
+the mighty mountains of the sea
+are aided by the blast
+
+’tis morn again, the rosy morn
+the storm at sea is o’er
+the elements are calm and still
+the wreck is on the shore
+
+then take good care in future life
+while near the billows roll
+take care lest your own self be lost
+by shipwreck of your soul
+
+then never let the breakers roll
+to whelm the bark within
+as in the world you sail around
+the blackened sea of sin
+
+
+it was in africa’s torrid clime
+two sisters stood alone
+and what they witnessed was a sight
+to melt a heart of stone
+
+the english came and carried off
+one sister, far away
+and now in london’s haunts she stands
+and sorrows all the day
+
+they took her from her native spot
+where she was wont to stand
+and placed her in a foreign clime
+within a foreign land
+
+ah! how she feels, with other eyes
+than on bright egypt’s shore
+she stands where she had never been
+to stand for evermore
+
+the others came with iron bonds
+her sister, too, they brought
+to grace america’s bright parks
+where pity ne’er was thought
+
+ah! yes, in new york city’s haunts
+that sister is to be
+between the two the waters lie
+a dark and stormy sea
+
+ah! now when i to egypt’s plains
+do wend my careful way
+i’ll seek the spot where once they stood
+and there respect i’ll pay
+
+but, oh, the beauties will be gone
+the sisters are not there
+insulted by a grosser race
+they stand where naught is fair
+
+
+
+
+
+
+the snow is lying deep upon the ground
+and naught disturbs the quiet, bitter air
+except the distant jingling sleigh bells sound
+which seems to banish from my heart all care
+the trees are barren of their waving leaves
+the limbs are swaying sadly to and fro
+it seems as though it for its verdure grieves
+as down it shakes the flakes of shining snow
+oh, thou to me forever art a friend
+i would that you were for the whole year round
+and he on high those blessings by you send
+that always in your bounteous lap are found
+and you and i would be as angels here
+and sorrow never know nor ever shed a tear
+
+
+thou dancing sunbeams through the happy day
+dost cheer me on my onward path through life
+you show to me more clear my stumbling way
+and lighter make my almost ceaseless strife
+thou art to me a greater friend indeed
+than others i have loved up to this hour
+they are oft but a wildly growing weed
+but thou art like a shining summer flow’r
+the world could not exist if not for thee
+the ice-king would possession then obtain
+the light and beauty from all things would flee
+and naught but lasting, dark’ning chaos reighn
+but now we have the cheerful, glittering light
+that keeps the universe alive and bright
+
+
+
+
+let us now improve the present
+waiting not for something more
+for the past is gone forever
+and its troubles all are o’er
+
+let us hope not in the future
+golden days will be at hand
+try, keep trying, for that country
+in a fairer, better land
+
+up, be doing in the present
+waiting not for something more
+for the past is gone forever
+and its troubles all are o’er
+
+those who wait are ne’er receiving
+those who act are always blest
+up, be doing, still be acting
+this is not a time for rest
+
+let us now improve the present
+waiting not for something more
+for the past is gone forever
+and its troubles all are o’er
+
+
+little ada now has gone
+to that land above
+where no trouble ever comes
+all is brightness, all is love
+
+now an angel far away
+in that land of light
+cheer up, oh, afflicted ones
+she is gone where all is bright
+
+father, cheer the grieving parents
+help them now to bear the woe
+pity us, thy simple children
+in this land so far below
+
+angels carried her to heaven
+clothed her in their robes of light
+she is gone, but not forever
+from the loving parents’ sight
+
+little ada now has gone
+to that land above
+where no trouble ever comes
+all is brightness, all is love
+
+
+on the summit of a mountain
+stood i in the twilight gray
+there were many standing with me
+in the closing light of day
+
+two paths led out from the summit
+one to lands so clear and bright
+and the other to a dark land
+where reigned eternal night
+
+many chose the road to darkness
+pathway leading down to hell
+few there were that took the other
+they that chose it, chose it well
+
+’twas a dream i dreamed in slumber
+but ’tis real every day
+many take the downward path
+few that go the brighter way
+
+
+an old man entered a dram-shop
+he staggerd and stumbled in
+his face was as hard as granite
+his hair was light and thin
+
+the bar-keeper’s daughter entered
+in a dress of purest white
+and she looked as sweet as could be
+in her nice new clothes that night
+
+the old man stopped, and reasoned
+for his own dear child he knew
+was shoeless and cold and ragged
+and his wife was starving, too
+
+so the dime that lay in his pocket
+bought bread for his wife that night
+and the old bar-keeper’s daughter
+still dressed in her snowy white
+
+but soon ere the winter was over
+the drunkard was drunkard no more
+and the wife and child were happy
+as they never had been before
+
+
+oh, fresh from the woodland comes the breath
+the breath of the beautiful spring
+and the gentle zephyrs that float about
+scents from the meadow and forest bring
+and in every tree
+a robin in glee
+is chanting a joyous melody
+
+oh the sweet calm breath of beautiful spring
+and the azure sky is bright above
+and the warm sunshine makes the whole world glad
+for every beam is a message of love
+and in every tree
+the robin in glee
+is chanting a joyous melody
+
+the warm sun shines and the sweet flowers bloom
+but ah, the wild winds will be raving amain
+and the cold gray winter will ravish our joys
+the beauties of earth will be vanished again
+from every tree
+the robin will flee
+and fly to the south with his melody
+
+but let us enjoy these transient delights
+and gaze on their beauty while linger they here
+let us thank our dear father such grandeur may come
+while spring claims her place in every year
+and in every tree
+a robin will be
+chanting a beautiful melody
+
+
+through the din of patt’ring rain drops
+comes the thunder in the night
+while the bold electric flashes
+dazzle for a while the sight
+
+patter, patter come the rain-drops
+streaming down the window-pane
+on the roof, unceasing, patter
+noisy little drops of rain
+
+all the stars have left and hidden
+and the cresent is no more
+when will come the day and sunshine
+as it came in days of yore
+
+but the patter of the rain-drops
+music to my thoughts they make
+when the rumbling peals of thunder
+rhyme and even rhythm break
+
+may we thankful be for sunshine
+may we thankful be for rain
+come again, oh patt’ring rain-drops
+with your music come again
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+on solferino’s dizzy heights there grew
+the bright green grass and here and there were seen
+the golden hues of flow’rets shining fair
+the bright, warm sunshine sparkled on the world
+and all the cloudlets of the azure sky
+dark shadows threw upon the happy scene
+
+
+but on the crest of that tall cliff there frowned
+the battered walls the battlements and tow’rs
+and in the castle solferino’s prince
+walked to and fro and ’round him stood his men
+and ere the heart had time to falter once
+was heard the deafening rolling cannon’s roar
+
+
+“the foe has come!” they flew to arms, and ere
+the echoes quite had died away, they gave
+forth shot for shot and shout for shout
+then was thy life-blood spilt! that day
+was one of woe to thee sardinia
+those lives have left forevermore this earth
+
+
+then came the awful ravage of the fray
+the cannon’s roar, the dying’s groan, the sounds of war
+and ev’rywhere was blood--the verdure was
+beneath the hard foot trampled and the day
+turned dark beneath the reign of chaos wild
+
+
+the mincio’s waters drifted toward the sea
+but ever on its bosom wild was borne
+the life-blood of the soldier’s in the fray
+ah! red as blood its once clear waters were
+and on its banks the same dread curse prevailed
+
+
+thus man shall slay and man shall die until
+the time when his wild fury thus unchecked
+shall spend itself and once relapse away
+oh! may man’s conscience soon awake to learn
+the wild disaster that his fury wrought
+
+
+
+the cold gray mist crept o’er the shore
+and hung about the bay
+we saw the foaming of the surf
+within the twilight gray
+
+but through the twilight cold and still
+we heard the hum from yonder town
+we saw the path around the hill
+come winding ever slowly down
+
+the wild wind rose as night came on
+we heard the waves beat on the shore
+the tempest wailed and moaned about
+above the distant roar
+
+sad night, alas! was that to some
+who, on the dreary ocean wide
+heard far and near the tempest come
+the wailing winds on either side
+
+a dreadful night--a stormy night
+it swept the wrecks ashore
+it was a time--a dreadful sight
+forgotten nevermore
+
+that night was one of woe, alas
+the wild wind whistled by
+and seemed to be as it did pass
+some struggling sailor’s drowning cry
+
+
+far in the west is a peaceful land
+where the golden sunset fades away
+and fast as the twilight shadows come
+the sunset bids farewell to day
+
+the snow white vapor in fragments flies
+and the gold-edged clouds near the sunset move
+but the twilight, dim and dark and gray
+steals fast from sight this land of love
+
+the zephyrs stir and the soft leaves wave
+and sigh for the loss of the sunset sky
+but even the beauties that shine in the west
+must ever fade till the glories die
+
+
+in the distance dim a valley lies
+where flows a deep dark river
+on the farther shore a city stands
+where the tide flows on forever
+
+a cloud hangs o’er the city fair
+by day in the valley yonder
+by night in the streets, devoid of light
+wild phantoms ever wander
+
+no sound comes forth from the vacant domes
+that gleam in the quiet air
+no living thing breaks the solitude
+but the phantoms wander there
+
+in the distance dim a valley lies
+where flows a rolling river
+but the phantoms wander by its side
+as time flies by forever
+
+
+when the sunset in the west
+gilds the landscape far and near
+wraps the sun within his shroud
+dies he on a glorious bier
+
+when the night falls o’er the land
+comes the cresent from the sky
+silence reigns upon the scene
+as the brooklet hurries by
+
+when the starlight cold and still
+falls upon the earth below
+falls upon the church-yard hill
+by the saddened brooklets flow
+
+slower come the drifting waters
+ceasing once their noisy glee
+as it passes by it sings on
+in a plaintive melody
+
+ghostly rise the marble spectres
+o’er the beds of those who sleep
+ever in the night or day time
+still their solemn vigils keep
+
+when the sunrise in the east
+gilds the sky with flames of light
+runs the brooklet fast to meet
+with its waters ever bright
+
+onward to the flowing river
+and its waters mingle there
+oh! when shall they return agan
+to the brooklet shining fair
+
+
+when the christ was born on earth
+then wise men the star did guide
+till with riches they appeared
+by the great messiah’s side
+
+and the angels ever echoed
+songs of happiness again
+and a voice from heaven answered
+
+still the star whirled in its orbit
+round the sun of heat and light
+saw the earth in years advancing
+watched her in her rapid flight
+
+when we slumber peacefully
+when we think not what is near
+still the star’s light shineth ever
+all its beams are bright and clear
+
+thus forever, yet unceasing
+still it shineth as of yore
+and shall be a guide and helper
+through the ages evermore
+
+
+this volume out of respect to a little girl of six years who used to
+love to recite it to me. she knew many poems, but this was her
+favourite
+
+i shot an arrow into the air
+it fell to earth, i knew not where
+for, so swiftly it flew, the sight
+could not follow it in its flight
+
+i breathed a song into the air
+it fell to earth, i knew not where
+for who has sight so keen and strong
+that it can follow the flight of song
+
+long, long afterward, in an oak
+i found the arrow, still unbroke
+and the song, from beginning to end
+i found again in the heart of a friend
+
+
+
+i found "the babie" in stedman's "anthology." it is placed in this
+volume by permission of the poet, jeremiah eames rankin, of cleveland
+fancy was greatly moved by the two beautiful lines
+
+i'm glad she has no wings
+
+nae shoon to hide her tiny taes
+nae stockin' on her feet
+her supple ankles white as snaw
+or early blossoms sweet
+
+her simple dress o' sprinkled pink
+her double, dimplit chin
+her puckered lips, and baumy mou
+with na ane tooth within
+
+her een sae like her mither's een
+twa gentle, liquid things
+her face is like an angel's face
+we're glad she has nae wings
+
+
+
+that the world cannot outgrow. once in the mind, they fasten. they were
+not born to die
+
+let dogs delight to bark and bite
+for god hath made them so
+let bears and lions growl and fight
+for 'tis their nature too
+
+but, children, you should never let
+such angry passions rise
+your little hands were never made
+to tear each other's eyes
+
+
+
+little drops of water
+little grains of sand
+make the mighty ocean
+and the pleasant land
+
+thus the little minutes
+humble though they be
+make the mighty ages
+of eternity
+
+
+
+these two stanzas, the very heart of that great poem, "the ancient
+mariner," by samuel taylor coleridge (1772-1834), sum up the lesson of
+this masterpiece--"insensibility is a crime
+
+farewell, farewell! but this i tell
+to thee, thou wedding-guest
+he prayeth well who loveth well
+both man and bird and beast
+
+he prayeth best who loveth best
+all things, both great and small
+for the dear god who loveth us
+he made and loveth all
+
+
+
+twinkle, twinkle, little star
+how i wonder what you are
+up above the world so high
+like a diamond in the sky
+
+when the glorious sun is set
+when the grass with dew is wet
+then you show your little light
+twinkle, twinkle all the night
+
+in the dark-blue sky you keep
+and often through my curtains peep
+for you never shut your eye
+till the sun is in the sky
+
+as your bright and tiny spark
+guides the traveller in the dark
+though i know not what you are
+twinkle, twinkle, little star
+
+
+right with the world" is a cheerful motto for the nursery and
+schoolroom
+
+the year's at the spring
+the day's at the morn
+morning's at seven
+the hillside's dew pearled
+
+the lark's on the wing
+the snail's on the thorn
+god's in his heaven
+all's right with the world
+
+
+
+through life. it is anonymous
+
+thirty days hath september
+april, june, and november
+february has twenty-eight alone
+all the rest have thirty-one
+excepting leap-year--that's the time
+when february's days are twenty-nine
+
+
+
+
+there was never a queen like balkis
+from here to the wide world's end
+but balkis talked to a butterfly
+as you would talk to a friend
+
+there was never a king like solomon
+not since the world began
+but solomon talked to a butterfly
+as a man would talk to a man
+
+and _he_ was asia's lord
+but they both of 'em talked to butterflies
+when they took their walks abroad
+
+
+
+
+pussy can sit by the fire and sing
+pussy can climb a tree
+or play with a silly old cork and string
+to 'muse herself, not me
+but i like binkie, my dog, because
+he knows how to behave
+so, binkie's the same as the first friend was
+and i am the man in the cave
+
+pussy will play man-friday till
+it's time to wet her paw
+and make her walk on the window-sill
+then she fluffles her tail and mews
+and scratches and won't attend
+but binkie will play whatever i choose
+and he is my true first friend
+
+pussy will rub my knees with her head
+pretending she loves me hard
+but the very minute i go to my bed
+pussy runs out in the yard
+
+and there she stays till the morning light
+so i know it is only pretend
+but binkie, he snores at my feet all night
+and he is my firstest friend
+
+
+
+
+popular short poems extant. i have taught it to a great many very young
+boys, and not one has ever tried to evade learning it. older pupils
+like it equally well
+
+i have a little shadow that goes in and out with me
+and what can be the use of him is more than i can see
+he is very, very like me from the heels up to the head
+and i see him jump before me, when i jump into my bed
+
+the funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow
+not at all like proper children, which is always very slow
+for he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball
+and he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all
+
+he hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play
+and can only make a fool of me in every sort of way
+he stays so close beside me, he's a coward, you can see
+i'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me
+
+one morning, very early, before the sun was up
+i rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup
+but my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head
+had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed
+
+
+
+this poem (george macdonald, 1828-) finds a place in this volume
+because, as a child, i loved it. it completely filled my heart, and has
+made every member of the lily family dear to me. george macdonald's
+charming book, "at the back of the north wind," also was my wonder and
+delight
+
+little white lily
+sat by a stone
+drooping and waiting
+till the sun shone
+little white lily
+sunshine has fed
+little white lily
+is lifting her head
+
+little white lily
+said: "it is good
+little white lily's
+clothing and food
+little white lily
+dressed like a bride
+shining with whiteness
+and crownèd beside
+
+little white lily
+drooping with pain
+waiting and waiting
+for the wet rain
+little white lily
+holdeth her cup
+rain is fast falling
+and filling it up
+
+little white lily
+said: "good again
+when i am thirsty
+to have the nice rain
+now i am stronger
+now i am cool
+heat cannot burn me
+my veins are so full
+
+little white lily
+smells very sweet
+on her head sunshine
+rain at her feet
+thanks to the sunshine
+thanks to the rain
+little white lily
+is happy again
+
+
+
+children because it helps to reconcile them to going to bed. "i go to
+bed by day" is one of the crosses of childhood
+
+the great tree to his children said
+yes, very sleepy, little red
+it is quite time to go to bed
+
+dear father tree, behold our grief
+we do not want to go away
+
+so, for just one more merry day
+to the great tree the leaflets clung
+frolicked and danced, and had their way
+upon the autumn breezes swung
+whispering all their sports among
+
+and let us stay until the spring
+if we all beg, and coax, and fret
+but the great tree did no such thing
+he smiled to hear their whispering
+
+and ere the leaves could urge their prayer
+he shook his head, and far and wide
+fluttering and rustling everywhere
+down sped the leaflets through the air
+
+i saw them; on the ground they lay
+golden and red, a huddled swarm
+waiting till one from far away
+white bedclothes heaped upon her arm
+should come to wrap them safe and warm
+
+the great bare tree looked down and smiled
+and from below each sleepy child
+replied, "good-night," and murmured
+
+
+
+volume out of respect to an eight-year-old child who chose it from
+among hundreds. we had one poetry hour every week, and he studied and
+recited it with unabated interest to the end of the year
+
+wee willie winkie rins through the town
+up-stairs and doon-stairs, in his nicht-gown
+tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock
+
+hey, willie winkie! are ye comin' ben
+the cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen
+the doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep
+but here's a waukrife laddie that winna fa' asleep
+
+onything but sleep, ye rogue! glow'rin' like the moon
+rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon
+rumblin' tumblin' roun' about, crowin' like a cock
+skirlin' like a kenna-what--wauknin' sleepin' folk
+
+hey, willie winkie! the wean's in a creel
+waumblin' aff a body's knee like a vera eel
+ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her thrums
+hey, willie winkie!--see, there he comes
+
+wearie is the mither that has a storie wean
+a wee stumpie stoussie that canna rin his lane
+that has a battle aye wi' sleep before he'll close an ee
+but a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me
+
+
+
+because i once found that a timid child was much strengthened and
+developed by learning it. it is a song that appeals to the imagination
+of children, and they like to sing it
+
+the owl and the pussy-cat went to sea
+in a beautiful pea-green boat
+they took some honey, and plenty of money
+wrapped up in a five-pound note
+the owl looked up to the moon above
+and sang to a small guitar
+what a beautiful pussy you are
+you are
+what a beautiful pussy you are
+
+pussy said to the owl, "you elegant fowl
+how wonderful sweet you sing
+oh, let us be married,--too long we have tarried
+but what shall we do for a ring
+they sailed away for a year and a day
+to the land where the bong-tree grows
+and there in a wood a piggy-wig stood
+with a ring in the end of his nose
+his nose
+with a ring in the end of his nose
+
+your ring?" said the piggy, "i will
+so they took it away, and were married next day
+by the turkey who lives on the hill
+they dined upon mince and slices of quince
+which they ate with a runcible spoon
+and hand in hand on the edge of the sand
+they danced by the light of the moon
+the moon
+they danced by the light of the moon
+
+
+
+children, who are all by nature sailors and adventurers
+
+wynken, blynken, and nod one night
+sailed off in a wooden shoe
+sailed on a river of crystal light
+into a sea of dew
+the old moon asked the three
+that live in this beautiful sea
+nets of silver and gold have we
+said wynken
+blynken
+and nod
+
+the old moon laughed and sang a song
+as they rocked in the wooden shoe
+and the wind that sped them all night long
+ruffled the waves of dew
+the little stars were the herring-fish
+that lived in the beautiful sea
+never afeard are we
+so cried the stars to the fishermen three
+wynken
+blynken
+and nod
+
+all night long their nets they threw
+to the stars in the twinkling foam
+then down from the skies came the wooden shoe
+bringing the fishermen home
+as if it could not be
+and some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
+of sailing that beautiful sea
+but i shall name you the fishermen three
+wynken
+blynken
+and nod
+
+wynken and blynken are two little eyes
+and nod is a little head
+and the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
+is a wee one's trundle-bed
+so shut your eyes while mother sings
+of wonderful sights that be
+and you shall see the beautiful things
+as you rock on the misty sea
+where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three
+wynken
+blynken
+and nod
+
+
+
+humorous poem that has come under my notice. in making such a
+collection as this it is not easy to find poems at once delicate
+witty, and graphic. i have taught "the duel" hundreds of times, and
+children invariably love it
+
+the gingham dog and the calico cat
+side by side on the table sat
+nor one nor t'other had slept a wink
+the old dutch clock and the chinese plate
+appeared to know as sure as fate
+there was going to be a terrible spat
+what was told to me by the chinese plate
+
+the gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow
+and the calico cat replied "mee-ow
+the air was littered, an hour or so
+with bits of gingham and calico
+while the old dutch clock in the chimney-place
+up with its hands before its face
+for it always dreaded a family row
+what the old dutch clock declares is true
+
+the chinese plate looked very blue
+and wailed, "oh, dear! what shall we do
+but the gingham dog and the calico cat
+wallowed this way and tumbled that
+employing every tooth and claw
+in the awfullest way you ever saw
+and, oh! how the gingham and calico flew
+i got my views from the chinese plate
+
+next morning where the two had sat
+they found no trace of the dog or cat
+and some folks think unto this day
+that burglars stole the pair away
+but the truth about the cat and the pup
+is this: they ate each other up
+now what do you really think of that
+and that is how i came to know
+
+
+
+disturb the street," by isaac watts (1674-1748), are real gems. a few
+years ago they were more in favour than the poorer verse that has been
+put forward. but they are sure to be revived
+
+once there was a little boy
+with curly hair and pleasant eye
+a boy who always told the truth
+and never, never told a lie
+
+and when he trotted off to school
+the children all about would cry
+the boy that never tells a lie
+
+and everybody loved him so
+because he always told the truth
+that every day, as he grew up
+
+and when the people that stood near
+would turn to ask the reason why
+the answer would be always this
+
+
+whatever brawls disturb the street
+there should be peace at home
+where sisters dwell and brothers meet
+quarrels should never come
+
+birds in their little nests agree
+and 'tis a shameful sight
+when children of one family
+fall out and chide and fight
+
+
+
+oh where! and oh where! is your highland laddie gone
+he's gone to fight the french for king george upon the throne
+and it's oh! in my heart how i wish him safe at home
+
+oh where! and oh where! does your highland laddie dwell
+he dwells in merry scotland at the sign of the bluebell
+and it's oh! in my heart that i love my laddie well
+
+
+
+if i had but two little wings
+and were a little feathery bird
+to you i'd fly, my dear
+but thoughts like these are idle things
+and i stay here
+
+but in my sleep to you i fly
+i'm always with you in my sleep
+the world is all one's own
+all, all alone
+
+
+
+to be good
+
+my fairest child, i have no song to give you
+no lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray
+yet, ere we part, one lesson i can leave you
+for every day
+
+be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever
+do noble things, not dream them all day long
+and so make life, death, and that vast forever
+one grand, sweet song
+
+
+
+faithful heart, an example of unreasoning obedience. it is right that a
+child should obey even to the death the commands of a loving parent
+
+the boy stood on the burning deck
+whence all but him had fled
+the flame that lit the battle's wreck
+shone round him o'er the dead
+
+yet beautiful and bright he stood
+as born to rule the storm
+a creature of heroic blood
+a proud though childlike form
+
+the flames rolled on--he would not go
+without his father's word
+that father, faint in death below
+his voice no longer heard
+
+he called aloud, "say, father, say
+if yet my task is done
+he knew not that the chieftain lay
+unconscious of his son
+
+and but the booming shots replied
+and fast the flames rolled on
+
+upon his brow he felt their breath
+and in his waving hair
+and looked from that lone post of death
+in still, yet brave despair
+
+and shouted but once more aloud
+while o'er him fast, through sail and shroud
+the wreathing fires made way
+
+they wrapt the ship in splendour wild
+they caught the flag on high
+and streamed above the gallant child
+like banners in the sky
+
+then came a burst of thunder sound
+the boy--oh! where was he
+with fragments strew the sea
+
+with mast, and helm, and pennon fair
+that well had borne their part
+but the noblest thing that perished there
+was that young, faithful heart
+
+
+
+with every young audience. it is pointed to an end that children
+love--viz., trust in a higher power
+
+we were crowded in the cabin
+not a soul would dare to sleep
+it was midnight on the waters
+and a storm was on the deep
+
+to be shattered by the blast
+and to hear the rattling trumpet
+thunder, "cut away the mast
+
+so we shuddered there in silence
+for the stoutest held his breath
+while the hungry sea was roaring
+and the breakers talked with death
+
+as thus we sat in darkness
+each one busy with his prayers
+as he staggered down the stairs
+
+but his little daughter whispered
+as she took his icy hand
+just the same as on the land
+
+then we kissed the little maiden
+and we spoke in better cheer
+and we anchored safe in harbour
+when the morn was shining clear
+
+
+time when the chestnut-tree that shaded it was cut down, and then the
+children of the place put their pence together and had a chair made for
+the poet from its wood
+
+
+longfellow (1807-82) is truly the children's poet. his poems are as
+simple, pathetic, artistic, and philosophical as if they were intended
+to tell the plain everyday story of life to older people. "the village
+blacksmith" has been learned by thousands of children, and there is no
+criticism to be put upon it. the age of the child has nothing whatever
+to do with his learning it. age does not grade children nor is poetry
+wholly to be so graded. "time is the false reply
+
+under a spreading chestnut-tree
+the village smithy stands
+the smith, a mighty man is he
+with large and sinewy hands
+and the muscles of his brawny arms
+are strong as iron bands
+
+his hair is crisp, and black, and long
+his face is like the tan
+his brow is wet with honest sweat
+he earns whate'er he can
+and looks the whole world in the face
+for he owes not any man
+
+week in, week out, from morn till night
+you can hear his bellows blow
+you can hear him swing his heavy sledge
+with measured beat and slow
+like a sexton ringing the village bell
+when the evening sun is low
+
+and children coming home from school
+look in at the open door
+they love to see the flaming forge
+and hear the bellows roar
+and catch the burning sparks that fly
+like chaff from a threshing-floor
+
+he goes on sunday to the church
+and sits among his boys
+he hears the parson pray and preach
+he hears his daughter's voice
+singing in the village choir
+and it makes his heart rejoice
+
+it sounds to him like her mother's voice
+singing in paradise
+he needs must think of her once more
+how in the grave she lies
+and with his hard, rough hand he wipes
+a tear out of his eyes
+
+toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing
+onward through life he goes
+each morning sees some task begin
+each evening sees it close
+something attempted, something done
+has earned a night's repose
+
+thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
+for the lesson thou hast taught
+thus at the flaming forge of life
+our fortunes must be wrought
+thus on its sounding anvil shaped
+each burning deed and thought
+
+
+
+sweet and low, sweet and low
+wind of the western sea
+low, low, breathe and blow
+wind of the western sea
+over the rolling waters go
+come from the dropping moon and blow
+blow him again to me
+while my little one, while my pretty one sleeps
+
+sleep and rest, sleep and rest
+father will come to thee soon
+rest, rest, on mother's breast
+father will come to thee soon
+father will come to his babe in the nest
+silver sails all out of the west
+under the silver moon
+sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep
+
+
+
+old-fashioned poems, pure poetry and pure violet. it is included in
+this volume out of respect to my own love for it when i was a child
+
+down in a green and shady bed
+a modest violet grew
+its stalk was bent, it hung its head
+as if to hide from view
+
+and yet it was a lovely flower
+no colours bright and fair
+it might have graced a rosy bower
+instead of hiding there
+
+yet there it was content to bloom
+in modest tints arrayed
+and there diffused its sweet perfume
+within the silent shade
+
+then let me to the valley go
+this pretty flower to see
+that i may also learn to grow
+in sweet humility
+
+
+
+
+child's feelings. it voices the spirit of all ages that would love to
+imagine it "a bridge to heaven
+
+my heart leaps up when i behold
+a rainbow in the sky
+so was it when my life began
+so is it now i am a man
+so be it when i shall grow old
+or let me die
+the child is father of the man
+and i could wish my days to be
+bound each to each by natural piety
+
+
+
+most popular christmas poem ever written. it carries santa claus on
+from year to year and the spirit of santa claus
+
+not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse
+the stockings were hung by the chimney with care
+in hopes that st. nicholas soon would be there
+the children were nestled all snug in their beds
+while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads
+and mamma in her 'kerchief, and i in my cap
+had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap
+when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
+i sprang from the bed to see what was the matter
+away to the window i flew like a flash
+tore open the shutters and threw up the sash
+the moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
+gave the luster of mid-day to objects below
+when, what to my wondering eyes should appear
+but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer
+with a little old driver, so lively and quick
+i knew in a moment it must be st. nick
+more rapid than eagles his coursers they came
+and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name
+on, _comet_! on, _cupid_! on, _donder_ and _blitzen
+to the top of the porch! to the top of the wall
+now dash away! dash away! dash away all
+as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly
+when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
+so up to the house-top the coursers they flew
+with the sleigh full of toys, and st. nicholas, too
+and then, in a twinkling, i heard on the roof
+the prancing and pawing of each little hoof
+as i drew in my head, and was turning around
+down the chimney st. nicholas came with a bound
+he was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot
+and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot
+a bundle of toys he had flung on his back
+and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack
+his eyes--how they twinkled! his dimples how merry
+his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry
+his droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
+and the beard of his chin was as white as the snow
+the stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth
+and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath
+he had a broad face and a little round belly
+that shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly
+he was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf
+and i laughed when i saw him, in spite of myself
+a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
+soon gave me to know i had nothing to dread
+he spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
+and filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk
+and laying his finger aside of his nose
+and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose
+he sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle
+and away they all flew like the down on a thistle
+but i heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight
+
+
+
+o! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light
+what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming
+whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight
+o'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming
+and the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air
+gave proof through the night that our flag was still there
+o! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
+o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave
+
+on that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep
+where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes
+what is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep
+as it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses
+now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam
+in full glory reflected now shines on the stream
+o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave
+
+and where is that band who so vauntingly swore
+that the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
+a home and a country should leave us no more
+their blood has washed out their foul footsteps, pollution
+no refuge could save the hireling and slave
+from the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave
+and the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
+o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave
+
+o! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
+between their loved homes and the war's desolation
+blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n-rescued land
+praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation
+then conquer we must, for our cause it is just
+and this be our motto--"_in god is our trust
+and the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
+o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave
+
+
+
+than the original. harmless fun brightens the world. it takes a real
+genius to create wit that carries no sting
+
+and yet you incessantly stand on your head
+do you think, at your age, it is right
+
+but now that i'm perfectly sure i have none
+why, i do it again and again
+
+and have grown most uncommonly fat
+yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door
+pray, what is the reason of that
+
+by the use of this ointment--one shilling the box
+allow me to sell you a couple
+
+for anything tougher than suet
+yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak
+pray, how did you manage to do it
+
+and argued each case with my wife
+and the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw
+has lasted the rest of my life
+
+that your eye was as steady as ever
+yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose
+what made you so awfully clever
+
+said his father, "don't give yourself airs
+do you think i can listen all day to such stuff
+be off, or i'll kick you down-stairs
+
+
+
+
+teacher of good taste, and i include it at her request
+
+a nightingale, that all day long
+had cheered the village with his song
+nor yet at eve his note suspended
+nor yet when eventide was ended
+began to feel, as well he might
+the keen demands of appetite
+when, looking eagerly around
+he spied far off, upon the ground
+a something shining in the dark
+and knew the glow-worm by his spark
+so, stooping down from hawthorn top
+he thought to put him in his crop
+the worm, aware of his intent
+harangued him thus, right eloquent
+you would abhor to do me wrong
+as much as i to spoil your song
+for 'twas the self-same power divine
+taught you to sing and me to shine
+that you with music, i with light
+might beautify and cheer the night
+the songster heard his short oration
+and warbling out his approbation
+released him, as my story tells
+and found a supper somewhere else
+
+
+
+the little child
+
+
+
+years old, but he is the same rollicking fellow to-day as of yore. the
+poem puts his merry pranks to the front and prepares the way for
+science to give him a true analysis
+
+the frost looked forth, one still, clear night
+and whispered, "now i shall be out of sight
+so through the valley and over the height
+in silence i'll take my way
+i will not go on with that blustering train
+the wind and the snow, the hail and the rain
+who make so much bustle and noise in vain
+but i'll be as busy as they
+
+then he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest
+he lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed
+in diamond beads--and over the breast
+of the quivering lake he spread
+a coat of mail, that it need not fear
+the downward point of many a spear
+that hung on its margin far and near
+where a rock could rear its head
+
+he went to the windows of those who slept
+and over each pane, like a fairy, crept
+wherever he breathed, wherever he slept
+by the light of the moon were seen
+most beautiful things--there were flowers and trees
+there were bevies of birds and swarms of bees
+there were cities with temples and towers, and these
+all pictured in silver sheen
+
+but he did one thing that was hardly fair
+he peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
+that all had forgotten for him to prepare
+i'll bite this basket of fruit," said he
+and the glass of water they've left for me
+shall '_tchich!_' to tell them i'm drinking
+
+
+
+when cats run home and light is come
+and dew is cold upon the ground
+and the far-off stream is dumb
+and the whirring sail goes round
+and the whirring sail goes round
+alone and warming his five wits
+the white owl in the belfry sits
+
+when merry milkmaids click the latch
+and rarely smells the new-mown hay
+and the cock hath sung beneath the thatch
+twice or thrice his roundelay
+twice or thrice his roundelay
+alone and warming his five wits
+the white owl in the belfry sits
+
+
+
+place here because it carries a good lesson good-naturedly rendered. an
+accomplished teacher recommends it, and i recollect two young children
+in chicago who sang it frequently for years without getting tired of
+
+there were three sailors of bristol city
+who took a boat and went to sea
+but first with beef and captain's biscuits
+and pickled pork they loaded she
+
+there was gorging jack and guzzling jimmy
+and the youngest he was little billee
+now when they got so far as the equator
+they'd nothing left but one split pea
+
+says gorging jack to guzzling jimmy
+to gorging jack says guzzling jimmy
+
+says gorging jack to guzzling jimmy
+there's little bill, he's young and tender
+we're old and tough, so let's eat he
+
+so undo the button of your chemie
+when bill received this information
+he used his pocket-handkerchie
+
+which my poor mammy taught to me
+while jack pulled out his snickersnee
+
+so billy went up to the main-topgallant mast
+and down he fell on his bended knee
+he scarce had come to the twelfth commandment
+when up he jumps, "there's land i see
+
+and north and south amerikee
+there's the british flag a-riding at anchor
+
+so when they got aboard of the admiral's
+he hanged fat jack and flogged jimmee
+but as for little bill, he made him
+the captain of a seventy-three
+
+
+
+recommended by some school-girls. it carries a lesson in favour of the
+worker
+
+methought i heard a butterfly
+say to a labouring bee
+on painted wings like me
+
+and colours bright and rare
+with mild reproof, the bee replies
+
+and scorning idleness
+to tribes of gaudy sloth i leave
+the vanity of dress
+
+
+
+included in this volume out of regard to a boy of eight years who did
+not care for many poems, but this one stirred his heart to its depths
+
+you know, we french storm'd ratisbon
+a mile or so away
+on a little mound, napoleon
+stood on our storming-day
+with neck out-thrust, you fancy how
+legs wide, arms lock'd behind
+as if to balance the prone brow
+oppressive with its mind
+
+just as perhaps he mus'd "my plans
+that soar, to earth may fall
+let once my army leader lannes
+waver at yonder wall
+out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew
+a rider, bound on bound
+full-galloping; nor bridle drew
+until he reach'd the mound
+
+then off there flung in smiling joy
+and held himself erect
+by just his horse's mane, a boy
+you hardly could suspect
+scarce any blood came through
+you look'd twice ere you saw his breast
+was all but shot in two
+
+we've got you ratisbon
+the marshal's in the market-place
+and you'll be there anon
+to see your flag-bird flap his vans
+where i, to heart's desire
+perched him!" the chief's eye flashed; his plans
+soared up again like fire
+
+the chief's eye flashed; but presently
+softened itself, as sheathes
+a film the mother-eagle's eye
+when her bruised eaglet breathes
+touched to the quick, he said
+smiling the boy fell dead
+
+
+
+have seen it used effectively as a memory gem in the cook county normal
+school (colonel parker's school), year after year, and because my own
+pupils invariably like to commit it to memory. with the child of six to
+the student of twenty years it stands a source of delight
+
+merrily swinging on brier and weed
+near to the nest of his little dame
+over the mountain-side or mead
+robert of lincoln is telling his name
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+snug and safe is this nest of ours
+hidden among the summer flowers
+chee, chee, chee
+
+robert of lincoln is gayly dressed
+wearing a bright, black wedding-coat
+white are his shoulders, and white his crest
+hear him call in his merry note
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+look what a nice, new coat is mine
+sure there was never a bird so fine
+chee, chee, chee
+
+robert of lincoln's quaker wife
+pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings
+passing at home a patient life
+broods in the grass while her husband sings
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+brood, kind creature, you need not fear
+thieves and robbers while i am here
+chee, chee, chee
+
+modest and shy as a nun is she
+one weak chirp is her only note
+braggart, and prince of braggarts is he
+pouring boasts from his little throat
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+never was i afraid of man
+catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can
+chee, chee, chee
+
+six white eggs on a bed of hay
+flecked with purple, a pretty sight
+there as the mother sits all day
+robert is singing with all his might
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+nice good wife that never goes out
+keeping house while i frolic about
+chee, chee, chee
+
+soon as the little ones chip the shell
+six wide mouths are open for food
+robert of lincoln bestirs him well
+gathering seeds for the hungry brood
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+this new life is likely to be
+hard for a gay young fellow like me
+chee, chee, chee
+
+robert of lincoln at length is made
+sober with work, and silent with care
+off is his holiday garment laid
+half forgotten that merry air
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+where our nest and our nestlings lie
+chee, chee, chee
+
+summer wanes; the children are grown
+fun and frolic no more he knows
+robert of lincoln's a hum-drum drone
+off he flies, and we sing as he goes
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+when you can pipe that merry old strain
+robert of lincoln, come back again
+chee, chee, chee
+
+
+
+course for its sparkle and glow
+
+old grimes is dead; that good old man
+we ne'er shall see him more
+he used to wear a long, black coat
+all buttoned down before
+
+his heart was open as the day
+his feelings all were true
+his hair was some inclined to gray
+he wore it in a queue
+
+he lived at peace with all mankind
+in friendship he was true
+his coat had pocket-holes behind
+his pantaloons were blue
+
+he modest merit sought to find
+and pay it its desert
+he had no malice in his mind
+no ruffles on his shirt
+
+his neighbours he did not abuse
+was sociable and gay
+he wore large buckles on his shoes
+and changed them every day
+
+his knowledge, hid from public gaze
+he did not bring to view
+nor make a noise town-meeting days
+as many people do
+
+his worldly goods he never threw
+in trust to fortune's chances
+but lived (as all his brothers do
+in easy circumstances
+
+thus undisturbed by anxious cares
+his peaceful moments ran
+and everybody said he was
+a fine old gentleman
+
+
+
+a traveller on a dusty road
+strewed acorns on the lea
+and one took root and sprouted up
+and grew into a tree
+love sought its shade at evening-time
+to breathe its early vows
+and age was pleased, in heights of noon
+to bask beneath its boughs
+the dormouse loved its dangling twigs
+the birds sweet music bore
+it stood a glory in its place
+a blessing evermore
+
+a little spring had lost its way
+amid the grass and fern
+a passing stranger scooped a well
+where weary men might turn
+he walled it in, and hung with care
+a ladle on the brink
+he thought not of the deed he did
+but judged that toil might drink
+he passed again; and lo! the well
+by summer never dried
+had cooled ten thousand parchéd tongues
+and saved a life beside
+
+a nameless man, amid the crowd
+that thronged the daily mart
+let fall a word of hope and love
+unstudied from the heart
+a whisper on the tumult thrown
+a transitory breath
+it raised a brother from the dust
+it saved a soul from death
+o germ! o fount! o word of love
+o thought at random cast
+ye were but little at the first
+but mighty at the last
+
+
+
+shed no tear! o shed no tear
+the flower will bloom another year
+weep no more! o, weep no more
+young buds sleep in the root's white core
+dry your eyes! oh! dry your eyes
+for i was taught in paradise
+to ease my breast of melodies
+shed no tear
+
+overhead! look overhead
+look up, look up. i flutter now
+on this flush pomegranate bough
+see me! 'tis this silvery bell
+ever cures the good man's ill
+shed no tear! o, shed no tear
+the flowers will bloom another year
+adieu, adieu--i fly, adieu
+i vanish in the heaven's blue
+adieu, adieu
+
+
+
+attractive to children
+
+where the pools are bright and deep
+where the gray trout lies asleep
+up the river and o'er the lea
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+where the blackbird sings the latest
+where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest
+where the nestlings chirp and flee
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+where the mowers mow the cleanest
+where the hay lies thick and greenest
+there to trace the homeward bee
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+where the hazel bank is steepest
+where the shadow falls the deepest
+where the clustering nuts fall free
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+why the boys should drive away
+little sweet maidens from the play
+or love to banter and fight so well
+that's the thing i never could tell
+
+but this i know, i love to play
+through the meadow, among the hay
+up the water and o'er the lea
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+
+
+buttercups and daisies
+oh, the pretty flowers
+coming ere the spring time
+to tell of sunny hours
+while the tree are leafless
+while the fields are bare
+buttercups and daisies
+spring up here and there
+
+ere the snowdrop peepeth
+ere the crocus bold
+ere the early primrose
+opes its paly gold
+somewhere on the sunny bank
+buttercups are bright
+somewhere 'mong the frozen grass
+peeps the daisy white
+
+little hardy flowers
+like to children poor
+playing in their sturdy health
+by their mother's door
+purple with the north wind
+yet alert and bold
+fearing not, and caring not
+though they be a-cold
+
+what to them is winter
+what are stormy showers
+buttercups and daisies
+are these human flowers
+he who gave them hardships
+and a life of care
+gave them likewise hardy strength
+and patient hearts to bear
+
+
+
+triumphal arch, that fills the sky
+when storms prepare to part
+i ask not proud philosophy
+to teach me what thou art
+
+still seem, as to my childhood's sight
+a midway station given
+for happy spirits to alight
+betwixt the earth and heaven
+
+
+
+readily. children are untouched by the commercial spirit which is the
+reproach of this age. "ingratitude is the vice of republics," and this
+poem puts to shame the love of money and the spirit of ingratitude that
+could let a national servant become a wreck
+
+ay, tear her tattered ensign down
+long has it waved on high
+and many an eye has danced to see
+that banner in the sky
+beneath it rung the battle shout
+and burst the cannon's roar
+the meteor of the ocean air
+shall sweep the clouds no more
+
+her deck, once red with heroes' blood
+where knelt the vanquished foe
+when winds were hurrying o'er the flood
+and waves were white below
+no more shall feel the victor's tread
+or know the conquered knee
+the harpies of the shore shall pluck
+the eagle of the sea
+
+o, better that her shattered hulk
+should sink beneath the wave
+her thunders shook the mighty deep
+and there should be her grave
+nail to the mast her holy flag
+set every threadbare sail
+and give her to the god of storms
+the lightning and the gale
+
+
+
+has "washed the dishes," "swept up the crumbs," "driven the chickens
+from the porch," and done all the other odds and ends of work on a
+farm. the poet, james whitcomb riley (1853-), has shown how truly a
+little child may be overtaxed and yet preserve a brave spirit and keen
+imagination. children invariably love to learn this poem
+
+little orphant annie's come to our house to stay
+an' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away
+an' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep
+an' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep
+an' all us other children, when the supper things is done
+we set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
+a-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at annie tells about
+an' the gobble-uns 'at gits you
+ef you
+don't
+watch
+
+onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs
+an' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs
+his mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl
+an' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all
+an' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby hole, an' press
+an' seeked him up the chimbly flue, an' ever'-wheres, i guess
+but all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout
+an' the gobble-uns'll git you
+ef you
+don't
+watch
+
+an' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin
+an' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin
+an' onc't when they was "company," an' ole folks was there
+she mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care
+an' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide
+they was two great big black things a-standin' by her side
+an' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she
+knowed what she's about
+an' the gobble-uns'll git you
+ef you
+don't
+watch
+
+an' little orphant annie says, when the blaze is blue
+an' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo
+an' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray
+an' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away
+you better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear
+an' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear
+an' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about
+er the gobble-uns'll git you
+ef you
+don't
+watch
+
+
+
+of compliment to a little boy aged ten who wanted to recite it once a
+week for a year. this song and edwin markham's poem on lincoln are two
+of the greatest tributes ever paid to that hero
+
+o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done
+the ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won
+the port is near, the bells i hear, the people all exulting
+while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring
+but o heart! heart! heart
+o the bleeding drops of red
+where on the deck my captain lies
+fallen cold and dead
+
+o captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells
+rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills
+for you bouquets and ribboned wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding
+for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning
+here captain! dear father
+this arm beneath your head
+it is some dream that on the deck
+you've fallen cold and dead
+
+my captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still
+my father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will
+the ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done
+from fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won
+exult o shores, and ring o bells
+but i, with mournful tread
+walk the deck my captain lies
+fallen cold and dead
+
+
+
+thrust at a refined vice. it is a part of education to learn to be
+grateful
+
+blow, blow, thou winter wind
+thou are not so unkind
+as man's ingratitude
+thy tooth is not so keen
+because thou are not seen
+although thy breath be rude
+
+freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky
+thou dost not bite so nigh
+as benefits forgot
+though thou the waters warp
+thy sting is not so sharp
+as friend remembered not
+
+
+
+honour of a hardy plant. there is a wonderful ivy growing at rhudlan
+in northern wales. its roots are so large and strong that they form a
+comfortable seat for many persons, and no one can remember when they
+were smaller. this ivy envelops a great castle in ruins. every child in
+that locality loves the old ivy. it is typical of the ivy as seen all
+through wales and england
+
+o, a dainty plant is the ivy green
+that creepeth o'er ruins old
+of right choice food are his meals, i ween
+in his cell so lone and cold
+the walls must be crumbled, the stones decayed
+to pleasure his dainty whim
+and the mouldering dust that years have made
+is a merry meal for him
+creeping where no life is seen
+a rare old plant is the ivy green
+
+fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings
+and a staunch old heart has he
+how closely he twineth, how tight he clings
+to his friend, the huge oak tree
+and slyly he traileth along the ground
+and his leaves he gently waves
+and he joyously twines and hugs around
+the rich mould of dead men's graves
+creeping where no life is seen
+a rare old plant is the ivy green
+
+whole ages have fled, and their works decayed
+and nations have scattered been
+but the stout old ivy shall never fade
+from its hale and hearty green
+the brave old plant in its lonely days
+shall fatten upon the past
+for the stateliest building man can raise
+is the ivy's food at last
+creeping where no life is seen
+a rare old plant is the ivy green
+
+
+
+virtue well polished is better than none
+
+it is not growing like a tree
+in bulk doth make man better be
+or standing long an oak, three hundred year
+to fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear
+a lily of a day
+is fairer far in may
+although it fall and die that night
+it was the plant and flower of light
+in small proportions we just beauties see
+and in short measures life may perfect be
+
+
+
+his way into scores of hearts by his mad pranks and affectionate ways
+it is enough that john burroughs has commended the poem
+
+of all the woodland creatures
+the quaintest little sprite
+is the dainty flying squirrel
+in vest of shining white
+in coat of silver gray
+and vest of shining white
+
+his furry quaker jacket
+is trimmed with stripe of black
+a furry plume to match it
+is curling o'er his back
+new curved with every motion
+his plume curls o'er his back
+
+no little new-born baby
+has pinker feet than he
+each tiny toe is cushioned
+with velvet cushions three
+three wee, pink, velvet cushions
+almost too small to see
+
+who said, "the foot of baby
+might tempt an angel's kiss
+i know a score of school-boys
+who put their lips to this
+this wee foot of the squirrel
+and left a loving kiss
+
+the tiny thief has hidden
+my candy and my plum
+ah, there he comes unbidden
+to gently nip my thumb
+down in his home (my pocket
+he gently nips my thumb
+
+how strange the food he covets
+the restless, restless wight
+fred's old stuffed armadillo
+he found a tempting bite
+fred's old stuffed armadillo
+with ears a perfect fright
+
+the lady ruth's great bureau
+each foot a dragon's paw
+the midget ate the nails from
+his famous antique claw
+oh, what a cruel beastie
+to hurt a dragon's claw
+
+to autographic copies
+upon my choicest shelf
+to every dainty volume
+the rogue has helped himself
+my books! oh dear! no matter
+the rogue has helped himself
+
+and yet, my little squirrel
+your taste is not so bad
+you've swallowed caird completely
+and psychologic ladd
+rosmini you've digested
+and kant in rags you've clad
+
+gnaw on, my elfish rodent
+lay all the sages low
+my pretty lace and ribbons
+they're yours for weal or woe
+my pocket-book's in tatters
+because you like it so
+
+
+
+there is never a boy who objects to learning "warren's address," by
+john pierpont (1785-1866). to stand by one's own rights is inherent in
+every true american. this poem is doubtless developed from robert
+burns's "bannockburn." (1785-1866
+
+stand! the ground's your own, my braves
+will ye give it up to slaves
+will ye look for greener graves
+hope ye mercy still
+what's the mercy despots feel
+hear it in that battle-peal
+read it on yon bristling steel
+ask it,--ye who will
+
+fear ye foes who kill for hire
+will ye to your homes retire
+look behind you! they're afire
+and, before you, see
+who have done it!--from the vale
+on they come!--and will ye quail
+leaden rain and iron hail
+let their welcome be
+
+in the god of battles trust
+die we may,--and die we must
+but, o, where can dust to dust
+be consigned so well
+as where heaven its dews shall shed
+on the martyred patriot's bed
+and the rocks shall raise their head
+of his deeds to tell
+
+
+
+and girls are concerned. it is a most valuable poem. i once heard a
+clergyman in chicago use it as a text for his sermon. since then "annie
+laurie" has become the song of the labour party. "the song in camp
+voices a universal feeling. (1825-78
+
+the outer trenches guarding
+when the heated guns of the camps allied
+grew weary of bombarding
+
+the dark redan, in silent scoff
+lay, grim and threatening, under
+and the tawny mound of the malakoff
+no longer belched its thunder
+
+there was a pause. a guardsman said
+sing while we may, another day
+will bring enough of sorrow
+
+they lay along the battery's side
+below the smoking cannon
+brave hearts, from severn and from clyde
+and from the banks of shannon
+
+they sang of love, and not of fame
+forgot was britain's glory
+each heart recalled a different name
+but all sang "annie laurie
+
+voice after voice caught up the song
+until its tender passion
+rose like an anthem, rich and strong
+their battle-eve confession
+
+dear girl, her name he dared not speak
+but, as the song grew louder
+something upon the soldier's cheek
+washed off the stains of powder
+
+beyond the darkening ocean burned
+the bloody sunset's embers
+while the crimean valleys learned
+how english love remembers
+
+and once again a fire of hell
+rained on the russian quarters
+with scream of shot, and burst of shell
+and bellowing of the mortars
+
+and irish nora's eyes are dim
+for a singer, dumb and gory
+and english mary mourns for him
+who sang of "annie laurie
+
+sleep, soldiers! still in honoured rest
+your truth and valour wearing
+the bravest are the tenderest
+the loving are the daring
+
+
+
+its central theme the undying power of human love. the music is notable
+for sweetness and delicacy
+
+the splendour falls on castle walls
+and snowy summits old in story
+the long light shakes across the lakes
+and the wild cataract leaps in glory
+blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying
+blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying
+
+o hark, o hear! how thin and clear
+and thinner, clearer, farther going
+o sweet and far from cliff and scar
+the horns of elfland faintly blowing
+blow, let us hear the purple glens replying
+blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying
+
+o love, they die in yon rich sky
+they faint on hill or field or river
+our echoes roll from soul to soul
+and grow forever and forever
+blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying
+and answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying
+
+
+
+too highly for its ethical value. children always love to learn it
+after hearing it read correctly and by one who understands and
+appreciates it. "stand by" is the motto. my pupils teach it to me once
+a year and learn it themselves, too
+
+beneath the low-hung night cloud
+that raked her splintering mast
+the good ship settled slowly
+the cruel leak gained fast
+
+over the awful ocean
+her signal guns pealed out
+dear god! was that thy answer
+from the horror round about
+
+a voice came down the wild wind
+shall stand till daylight by
+
+hour after hour crept slowly
+yet on the heaving swells
+tossed up and down the ship-lights
+the lights of the _three bells
+
+and ship to ship made signals
+man answered back to man
+while oft, to cheer and hearten
+the _three bells_ nearer ran
+
+and the captain from her taffrail
+sent down his hopeful cry
+
+all night across the waters
+the tossing lights shone clear
+all night from reeling taffrail
+the _three bells_ sent her cheer
+
+and when the dreary watches
+of storm and darkness passed
+just as the wreck lurched under
+all souls were saved at last
+
+sail on, _three bells_, forever
+in grateful memory sail
+ring on, _three bells_ of rescue
+above the wave and gale
+
+type of the love eternal
+repeat the master's cry
+as tossing through our darkness
+the lights of god draw nigh
+
+
+
+buchanan read (1822-72). the swing and gallop in it take every boy off
+from his feet. the children never teach this poem to me, because they
+love to learn it at first sight. it is easily memorised
+
+up from the south at break of day
+bringing to winchester fresh dismay
+the affrighted air with a shudder bore
+like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door
+the terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar
+telling the battle was on once more
+and sheridan twenty miles away
+
+and wider still those billows of war
+thundered along the horizon's bar
+and louder yet into winchester rolled
+the roar of that red sea uncontrolled
+making the blood of the listener cold
+as he thought of the stake in that fiery fray
+and sheridan twenty miles away
+
+but there is a road from winchester town
+a good, broad highway leading down
+and there, through the flush of the morning light
+a steed as black as the steeds of night
+was seen to pass as with eagle flight
+as if he knew the terrible need
+he stretched away with his utmost speed
+hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay
+with sheridan fifteen miles away
+
+still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south
+the dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth
+or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster
+foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster
+the heart of the steed and the heart of the master
+were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls
+impatient to be where the battle-field calls
+every nerve of the charger was strained to full play
+with sheridan only ten miles away
+
+under his spurning feet the road
+like an arrowy alpine river flowed
+and the landscape sped away behind
+like an ocean flying before the wind
+and the steed, like a bark fed with furnace fire
+swept on, with his wild eye full of ire
+but lo! he is nearing his heart's desire
+he is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray
+with sheridan only five miles away
+
+the first that the general saw were the groups
+of stragglers, and then the retreating troops
+what was done--what to do? a glance told him both
+then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath
+he dashed down the line, mid a storm of huzzas
+and the wave of retreat checked its course there, because
+the sight of the master compelled it to pause
+with foam and with dust the black charger was gray
+by the flash of his eye, and the red nostrils' play
+he seemed to the whole great army to say
+from winchester down to save the day
+
+hurrah! hurrah for sheridan
+hurrah! hurrah for horse and man
+and when their statues are placed on high
+under the dome of the union sky
+the american soldiers' temple of fame
+there with the glorious general's name
+be it said, in letters both bold and bright
+by carrying sheridan into the fight
+from winchester, twenty miles away
+
+
+
+goodly percentage of the children who read it want to learn it
+
+across the lonely beach we flit
+and fast i gather, bit by bit
+the scattered driftwood, bleached and dry
+the wild waves reach their hands for it
+the wild wind raves, the tide runs high
+as up and down the beach we flit
+
+above our heads the sullen clouds
+scud, black and swift, across the sky
+like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
+stand out the white lighthouses high
+almost as far as eye can reach
+i see the close-reefed vessels fly
+as fast we flit along the beach
+
+i watch him as he skims along
+uttering his sweet and mournful cry
+he starts not at my fitful song
+nor flash of fluttering drapery
+he has no thought of any wrong
+he scans me with a fearless eye
+stanch friends are we, well tried and strong
+
+comrade, where wilt thou be to-night
+when the loosed storm breaks furiously
+my driftwood fire will burn so bright
+to what warm shelter canst thou fly
+i do not fear for thee, though wroth
+the tempest rushes through the sky
+for are we not god's children both
+
+
+
+girls always love "lady clare" and "the lord of burleigh." they like to
+think that it is enough to be a splendid woman without title or wealth
+they want to be loved, if they are loved at all, for their good hearts
+and graces of mind. tennyson (1809-92) makes this point repeatedly
+through his poems
+
+it was the time when lilies blow
+and clouds are highest up in air
+lord ronald brought a lily-white doe
+to give his cousin, lady clare
+
+i trow they did not part in scorn
+lovers long-betroth'd were they
+they too will wed the morrow morn
+god's blessing on the day
+
+nor for my lands so broad and fair
+he loves me for my own true worth
+and that is well," said lady clare
+
+in there came old alice the nurse
+said: "who was this that went from thee
+
+lord ronald is heir of all your lands
+and you are not the lady clare
+
+said lady clare, "that ye speak so wild
+
+i speak the truth, as i live by bread
+i buried her like my own sweet child
+and put my child in her stead
+
+o mother," she said, "if this be true
+to keep the best man under the sun
+so many years from his due
+
+and all you have will be lord ronald's
+when you are man and wife
+
+pull off, pull off the brooch of gold
+and fling the diamond necklace by
+
+she said: "not so: but i will know
+if there be any faith in man
+
+
+alas! my child, i sinn'd for thee
+
+my mother dear, if this be so
+and lay your hand upon my head
+and bless me, mother, ere i go
+
+she clad herself in a russet gown
+she was no longer lady clare
+she went by dale, and she went by down
+with a single rose in her hair
+
+the lily-white doe lord ronald had brought
+leapt up from where she lay
+dropt her head in the maiden's hand
+and follow'd her all the way
+
+down stept lord ronald from his tower
+why come you drest like a village maid
+that are the flower of the earth
+
+i am but as my fortunes are
+i am a beggar born," she said
+
+play me no tricks," said lord ronald
+
+o and proudly stood she up
+her heart within her did not fail
+she look'd into lord ronald's eyes
+and told him all her nurse's tale
+
+he laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn
+he turn'd and kiss'd her where she stood
+and i," said he, "the next in blood
+
+and i," said he, "the lawful heir
+we two will wed to-morrow morn
+and you shall still be lady clare
+
+
+
+in her ear he whispers gaily
+maiden, i have watched thee daily
+and i think thou lov'st me well
+she replies, in accents fainter
+he is but a landscape-painter
+and a village maiden she
+
+he to lips, that fondly falter
+presses his without reproof
+leads her to the village altar
+and they leave her father's roof
+
+little can i give my wife
+love will make our cottage pleasant
+and i love thee more than life
+
+they by parks and lodges going
+see the lordly castles stand
+summer woods, about them blowing
+made a murmur in the land
+
+from deep thought himself he rouses
+says to her that loves him well
+where the wealthy nobles dwell
+
+so she goes by him attended
+hears him lovingly converse
+sees whatever fair and splendid
+lay betwixt his home and hers
+
+parks with oak and chestnut shady
+parks and order'd gardens great
+ancient homes of lord and lady
+built for pleasure and for state
+
+all he shows her makes him dearer
+evermore she seems to gaze
+on that cottage growing nearer
+where they twain will spend their days
+
+o but she will love him truly
+he shall have a cheerful home
+she will order all things duly
+when beneath his roof they come
+
+thus her heart rejoices greatly
+till a gateway she discerns
+with armorial bearings stately
+and beneath the gate she turns
+sees a mansion more majestic
+than all those she saw before
+many a gallant gay domestic
+bows before him at the door
+
+and they speak in gentle murmur
+when they answer to his call
+while he treads with footstep firmer
+leading on from hall to hall
+
+and while now she wanders blindly
+nor the meaning can divine
+proudly turns he round and kindly
+
+here he lives in state and bounty
+lord of burleigh, fair and free
+not a lord in all the county
+is so great a lord as he
+all at once the colour flushes
+her sweet face from brow to chin
+as it were with same she blushes
+and her spirit changed within
+
+then her countenance all over
+pale again as death did prove
+but he clasp'd her like a lover
+and he cheer'd her soul with love
+
+so she strove against her weakness
+tho' at times her spirits sank
+shaped her heart with woman's meekness
+to all duties of her rank
+and a gentle consort made he
+and her gentle mind was such
+that she grew a noble lady
+and the people loved her much
+but a trouble weigh'd upon her
+and perplex'd her, night and morn
+with the burden of an honour
+unto which she was not born
+
+faint she grew and ever fainter
+as she murmur'd, "oh, that he
+were once more that landscape-painter
+which did win my heart from me
+
+so she droop'd and droop'd before him
+fading slowly from his side
+three fair children first she bore him
+then before her time she died
+
+weeping, weeping late and early
+walking up and pacing down
+deeply mourn'd the lord of burleigh
+burleigh-house by stamford-town
+
+and he came to look upon her
+and he look'd at her and said
+that she wore when she was wed
+
+then her people, softly treading
+bore to earth her body, drest
+in the dress that she was wed in
+that her spirit might have rest
+
+
+
+our land know snatches of it it is a child's poem, every line of it
+one summer in boston more than 50,000 people went to take a peep at the
+poet's house. (1807-82
+
+by the shores of gitche gumee
+by the shining big-sea-water
+stood the wigwam of nokomis
+daughter of the moon, nokomis
+dark behind it rose the forest
+rose the black and gloomy pine-trees
+rose the firs with cones upon them
+bright before it beat the water
+beat the clear and sunny water
+beat the shining big-sea-water
+
+there the wrinkled old nokomis
+nursed the little hiawatha
+rocked him in his linden cradle
+bedded soft in moss and rushes
+safely bound with reindeer sinews
+stilled his fretful wail by saying
+lulled him into slumber, singing
+who is this that lights the wigwam
+with his great eyes lights the wigwam
+ewa-yea! my little owlet
+
+many things nokomis taught him
+of the stars that shine in heaven
+showed him ishkoodah, the comet
+ishkoodah, with fiery tresses
+showed the death-dance of the spirits
+warriors with their plumes and war-clubs
+flaring far away to northward
+in the frosty nights of winter
+showed the broad, white road in heaven
+pathway of the ghosts, the shadows
+running straight across the heavens
+crowded with the ghosts, the shadows
+
+at the door, on summer evenings
+sat the little hiawatha
+heard the whispering of the pine-trees
+heard the lapping of the water
+sounds of music, words of wonder
+saw the fire-fly, wah-wah-taysee
+flitting through the dusk of evening
+with the twinkle of its candle
+lighting up the brakes and bushes
+and he sang the song of children
+sang the song nokomis taught him
+little, flitting, white-fire insect
+little, dancing, white-fire creature
+light me with your little candle
+ere upon my bed i lay me
+ere in sleep i close my eyelids
+
+saw the moon rise from the water
+rippling, rounding from the water
+saw the flecks and shadows on it
+whispered, "what is that, nokomis
+and the good nokomis answered
+seized his grandmother, and threw her
+up into the sky at midnight
+right against the moon he threw her
+
+saw the rainbow in the heaven
+in the eastern sky, the rainbow
+whispered, "what is that, nokomis
+and the good nokomis answered
+all the wild-flowers of the forest
+all the lilies of the prairie
+when on earth they fade and perish
+blossom in that heaven above us
+
+when he heard the owls at midnight
+hooting, laughing in the forest
+and the good nokomis answered
+talking in their native language
+talking, scolding at each other
+
+then the little hiawatha
+learned of every bird its language
+learned their names and all their secrets
+how they built their nests in summer
+where they hid themselves in winter
+talked with them whene'er he met them
+called them "hiawatha's chickens
+
+of all beasts he learned the language
+learned their names and all their secrets
+how the beavers built their lodges
+where the squirrels hid their acorns
+how the reindeer ran so swiftly
+why the rabbit was so timid
+talked with them whene'er he met them
+called them "hiawatha's brothers
+
+
+
+splendid teacher at poughkeepsie. i found the pupils learning the poem
+the teacher having placed a bunch of daffodils in a vase before them
+it was a charming lesson. (1770-96
+
+i wandered lonely as a cloud
+that floats on high o'er vales and hills
+when all at once i saw a crowd
+a host of golden daffodils
+beside the lake, beneath the trees
+fluttering and dancing in the breeze
+
+continuous as the stars that shine
+and twinkle on the milky way
+they stretched in never-ending line
+along the margin of a bay
+ten thousand saw i at a glance
+tossing their heads in sprightly dance
+
+the waves beside them danced, but they
+outdid the sparkling waves in glee
+a poet could not but be gay
+in such a jocund company
+i gazed--and gazed--but little thought
+what wealth the show to me had brought
+
+for oft, when on my couch i lie
+in vacant or in pensive mood
+they flash upon that inward eye
+which is the bliss of solitude
+and then my heart with pleasure fills
+and dances with the daffodils
+
+
+
+successful struggle. one editor has made a temperance poem of it
+mistaking its true intent. the poem is a strong expression of a
+plow-man's love for a hardy, food-giving grain which has sprung to life
+through his efforts. (1759-96
+
+there were three kings into the east
+three kings both great and high
+and they ha'e sworn a solemn oath
+john barleycorn should die
+
+they took a plow and plowed him down
+put clods upon his head
+and they ha'e sworn a solemn oath
+john barleycorn was dead
+
+but the cheerful spring came kindly on
+and showers began to fall
+john barleycorn got up again
+and sore surprised them all
+
+the sultry suns of summer came
+and he grew thick and strong
+his head well arm'd wi' pointed spears
+that no one should him wrong
+
+the sober autumn entered mild
+and he grew wan and pale
+his bending joints and drooping head
+showed he began to fail
+
+his colour sickened more and more
+he faded into age
+and then his enemies began
+to show their deadly rage
+
+they took a weapon long and sharp
+and cut him by the knee
+then tied him fast upon a cart
+like a rogue for forgery
+
+they laid him down upon his back
+and cudgelled him full sore
+they hung him up before the storm
+and turn'd him o'er and o'er
+
+they filled up then a darksome pit
+with water to the brim
+and heaved in poor john barleycorn
+to let him sink or swim
+
+they laid him out upon the floor
+to work him further woe
+and still as signs of life appeared
+they tossed him to and fro
+
+they wasted o'er a scorching flame
+the marrow of his bones
+but a miller used him worst of all
+he crushed him 'tween two stones
+
+and they have taken his very heart's blood
+and drunk it round and round
+and still the more and more they drank
+their joy did more abound
+
+
+
+and motion of the water of the great ocean. children remember it almost
+unconsciously after hearing it read several times
+
+a life on the ocean wave
+a home on the rolling deep
+where the scattered waters rave
+and the winds their revels keep
+like an eagle caged, i pine
+on this dull, unchanging shore
+oh! give me the flashing brine
+the spray and the tempest's roar
+
+once more on the deck i stand
+of my own swift-gliding craft
+set sail! farewell to the land
+the gale follows fair abaft
+we shoot through the sparkling foam
+like an ocean-bird set free
+like the ocean-bird, our home
+we'll find far out on the sea
+
+the land is no longer in view
+the clouds have begun to frown
+but with a stout vessel and crew
+we'll say, let the storm come down
+and the song of our hearts shall be
+while the winds and the waters rave
+a home on the rolling sea
+a life on the ocean wave
+
+
+
+it is customary, every new year's eve in america, to ring bells, fire
+guns, send up rockets, and, in many other ways, to show joy and
+gratitude that the old year has been so kind, and that the new year is
+so auspicious. the emphasis in tennyson's poem is laid on gratitude for
+past benefits so easily forgotten rather than upon the possible
+advantages of the unknown and untried future
+
+full knee-deep lies the winter snow
+and the winter winds are wearily sighing
+toll ye the church-bell sad and slow
+and tread softly and speak low
+for the old year lies a-dying
+old year, you must not die
+you came to us so readily
+you lived with us so steadily
+old year, you shall not die
+
+he lieth still: he doth not move
+he will not see the dawn of day
+he hath no other life above
+he gave me a friend, and a true true-love
+and the new-year will take 'em away
+old year, you must not go
+so long as you have been with us
+such joy as you have seen with us
+old year, you shall not go
+
+he froth'd his bumpers to the brim
+a jollier year we shall not see
+but tho' his eyes are waxing dim
+and tho' his foes speak ill of him
+he was a friend to me
+old year, you shall not die
+we did so laugh and cry with you
+i've half a mind to die with you
+old year, if you must die
+
+he was full of joke and jest
+but all his merry quips are o'er
+to see him die, across the waste
+his son and heir doth ride post-haste
+but he'll be dead before
+every one for his own
+the night is starry and cold, my friend
+and the new-year blithe and bold, my friend
+comes up to take his own
+
+how hard he breathes! over the snow
+i heard just now the crowing cock
+the shadows flicker to and fro
+the cricket chirps: the light burns low
+shake hands, before you die
+old year, we'll dearly rue for you
+what is it we can do for you
+speak out before you die
+
+his face is growing sharp and thin
+alack! our friend is gone
+close up his eyes: tie up his chin
+step from the corpse, and let him in
+that standeth there alone
+and waiteth at the door
+there's a new foot on the floor, my friend
+and a new face at the door, my friend
+a new face at the door
+
+
+
+
+abou ben adhem (may his tribe increase
+awoke one night from a deep dream of peace
+and saw within the moonlight in his room
+making it rich and like a lily in bloom
+an angel writing in a book of gold
+
+exceeding peace had made ben adhem bold
+and to the presence in the room he said
+and, with a look made of all sweet accord
+answered, "the names of those who love the lord
+
+replied the angel. abou spoke more low
+but cheerly still; and said, "i pray thee, then
+write me as one that loves his fellow-men
+
+the angel wrote, and vanished. the next night
+it came again, with a great wakening light
+and showed the names whom love of god had blessed
+and, lo! ben adhem's name led all the rest
+
+
+
+reader. how the boys and girls loved it! the author, j.t. trowbridge
+poem is just as popular as it ever was
+
+over the hill the farm-boy goes
+his shadow lengthens along the land
+a giant staff in a giant hand
+in the poplar-tree, above the spring
+the katydid begins to sing
+the early dews are falling
+into the stone-heap darts the mink
+the swallows skim the river's brink
+and home to the woodland fly the crows
+when over the hill the farm-boy goes
+cheerily calling
+farther, farther over the hill
+faintly calling, calling still
+
+into the yard the farmer goes
+with grateful heart, at the close of day
+harness and chain are hung away
+in the wagon-shed stand yoke and plow
+the straw's in the stack, the hay in the mow
+the cooling dews are falling
+the friendly sheep his welcome bleat
+the pigs come grunting to his feet
+the whinnying mare her master knows
+when into the yard the farmer goes
+his cattle calling
+while still the cow-boy, far away
+goes seeking those that have gone astray
+
+now to her task the milkmaid goes
+the cattle come crowding through the gate
+lowing, pushing, little and great
+about the trough, by the farm-yard pump
+the frolicsome yearlings frisk and jump
+while the pleasant dews are falling
+the new-milch heifer is quick and shy
+but the old cow waits with tranquil eye
+and the white stream into the bright pail flows
+when to her task the milkmaid goes
+soothingly calling
+the cheerful milkmaid takes her stool
+and sits and milks in the twilight cool
+saying, "so! so, boss! so! so
+
+to supper at last the farmer goes
+the apples are pared, the paper read
+the stories are told, then all to bed
+without, the crickets' ceaseless song
+makes shrill the silence all night long
+the heavy dews are falling
+the housewife's hand has turned the lock
+drowsily ticks the kitchen clock
+the household sinks to deep repose
+but still in sleep the farm-boy goes
+singing, calling
+and oft the milkmaid, in her dreams
+drums in the pail with the flashing streams
+murmuring, "so, boss! so
+
+
+
+on turning up her nest with the plow, november, 1785
+
+the ineffable touches of tenderness that illumine the sturdy plowman
+the contrast between the strong man and the delicate flower or creature
+at his mercy makes tenderness in man a vital point in character
+
+the lines "to a mouse" seem by report to have been composed while burns
+was actually plowing. one of the poet's first editors wrote: "john
+blane, who had acted as gaudsman to burns, and who lived sixty years
+afterward, had a distinct recollection of the turning up of the mouse
+like a thoughtless youth as he was, he ran after the creature to kill
+it, but was checked and recalled by his master, who he observed became
+thereafter thoughtful and abstracted. burns, who treated his servants
+with the familiarity of fellow-labourers, soon afterward read the poem
+to blane
+
+wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie
+oh, what a panic's in thy breastie
+thou needna start awa' sae hasty
+wi' bickering brattle
+i wad be laith to rin and chase thee
+wi' murd'ring pattle
+
+i'm truly sorry man's dominion
+has broken nature's social union
+and justifies that ill opinion
+which makes thee startle
+at me, thy poor earth-born companion
+and fellow-mortal
+
+i doubtna, whiles, but thou may thieve
+what then? poor beastie, thou maun live
+a daimen icker in a thrave
+i'll get a blessin' wi' the lave
+and never miss 't
+
+thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin
+its silly wa's the win's are strewin
+and naething now to big a new ane
+o' foggage green
+and bleak december's winds ensuin
+baith snell and keen
+
+thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
+and weary winter comin' fast
+and cozie here, beneath the blast
+thou thought to dwell
+till, crash! the cruel coulter passed
+out through thy cell
+
+that wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble
+has cost thee monie a weary nibble
+now thou's turned out for a' thy trouble
+but house or hald
+to thole the winter's sleety dribble
+and cranreuch cauld
+
+but, mousie, thou art no thy lane
+in proving foresight may be vain
+the best-laid schemes o' mice and men
+gang aft a-gley
+and lea'e us naught but grief and pain
+for promised joy
+
+still thou art blest, compared wi' me
+the present only toucheth thee
+but, och! i backward cast my e'e
+on prospects drear
+and forward, though i canna see
+i guess and fear
+
+
+
+on turning one down with the plow in april, 1786
+
+wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower
+thou's met me in an evil hour
+for i maun crush amang the stoure
+thy slender stem
+to spare thee now is past my power
+thou bonny gem
+
+alas! it's no thy neebor sweet
+the bonny lark, companion meet
+bending thee 'mang the dewy weet
+wi' speckled breast
+when upward-springing, blithe, to greet
+the purpling east
+
+cauld blew the bitter biting north
+upon thy early, humble birth
+yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
+amid the storm
+scarce reared above the parent earth
+thy tender form
+
+the flaunting flowers our gardens yield
+high sheltering woods and wa's maun shield
+but thou, beneath the random bield
+o' clod or stane
+adorns the histie stibble-field
+unseen, alane
+
+there, in thy scanty mantle clad
+thy snawie bosom sunward spread
+thou lifts thy unassuming head
+in humble guise
+but now the share uptears thy bed
+and low thou lies
+
+such is the fate of artless maid
+sweet floweret of the rural shade
+by love's simplicity betrayed
+and guileless trust
+till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
+low i' the dust
+
+such is the fate of simple bard
+on life's rough ocean luckless starr'd
+unskilful he to note the card
+of prudent lore
+till billows rage, and gales blow hard
+and whelm him o'er
+
+such fate to suffering worth is given
+who long with wants and woes has striven
+by human pride or cunning driven
+to misery's brink
+till wrenched of every stay but heaven
+he, ruined, sink
+
+even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate
+that fate is thine--no distant date
+stern ruin's plowshare drives, elate
+full on thy bloom
+till crushed beneath the furrow's weight
+shall be thy doom
+
+
+
+woman (not necessarily an old lady) _worthy of her years_. old age is
+honourable if it carries a head that has a halo. (1807-92
+
+up from the meadows rich with corn
+clear in the cool september morn
+
+the clustered spires of frederick stand
+green-walled by the hills of maryland
+
+roundabout them orchards sweep
+apple and peach tree fruited deep
+
+fair as the garden of the lord
+to the eyes of the famished rebel horde
+
+on that pleasant morn of the early fall
+when lee marched over the mountain-wall
+
+over the mountains winding down
+horse and foot, into frederick town
+
+forty flags with their silver stars
+forty flags with their crimson bars
+
+flapped in the morning wind: the sun
+of noon looked down, and saw not one
+
+up rose old barbara frietchie then
+bowed with her fourscore years and ten
+
+bravest of all in frederick town
+she took up the flag the men hauled down
+
+in her attic window the staff she set
+to show that one heart was loyal yet
+
+up the street came the rebel tread
+stonewall jackson riding ahead
+
+under his slouched hat left and right
+he glanced: the old flag met his sight
+
+
+it shivered the window, pane and sash
+it rent the banner with seam and gash
+
+quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
+dame barbara snatched the silken scarf
+
+she leaned far out on the window-sill
+and shook it forth with a royal will
+
+but spare your country's flag," she said
+
+a shade of sadness, a blush of shame
+over the face of the leader came
+
+the nobler nature within him stirred
+to life at that woman's deed and word
+
+dies like a dog! march on!" he said
+
+all day long through frederick street
+sounded the tread of marching feet
+
+all day long that free flag tost
+over the heads of the rebel host
+
+even its torn folds rose and fell
+on the loyal winds that loved it well
+
+and through the hill-gaps sunset light
+shone over it with a warm good-night
+
+barbara frietchie's work is o'er
+and the rebel rides on his raids no more
+
+honour to her! and let a tear
+fall, for her sake, on stonewall's bier
+
+over barbara frietchie's grave
+flag of freedom and union, wave
+
+peace and order and beauty draw
+round thy symbol of light and law
+
+and ever the stars above look down
+on thy stars below in frederick town
+
+
+
+the day's at the morn
+
+
+and the second by campbell (1777-1844), are companions in sentiment and
+equally popular with boys who love to win anything desirable by heroic
+effort
+
+oh, young lochinvar is come out of the west
+through all the wide border his steed was the best
+and save his good broadsword he weapons had none
+he rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone
+so faithful in love, and so dauntless in war
+there never was knight like the young lochinvar
+
+he stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone
+he swam the eske river where ford there was none
+but ere he alighted at netherby gate
+the bride had consented, the gallant came late
+for a laggard in love, and a dastard in war
+was to wed the fair ellen of brave lochinvar
+
+so boldly he entered the netherby hall
+among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all
+then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
+or to dance at our bridal, young lord lochinvar
+
+love swells like the solway, but ebbs like its tide
+and now am i come, with this lost love of mine
+to lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine
+there are maidens in scotland more lovely by far
+that would gladly be bride to the young lochinvar
+
+the bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up
+he quaffed of the wine, and he threw down the cup
+she looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh
+with a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye
+he took her soft hand ere her mother could bar
+
+so stately his form, and so lovely her face
+that never a hall such a galliard did grace
+while her mother did fret, and her father did fume
+and the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume
+and the bridemaidens whispered, "'twere better by far
+to have matched our fair cousin with young lochinvar
+
+one touch to her hand, and one word in her ear
+when they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near
+so light to the croupe the fair lady he swung
+so light to the saddle before her he sprung
+they'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young lochinvar
+
+there was mounting 'mong græmes of the netherby clan
+forsters, fenwicks, and musgraves, they rode and they ran
+there was racing and chasing, on cannobie lee
+but the lost bride of netherby ne'er did they see
+so daring in love, and so dauntless in war
+have ye e'er heard of gallant like young lochinvar
+
+
+
+a chieftain, to the highlands bound
+cries, "boatman, do not tarry
+and i'll give thee a silver pound
+to row us o'er the ferry
+
+this dark and stormy water
+and this lord ullin's daughter
+
+three days we've fled together
+for should he find us in the glen
+my blood would stain the heather
+
+should they our steps discover
+then who will cheer my bonny bride
+when they have slain her lover
+
+outspoke the hardy highland wight
+it is not for your silver bright
+but for your winsome lady
+
+in danger shall not tarry
+so though the waves are raging white
+i'll row you o'er the ferry
+
+by this the storm grew loud apace
+the water-wraith was shrieking
+and in the scowl of heaven each face
+grew dark as they were speaking
+
+but still as wilder blew the wind
+and as the night grew drearer
+adown the glen rode armèd men
+their trampling sounded nearer
+
+i'll meet the raging of the skies
+but not an angry father
+
+the boat has left a stormy land
+a stormy sea before her
+when, oh! too strong for human hand
+the tempest gathered o'er her
+
+and still they row'd amid the roar
+of waters fast prevailing
+lord ullin reach'd that fatal shore
+his wrath was changed to wailing
+
+for sore dismay'd through storm and shade
+his child he did discover
+one lovely hand she stretch'd for aid
+and one was round her lover
+
+and i'll forgive your highland chief
+my daughter!--oh my daughter
+
+return or aid preventing
+the waters wild went o'er his child
+and he was left lamenting
+
+
+
+obedience under stern necessity. obedience is the salvation of any
+army. john burroughs says: "i never hear that poem but what it thrills
+me through and through
+
+half a league, half a league
+half a league onward
+all in the valley of death
+rode the six hundred
+charge for the guns!" he said
+into the valley of death
+rode the six hundred
+
+was there a man dismay'd
+not tho' the soldier knew
+some one had blunder'd
+theirs not to make reply
+theirs not to reason why
+theirs but to do and die
+into the valley of death
+rode the six hundred
+
+cannon to right of them
+cannon to left of them
+cannon in front of them
+volley'd and thunder'd
+storm'd at with shot and shell
+boldly they rode and well
+into the jaws of death
+into the mouth of hell
+rode the six hundred
+
+flash'd all their sabers bare
+flash'd as they turn'd in air
+sab'ring the gunners there
+charging an army, while
+all the world wonder'd
+plunged in the battery-smoke
+right thro' the line they broke
+cossack and russian
+reel'd from the saber-stroke
+shatter'd and sunder'd
+then they rode back, but not
+not the six hundred
+
+cannon to right of them
+cannon to left of them
+cannon behind them
+volleyed and thundered
+stormed at with shot and shell
+while horse and hero fell
+they that had fought so well
+came through the jaws of death
+back from the mouth of hell
+all that was left of them
+left of six hundred
+
+when can their glory fade
+oh, the wild charge they made
+all the world wondered
+honour the charge they made
+honour the light brigade
+noble six hundred
+
+
+
+there are several of sidney lanier's (1842-81) poems that children love
+to learn. "tampa robins," "the tournament" (joust 1.), "barnacles
+alabama" are among them. at our "poetry contests" the children have
+plainly demonstrated that this great poet has reached his hand down to
+the youngest. the time will doubtless come when it will be a part of
+education to be acquainted with lanier, as it is now to be acquainted
+with longfellow or tennyson
+
+
+bright shone the lists, blue bent the skies
+and the knights still hurried amain
+to the tournament under the ladies' eyes
+where the jousters were heart and brain
+
+
+flourished the trumpets, entered heart
+a youth in crimson and gold
+flourished again; brain stood apart
+steel-armoured, dark and cold
+
+
+heart's palfrey caracoled gaily round
+heart tra-li-ra'd merrily
+but brain sat still, with never a sound
+so cynical-calm was he
+
+
+heart's helmet-crest bore favours three
+from his lady's white hand caught
+while brain wore a plumeless casque; not he
+or favour gave or sought
+
+
+the trumpet blew; heart shot a glance
+to catch his lady's eye
+but brain gazed straight ahead, his lance
+to aim more faithfully
+
+
+they charged, they struck; both fell, both bled
+brain rose again, ungloved
+heart, dying, smiled and faintly said
+
+
+
+little laddie, do you remember learning "the wind and the moon"? you
+were eight or nine years old, and you shut your eyes and puffed out
+your cheeks when you came to the line "he blew and he blew." the saucy
+wind made a great racket and the calm moon never noticed it. that gave
+you a great deal of pleasure, didn't it? we did not care much for the
+noisy, conceited wind. (1824
+
+said the wind to the moon, "i will blow you out
+you stare
+in the air
+like a ghost in a chair
+always looking what i am about
+i hate to be watched; i'll blow you out
+
+the wind blew hard, and out went the moon
+so, deep
+on a heap
+of clouds to sleep
+down lay the wind, and slumbered soon
+muttering low, "i've done for that moon
+
+he turned in his bed; she was there again
+on high
+in the sky
+with her one ghost eye
+the moon shone white and alive and plain
+said the wind, "i will blow you out again
+
+the wind blew hard, and the moon grew dim
+and my wedge
+i have knocked off her edge
+if only i blow right fierce and grim
+the creature will soon be dimmer than dim
+
+he blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread
+more's enough
+to blow her to snuff
+one good puff more where the last was bred
+and glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread
+
+he blew a great blast, and the thread was gone
+in the air
+nowhere
+was a moonbeam bare
+far off and harmless the shy stars shone
+sure and certain the moon was gone
+
+the wind he took to his revels once more
+on down
+in town
+like a merry-mad clown
+he leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar
+
+he flew in a rage--he danced and blew
+but in vain
+was the pain
+of his bursting brain
+for still the broader the moon-scrap grew
+the broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew
+
+slowly she grew--till she filled the night
+and shone
+on her throne
+in the sky alone
+a matchless, wonderful silvery light
+radiant and lovely, the queen of the night
+
+with my breath
+good faith
+i blew her to death
+first blew her away right out of the sky
+
+but the moon she knew nothing about the affair
+for high
+in the sky
+with her one white eye
+motionless, miles above the air
+she had never heard the great wind blare
+
+
+
+favour of honest toil. (1848
+
+joseph the carpenter--same trade as me
+i thought as i'd find it--i knew it was here
+but my sight's getting queer
+
+i don't know right where as his shed must ha' stood
+but often, as i've been a-planing my wood
+i've took off my hat, just with thinking of he
+at the same work as me
+
+he warn't that set up that he couldn't stoop down
+and work in the country for folks in the town
+and i'll warrant he felt a bit pride, like i've done
+at a good job begun
+
+the parson he knows that i'll not make too free
+but on sunday i feels as pleased as can be
+when i wears my clean smock, and sits in a pew
+and has taught a few
+
+i think of as how not the parson hissen
+as is teacher and father and shepherd o' men
+not he knows as much of the lord in that shed
+where he earned his own bread
+
+and when i goes home to my missus, says she
+for she knows my queer ways, and my love for the shed
+
+so i comes right away by mysen, with the book
+and i turns the old pages and has a good look
+for the text as i've found, as tells me as he
+were the same trade as me
+
+why don't i mark it? ah, many say so
+but i think i'd as lief, with your leaves, let it go
+it do seem that nice when i fall on it sudden
+unexpected, you know
+
+
+
+covers all europe with her dainty hands and tresses while giving a kiss
+to england, her own dear native land. (1808-79
+
+when letty had scarce pass'd her third glad year
+and her young, artless words began to flow
+one day we gave the child a colour'd sphere
+of the wide earth, that she might mark and know
+by tint and outline, all its sea and land
+she patted all the world; old empires peep'd
+between her baby fingers; her soft hand
+was welcome at all frontiers. how she leap'd
+and laugh'd and prattled in her world-wide bliss
+but when we turn'd her sweet unlearned eye
+on our own isle, she rais'd a joyous cry
+and, while she hid all england with a kiss
+bright over europe fell her golden hair
+
+
+
+once a dream did wave a shade
+o'er my angel-guarded bed
+that an emmet lost its way
+when on grass methought i lay
+
+troubled, 'wildered, and forlorn
+dark, benighted, travel-worn
+over many a tangled spray
+all heart-broke, i heard her say
+
+do they hear their father sigh
+now they look abroad to see
+now return and weep for me
+
+pitying, i dropped a tear
+but i saw a glow-worm near
+who replied, "what wailing wight
+calls the watchman of the night
+
+while the beetle goes his round
+follow now the beetle's hum
+little wanderer, hie thee home
+
+
+
+
+j.g. holland (1819-81) has immortalised himself in this line, at least
+
+heaven is not reached at a single bound
+but we build the ladder by which we rise
+from the lowly earth to the vaulted skies
+and we mount to its summit round by round
+
+i count this thing to be grandly true
+that a noble deed is a step toward god
+lifting the soul from the common clod
+to a purer air and a broader view
+
+
+
+have you been to woodstock, near oxford, england? if so, you have seen
+the palace of the duke of marlborough, who won the battle of blenheim
+the main point of the poem is the doubtful honour in killing in our
+great wars. southey, the poet, lived from 1774 to 1843
+
+it was a summer's evening
+old kaspar's work was done
+and he before his cottage door
+was sitting in the sun
+and by him sported on the green
+his little grandchild wilhelmine
+
+she saw her brother peterkin
+roll something large and round
+which he, beside the rivulet
+in playing there, had found
+he came to ask what he had found
+that was so large, and smooth, and round
+
+old kaspar took it from the boy
+who stood expectant by
+and then the old man shook his head
+and, with a natural sigh
+
+for there's many hereabout
+and often when i go to plow
+the plowshare turns them out
+for many thousand men," said he
+
+young peterkin he cries
+and little wilhelmine looks up
+with wonder-waiting eyes
+and what they killed each other for
+
+but what they killed each other for
+i could not well make out
+but everybody said," quoth he
+
+yon little stream hard by
+they burned his dwelling to the ground
+and he was forced to fly
+so with his wife and child he fled
+nor had he where to rest his head
+
+was wasted far and wide
+and many a childing mother then
+and new-born baby died
+but things like that, you know, must be
+at every famous victory
+
+after the field was won
+for many thousand bodies here
+lay rotting in the sun
+but things like that, you know, must be
+after a famous victory
+
+and our good prince eugene
+said little wilhelmine
+
+who this great fight did win
+quoth little peterkin
+
+
+
+respect to a boy of eleven years who liked the poem well enough to
+recite it frequently. the scene is laid on helvellyn, to me the most
+impressive mountain of the lake district of england. wordsworth is a
+part of this country. i once heard john burroughs say: "i went to the
+lake district to see what kind of a country it could be that would
+produce a wordsworth
+
+a barking sound the shepherd hears
+a cry as of a dog or fox
+he halts--and searches with his eyes
+among the scattered rocks
+and now at distance can discern
+a stirring in a brake of fern
+and instantly a dog is seen
+glancing through that covert green
+
+the dog is not of mountain breed
+its motions, too, are wild and shy
+with something, as the shepherd thinks
+unusual in its cry
+nor is there any one in sight
+all round, in hollow or on height
+nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear
+what is the creature doing here
+
+it was a cove, a huge recess
+that keeps, till june, december's snow
+a lofty precipice in front
+a silent tarn below
+far in the bosom of helvellyn
+remote from public road or dwelling
+pathway, or cultivated land
+from trace of human foot or hand
+
+there sometimes doth a leaping fish
+send through the tarn a lonely cheer
+the crags repeat the raven's croak
+in symphony austere
+thither the rainbow comes--the cloud
+and mists that spread the flying shroud
+and sunbeams; and the sounding blast
+that, if it could, would hurry past
+but that enormous barrier binds it fast
+
+not free from boding thoughts, a while
+the shepherd stood: then makes his way
+toward the dog, o'er rocks and stones
+as quickly as he may
+nor far had gone, before he found
+a human skeleton on the ground
+the appalled discoverer with a sigh
+looks round, to learn the history
+
+from those abrupt and perilous rocks
+the man had fallen, that place of fear
+at length upon the shepherd's mind
+it breaks, and all is clear
+he instantly recalled the name
+and who he was, and whence he came
+remembered, too, the very day
+on which the traveller passed this way
+
+but hear a wonder, for whose sake
+this lamentable tale i tell
+a lasting monument of words
+this wonder merits well
+the dog, which still was hovering nigh
+repeating the same timid cry
+this dog had been through three months space
+a dweller in that savage place
+
+yes, proof was plain that, since the day
+when this ill-fated traveller died
+the dog had watched about the spot
+or by his master's side
+how nourished here through such long time
+he knows, who gave that love sublime
+and gave that strength of feeling, great
+above all human estimate
+
+
+
+people are more and more coming to recognise the fact that each
+individual soul has a right to its own stages of development. "the
+chambered nautilus" is for that reason beloved of the masses. it is one
+of the grandest poems ever written. "build thee more stately mansions
+o my soul!" this line alone would make the poem immortal. (1809-94
+
+this is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign
+sailed the unshadowed main
+the venturous bark that flings
+on the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
+in gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings
+and coral reefs lie bare
+where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair
+
+its webs of living gauze no more unfurl
+wrecked is the ship of pearl
+and every chambered cell
+where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell
+as the frail tenant shaped his growing shell
+before thee lies revealed
+its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed
+
+year after year beheld the silent toil
+that spread his lustrous coil
+still, as the spiral grew
+he left the past year's dwelling for the new
+stole with soft step its shining archway through
+built up its idle door
+stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more
+
+thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee
+child of the wandering sea
+cast from her lap, forlorn
+from thy dead lips a clearer note is born
+than ever triton blew from wreathed horn
+while on mine ear it rings
+through the deep caves of thought i hear a voice that sings
+
+build thee more stately mansions, o my soul
+as the swift seasons roll
+leave thy low-vaulted past
+let each new temple, nobler than the last
+shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast
+till thou at length art free
+leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea
+
+
+
+tennyson's (1809-92) "crossing the bar" is one of the noblest
+death-songs ever written. i include it in this volume out of respect to
+a young philadelphia publisher who recited it one stormy night before
+the passengers of a ship when i was crossing the atlantic, and also
+because so many young people have the good taste to love it. it has
+been said that next to browning's "prospice" it is the greatest
+death-song ever written
+
+sunset and evening star
+and one clear call for me
+and may there be no moaning of the bar
+when i put out to sea
+
+but such a tide as moving seems asleep
+too full for sound and foam
+when that which drew from out the boundless deep
+turns again home
+
+twilight and evening bell
+and after that the dark
+and may there be no sadness of farewell
+when i embark
+
+for tho' from out our bourne of time and place
+the flood may bear me far
+i hope to see my pilot face to face
+when i have cross'd the bar
+
+
+
+when one boy learns it the others want to follow. it takes as a hero
+the man who gives common service--the one who does not lead or command
+but follows the line of duty. (1865
+
+in the name of the empress of india, make way
+o lords of the jungle wherever you roam
+the woods are astir at the close of the day
+we exiles are waiting for letters from home
+let the robber retreat; let the tiger turn tail
+in the name of the empress the overland-mail
+
+with a jingle of bells as the dusk gathers in
+he turns to the foot-path that leads up the hill
+the bags on his back, and a cloth round his chin
+and, tucked in his belt, the post-office bill
+
+is the torrent in spate? he must ford it or swim
+has the rain wrecked the road? he must climb by the cliff
+does the tempest cry "halt"? what are tempests to him
+the service admits not a "but" or an "if
+while the breath's in his mouth, he must bear without fail
+in the name of the empress the overland-mail
+
+from aloe to rose-oak, from rose-oak to fir
+from level to upland, from upland to crest
+from rice-field to rock-ridge, from rock-ridge to spur
+fly the soft-sandalled feet, strains the brawny brown chest
+from rail to ravine--to the peak from the vale
+up, up through the night goes the overland-mail
+
+there's a speck on the hillside, a dot on the road
+a jingle of bells on the foot-path below
+there's a scuffle above in the monkeys' abode
+the world is awake, and the clouds are aglow
+for the great sun himself must attend to the hail
+in the name of the empress the overland-mail
+
+
+
+think you were ten years old. sir walter scott's men all have a genius
+for standing up to their guns, and boys gather up the man's genius when
+reciting his verse. (1771-1832
+
+pibroch of donuil dhu
+pibroch of donuil
+wake thy wild voice anew
+summon clan conuil
+come away, come away
+hark to the summons
+come in your war-array
+gentles and commons
+
+come from deep glen, and
+from mountain so rocky
+the war-pipe and pennon
+are at inverlochy
+come every hill-plaid, and
+true heart that wears one
+come every steel blade, and
+strong hand that bears one
+
+leave untended the herd
+the flock without shelter
+leave the corpse uninterr'd
+the bride at the altar
+leave the deer, leave the steer
+leave nets and barges
+come with your fighting gear
+broadswords and targes
+
+come as the winds come, when
+forests are rended
+come as the waves come, when
+navies are stranded
+faster come, faster come
+faster and faster
+chief, vassal, page, and groom
+tenant and master
+
+fast they come, fast they come
+see how they gather
+wide waves the eagle plume
+blended with heather
+cast your plaids, draw your blades
+forward each man set
+pibroch of donuil dhu
+knell for the onset
+
+
+
+school-reader. boys and girls liked it then and they like it now. this
+is another of the poems that was not born to die
+
+at midnight, in his guarded tent
+the turk was dreaming of the hour
+when greece, her knee in suppliance bent
+should tremble at his power
+in dreams, through camp and court, he bore
+the trophies of a conqueror
+in dreams his song of triumph heard
+then wore his monarch's signet ring
+then pressed that monarch's throne--a king
+as wild his thoughts, and gay of wing
+as eden's garden bird
+
+at midnight, in the forest shades
+bozzaris ranged his suliote band
+true as the steel of their tried blades
+heroes in heart and hand
+there had the persian's thousands stood
+there had the glad earth drunk their blood
+on old platæa's day
+and now there breathed that haunted air
+the sons of sires who conquered there
+with arm to strike and soul to dare
+as quick, as far as they
+
+an hour passed on--the turk awoke
+that bright dream was his last
+he woke--to hear his sentries shriek
+he woke--to die midst flame, and smoke
+and shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke
+and death-shots falling thick and fast
+as lightnings from the mountain-cloud
+and heard, with voice as trumpet loud
+bozzaris cheer his band
+strike--for your altars and your fires
+strike--for the green graves of your sires
+god--and your native land
+
+they fought--like brave men, long and well
+they piled that ground with moslem slain
+they conquered--but bozzaris fell
+bleeding at every vein
+his few surviving comrades saw
+his smile when rang their proud hurrah
+and the red field was won
+then saw in death his eyelids close
+calmly, as to a night's repose
+like flowers at set of sun
+
+come to the bridal-chamber, death
+come to the mother's, when she feels
+for the first time, her first-born's breath
+come when the blessed seals
+that close the pestilence are broke
+and crowded cities wail its stroke
+come in consumption's ghastly form
+the earthquake shock, the ocean storm
+come when the heart beats high and warm
+with banquet-song, and dance, and wine
+and thou art terrible--the tear
+the groan, the knell, the pall, the bier
+and all we know, or dream, or fear
+of agony, are thine
+
+but to the hero, when his sword
+has won the battle for the free
+thy voice sounds like a prophet's word
+and in its hollow tones are heard
+the thanks of millions yet to be
+come, when his task of fame is wrought
+come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought
+come in her crowning hour--and then
+thy sunken eye's unearthly light
+to him is welcome as the sight
+of sky and stars to prisoned men
+thy grasp is welcome as the hand
+of brother in a foreign land
+thy summons welcome as the cry
+that told the indian isles were nigh
+to the world-seeking genoese
+when the land wind, from woods of palm
+and orange-groves, and fields of balm
+blew o'er the haytian seas
+
+bozzaris! with the storied brave
+greece nurtured in her glory's time
+rest thee--there is no prouder grave
+even in her own proud clime
+she wore no funeral-weeds for thee
+nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume
+like torn branch from death's leafless tree
+in sorrow's pomp and pageantry
+the heartless luxury of the tomb
+but she remembers thee as one
+long loved and for a season gone
+for thee her poet's lyre is wreathed
+her marble wrought, her music breathed
+for thee she rings the birthday bells
+of thee her babe's first lisping tells
+for thine her evening prayer is said
+at palace-couch and cottage-bed
+her soldier, closing with the foe
+gives for thy sake a deadlier blow
+his plighted maiden, when she fears
+for him the joy of her young years
+thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears
+and she, the mother of thy boys
+though in her eye and faded cheek
+is read the grief she will not speak
+the memory of her buried joys
+and even she who gave thee birth
+will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth
+talk of thy doom without a sigh
+for thou art freedom's now, and fame's
+one of the few, the immortal names
+that were not born to die
+
+
+
+of the good old reader songs taught us by a teacher of good taste. we
+love those teachers more the older we grow
+
+wild was the night, yet a wilder night
+hung round the soldier's pillow
+in his bosom there waged a fiercer fight
+than the fight on the wrathful billow
+
+a few fond mourners were kneeling by
+the few that his stern heart cherished
+they knew, by his glazed and unearthly eye
+that life had nearly perished
+
+they knew by his awful and kingly look
+by the order hastily spoken
+that he dreamed of days when the nations shook
+and the nations' hosts were broken
+
+he dreamed that the frenchman's sword still slew
+and triumphed the frenchman's eagle
+and the struggling austrian fled anew
+like the hare before the beagle
+
+the bearded russian he scourged again
+the prussian's camp was routed
+and again on the hills of haughty spain
+his mighty armies shouted
+
+over egypt's sands, over alpine snows
+at the pyramids, at the mountain
+where the wave of the lordly danube flows
+and by the italian fountain
+
+on the snowy cliffs where mountain streams
+dash by the switzer's dwelling
+he led again, in his dying dreams
+his hosts, the proud earth quelling
+
+again marengo's field was won
+and jena's bloody battle
+again the world was overrun
+made pale at his cannon's rattle
+
+he died at the close of that darksome day
+a day that shall live in story
+in the rocky land they placed his clay
+
+
+
+how sleep the brave, who sink to rest
+by all their country's wishes blest
+when spring, with dewy fingers cold
+returns to deck their hallow'd mould
+she there shall dress a sweeter sod
+than fancy's feet have ever trod
+
+by fairy hands their knell is rung
+by forms unseen their dirge is sung
+there honour comes, a pilgrim gray
+to bless the turf that wraps their clay
+and freedom shall a while repair
+to dwell a weeping hermit there
+
+
+
+who pleased me by his great appreciation of it. it teaches the lesson
+of reverence to our great national symbol. it is published by
+permission of the author, henry holcomb bennett, of ohio. (1863
+
+hats off
+along the street there comes
+a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums
+a flash of colour beneath the sky
+hats off
+the flag is passing by
+
+blue and crimson and white it shines
+over the steel-tipped, ordered lines
+hats off
+the colours before us fly
+but more than the flag is passing by
+
+sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great
+fought to make and to save the state
+weary marches and sinking ships
+cheers of victory on dying lips
+
+days of plenty and years of peace
+march of a strong land's swift increase
+equal justice, right, and law
+stately honour and reverend awe
+
+sign of a nation, great and strong
+toward her people from foreign wrong
+pride and glory and honour,--all
+live in the colours to stand or fall
+
+hats off
+along the street there comes
+a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums
+and loyal hearts are beating high
+hats off
+the flag is passing by
+
+
+
+on linden, when the sun was low
+all bloodless lay th' untrodden snow
+and dark as winter was the flow
+of iser, rolling rapidly
+
+but linden saw another sight
+when the drum beat, at dead of night
+commanding fires of death to light
+the darkness of her scenery
+
+by torch and trumpet fast array'd
+each horseman drew his battle-blade
+and furious every charger neigh'd
+to join the dreadful revelry
+
+then shook the hills with thunder riven
+then rush'd the steed to battle driven
+and louder than the bolts of heaven
+far flashed the red artillery
+
+but redder yet that light shall glow
+on linden's hills or stainèd snow
+and bloodier yet the torrent flow
+of iser, rolling rapidly
+
+can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun
+where furious frank, and fiery hun
+shout in their sulphurous canopy
+
+the combat deepens. on, ye brave
+who rush to glory or the grave
+wave, munich! all thy banners wave
+and charge with all thy chivalry
+
+few, few shall part, where many meet
+the snow shall be their winding-sheet
+and every turf beneath their feet
+shall be a soldier's sepulcher
+
+
+
+the sun shines bright in the old kentucky home
+the corn-top's ripe, and the meadow's in the bloom
+while the birds make music all the day
+the young folks roll on the little cabin floor
+all merry, all happy and bright
+by-'n'-by hard times comes a-knocking at the door
+then my old kentucky home, good-night
+
+weep no more, my lady
+o, weep no more to-day
+we will sing one song for the old kentucky home
+for the old kentucky home, far away
+
+they hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon
+on the meadow, the hill, and the shore
+they sing no more by the glimmer of the moon
+on the bench by the old cabin door
+the day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart
+with sorrow, where all was delight
+the time has come when the darkeys have to part
+then my old kentucky home, good-night
+
+the head must bow, and the back will have to bend
+wherever the darkey may go
+a few more days, and the trouble all will end
+in the field where the sugar-canes grow
+a few more days for to tote the weary load
+no matter, 'twill never be light
+a few more days till we totter on the road
+then my old kentucky home, good-night
+
+weep no more, my lady
+o, weep no more to-day
+we will sing one song for the old kentucky home
+for the old kentucky home, far away
+
+
+
+way down upon de swanee ribber
+far, far away
+dere's wha my heart is turning ebber
+dere's wha de old folks stay
+all up and down de whole creation
+sadly i roam
+still longing for de old plantation
+and for de old folks at home
+
+all de world am sad and dreary
+eberywhere i roam
+oh, darkeys, how my heart grows weary
+far from de old folks at home
+
+all round de little farm i wandered
+when i was young
+den many happy days i squandered
+many de songs i sung
+when i was playing wid my brudder
+oh, take me to my kind old mudder
+dere let me live and die
+
+one little hut among de bushes
+one dat i love
+still sadly to my memory rushes
+no matter where i rove
+when will i see de bees a-humming
+all round de comb
+when will i hear de banjo tumming
+down in my good old home
+
+all de world am sad and dreary
+eberywhere i roam
+oh, darkeys, how my heart grows weary
+far from de old folks at home
+
+
+
+woe," off the coast near cape ann, is a historic poem as well as an
+imaginative composition
+
+it was the schooner _hesperus
+that sailed the wintry sea
+and the skipper had taken his little daughter
+to bear him company
+
+blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax
+her cheeks like the dawn of day
+and her bosom white as the hawthorn buds
+that ope in the month of may
+
+the skipper he stood beside the helm
+his pipe was in his mouth
+and he watched how the veering flaw did blow
+the smoke now west, now south
+
+then up and spake an old sailor
+had sailed the spanish main
+for i fear a hurricane
+
+and to-night no moon we see
+the skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe
+and a scornful laugh laughed he
+
+colder and louder blew the wind
+a gale from the northeast
+the snow fell hissing in the brine
+and the billows frothed like yeast
+
+down came the storm, and smote amain
+the vessel in its strength
+she shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed
+then leaped her cable's length
+
+and do not tremble so
+for i can weather the roughest gale
+that ever wind did blow
+
+he wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat
+against the stinging blast
+he cut a rope from a broken spar
+and bound her to the mast
+
+o say, what may it be
+and he steered for the open sea
+
+o say, what may it be
+in such an angry sea
+
+o say, what may it be
+but the father answered never a word
+a frozen corpse was he
+
+lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark
+with his face turned to the skies
+the lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
+on his fixed and glassy eyes
+
+then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
+that savèd she might be
+and she thought of christ, who stilled the wave
+on the lake of galilee
+
+and fast through the midnight dark and drear
+through the whistling sleet and snow
+like a sheeted ghost the vessel swept
+toward the reef of norman's woe
+
+and ever the fitful gusts between
+a sound came from the land
+it was the sound of the trampling surf
+on the rocks and the hard sea-sand
+
+the breakers were right beneath her bows
+she drifted a dreary wreck
+and a whooping billow swept the crew
+like icicles from her deck
+
+she struck where the white and fleecy waves
+looked soft as carded wool
+but the cruel rocks they gored her side
+like the horns of an angry bull
+
+her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice
+with the masts went by the board
+like a vessel of glass she stove and sank
+ho! ho! the breakers roared
+
+at daybreak on the bleak sea-beach
+a fisherman stood aghast
+to see the form of a maiden fair
+lashed close to a drifting mast
+
+the salt sea was frozen on her breast
+the salt tears in her eyes
+and he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed
+on the billows fall and rise
+
+such was the wreck of the _hesperus
+in the midnight and the snow
+christ save us all from a death like this
+on the reef of norman's woe
+
+
+
+
+you can look down on the battle-field of bannockburn from stirling
+castle, scotland, near which stands a magnificent statue of robert, the
+bruce. how often have i trodden over the old battle-field. the monument
+of william wallace, too, looms up on the ochil hills, not far away
+
+scots, wha hae wi' wallace bled
+scots, wham bruce has aften led
+welcome to your gory bed
+or to victorie
+
+now's the day, and now's the hour
+see the front o' battle lower
+see approach proud edward's power
+chains and slaverie
+
+wha will be a traitor knave
+wha can fill a coward's grave
+wha sae base as be a slave
+let him turn and flee
+
+wha for scotland's king and law
+freedom's sword will strongly draw
+freeman stand, or freeman fa
+let him follow me
+
+by oppression's woes and pains
+by your sons in servile chains
+we will drain our dearest veins
+but they shall be free
+
+lay the proud usurpers low
+tyrants fall in every foe
+liberty's in every blow
+let us do, or die
+
+
+
+lad and lassie
+
+
+
+the man is wrecked and his ship is sunken before he ever steps on board
+or sees the water if his heart is hard and his estimate of human beings
+low. "the inchcape rock" is a thrust at hard-heartedness. "what is the
+use of life?" to bear one another's burdens, to develop a genius for
+pulling people through hard places--that's the use of life. it is the
+last resort of a mean mind to crack jokes that wreck innocent voyagers
+on life's sea. (1774-1843
+
+no stir in the air, no stir in the sea
+the ship was still as she could be
+her sails from heaven received no motion
+her keel was steady in the ocean
+
+without either sign or sound of their shock
+the waves flowed over the inchcape rock
+so little they rose, so little they fell
+they did not move the inchcape bell
+
+the abbot of aberbrothok
+had placed that bell on the inchcape rock
+on a buoy in the storm it floated and swung
+and over the waves its warning rung
+
+when the rock was hid by the surge's swell
+the mariners heard the warning bell
+and then they knew the perilous rock
+and blest the abbot of aberbrothok
+
+the sun in heaven was shining gay
+all things were joyful on that day
+the sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round
+and there was joyance in their sound
+
+the buoy of the inchcape bell was seen
+a dark spot on the ocean green
+sir ralph the rover walked his deck
+and he fixed his eye on the darker speck
+
+he felt the cheering power of spring
+it made him whistle, it made him sing
+his heart was mirthful to excess
+but the rover's mirth was wickedness
+
+his eye was on the inchcape float
+quoth he, "my men, put out the boat
+and row me to the inchcape rock
+and i'll plague the abbot of aberbrothok
+
+the boat is lowered, the boatmen row
+and to the inchcape rock they go
+sir ralph bent over from the boat
+and he cut the bell from the inchcape float
+
+down sank the bell with a gurgling sound
+the bubbles rose and burst around
+quoth sir ralph, "the next who comes to the rock
+won't bless the abbot of aberbrothok
+
+sir ralph the rover sailed away
+he scoured the sea for many a day
+and now grown rich with plundered store
+he steers his course for scotland's shore
+
+so thick a haze o'erspread the sky
+they cannot see the sun on high
+the wind hath blown a gale all day
+at evening it hath died away
+
+on the deck the rover takes his stand
+so dark it is they see no land
+quoth sir ralph, "it will be brighter soon
+for there is the dawn of the rising moon
+
+for methinks we should be near the shore
+but i wish i could hear the inchcape bell
+
+they hear no sound; the swell is strong
+though the wind hath fallen, they drift along
+till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock
+
+sir ralph the rover tore his hair
+he curst himself in his despair
+the waves rush in on every side
+the ship is sinking beneath the tide
+
+but, even in his dying fear
+one dreadful sound could the rover hear
+a sound as if with the inchcape bell
+the devil below was ringing his knell
+
+
+
+have learned it they know the meaning of every line and have caught the
+spirit of the verse. there is an ancient "lyre," or violin, made in
+northern africa, in the possession of a boston lady, and i have found
+the mud-turtle rattle among the indians on the indian reservation at
+syracuse, new york. they use it as a musical instrument in their
+thanksgiving dances. the poem helps to build an interest in history and
+mythology while it develops a child's reverence and insight. (1819-91
+
+there lay upon the ocean's shore
+what once a tortoise served to cover
+a year and more, with rush and roar
+the surf had rolled it over
+had played with it, and flung it by
+as wind and weather might decide it
+then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry
+cheap burial might provide it
+
+it rested there to bleach or tan
+the rains had soaked, the sun had burned it
+with many a ban the fisherman
+had stumbled o'er and spurned it
+and there the fisher-girl would stay
+conjecturing with her brother
+how in their play the poor estray
+might serve some use or other
+
+so there it lay, through wet and dry
+as empty as the last new sonnet
+till by and by came mercury
+and, having mused upon it
+in shape, material, and dimension
+give it but strings, and, lo, it sings
+a wonderful invention
+
+so said, so done; the chords he strained
+and, as his fingers o'er them hovered
+the shell disdained a soul had gained
+the lyre had been discovered
+o empty world that round us lies
+dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken
+brought we but eyes like mercury's
+in thee what songs should waken
+
+
+
+too, in stedman's collection. we all come to a point in life where we
+need to burst the shell and fly away into the new realm. (1835-98
+
+my little mädchen found one day
+a curious something in her play
+that was not fruit, nor flower, nor seed
+it was not anything that grew
+or crept, or climbed, or swam, or flew
+had neither legs nor wings, indeed
+and yet she was not sure, she said
+whether it was alive or dead
+
+she brought it in her tiny hand
+to see if i would understand
+and wondered when i made reply
+with doubtful look she answered me
+so then i told her what would be
+some day within the chrysalis
+how, slowly, in the dull brown thing
+now still as death, a spotted wing
+and then another, would unfold
+till from the empty shell would fly
+a pretty creature, by and by
+all radiant in blue and gold
+
+her laughing lips and eager eyes
+all in a sparkle of surprise
+that ere the worm within its shell
+its gauzy, splendid wings had spread
+my little mädchen would be dead
+
+to-day the butterfly has flown
+she was not here to see it fly
+and sorrowing i wonder why
+the empty shell is mine alone
+perhaps the secret lies in this
+i too had found a chrysalis
+and death that robbed me of delight
+was but the radiant creature's flight
+
+
+
+robert burns, the plowman and poet, "dinnered wi' a lord." the story
+goes that he was put at the second table. that lord is dead, but robert
+burns still lives. he is immortal. it is "the survival of the fittest
+value put on money and other externalities. this poem is more valuable
+in education than good penmanship or good spelling. (1759-96
+
+is there, for honest poverty
+that hangs his head, and a' that
+the coward slave, we pass him by
+we dare be poor for a' that
+for a' that, and a' that
+our toils obscure, and a' that
+the rank is but the guinea's stamp
+the man's the gowd for a' that
+
+what though on hamely fare we dine
+wear hoddin-gray,[1] and a' that
+gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine
+a man's a man for a' that
+for a' that, and a' that
+their tinsel show, and a' that
+the honest man, though e'er sae poor
+is king o' men for a' that
+
+ye see yon birkie[2] ca'd a lord
+wha struts, and stares, and a' that
+though hundreds worship at his word
+he's but a coof[3] for a' that
+for a' that, and a' that
+his riband, star, and a' that
+the man of independent mind
+he looks and laughs at a' that
+
+a prince can make a belted knight
+a marquis, duke, and a' that
+but an honest man's aboon his might
+guid faith he maunna fa' that
+for a' that, and a' that
+their dignities, and a' that
+the pith o' sense, and pride o' worth
+are higher rank than a' that
+
+then let us pray that come it may
+as come it will for a' that
+that sense and worth, o'er a' the earth
+may bear the gree, and a' that
+for a' that, and a' that
+it's coming yet for a' that
+that man to man, the warld o'er
+shall brothers be for a' that
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+young father over his new baby. if girls should be educated to be good
+mothers, so should boys be taught that fatherhood is the highest and
+holiest joy and right of man. the child is educator to the man. he
+teaches him how to take responsibility, how to give unbiased judgments
+and how to be fatherly like "our father who is in heaven." (1844
+
+there came to port last sunday night
+the queerest little craft
+without an inch of rigging on
+i looked and looked and laughed
+it seemed so curious that she
+should cross the unknown water
+and moor herself right in my room
+my daughter, o my daughter
+
+yet by these presents witness all
+she's welcome fifty times
+and comes consigned to hope and love
+and common-meter rhymes
+she has no manifest but this
+no flag floats o'er the water
+she's too new for the british lloyds
+my daughter, o my daughter
+
+ring out, wild bells, and tame ones too
+ring out the lover's moon
+ring in the little worsted socks
+ring in the bib and spoon
+ring out the muse! ring in the nurse
+ring in the milk and water
+away with paper, pen, and ink
+my daughter, o my daughter
+
+
+
+tennyson's "the brook" is included out of love to a dear old schoolmate
+in colorado. the real brook, near cambridge, england, is tame compared
+to your colorado streams, o beloved comrade. this poem is well liked by
+the majority of pupils. (1809-92
+
+i chatter, chatter, as i flow
+to join the brimming river
+for men may come and men may go
+but i go on forever
+
+i wind about, and in and out
+with here a blossom sailing
+and here and there a lusty trout
+and here and there a grayling
+
+i steal by lawns and grassy plots
+i slide by hazel covers
+i move the sweet forget-me-nots
+that grow for happy lovers
+
+i slip, i slide, i gloom, i glance
+among my skimming swallows
+i make the netted sunbeams dance
+against my sandy shallows
+
+i murmur under moon and stars
+in brambly wildernesses
+i linger by my shingly bars
+i loiter round my cresses
+
+and out again i curve and flow
+to join the brimming river
+for men may come and men may go
+but i go on forever
+
+
+
+because my boys always like it. it needs a great deal of explanation
+and few boys will hold out to the end in learning it. but "it pays
+
+it was our war-ship _clampherdown
+would sweep the channel clean
+wherefore she kept her hatches close
+when the merry channel chops arose
+to save the bleached marine
+
+she had one bow-gun of a hundred ton
+and a great stern-gun beside
+they dipped their noses deep in the sea
+they racked their stays and stanchions free
+in the wash of the wind-whipped tide
+
+it was our war-ship _clampherdown
+fell in with a cruiser light
+that carried the dainty hotchkiss gun
+and a pair o' heels wherewith to run
+from the grip of a close-fought fight
+
+she opened fire at seven miles
+as ye shoot at a bobbing cork
+and once she fired and twice she fired
+till the bow-gun drooped like a lily tired
+that lolls upon the stalk
+
+the deck-beams break below
+and botch the shattered plates again
+and he answered, "make it so
+
+she opened fire within the mile
+as ye shoot at the flying duck
+and the great stern-gun shot fair and true
+with the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue
+and the great stern-turret stuck
+
+the feed-pipes burst below
+you can hear the hiss of helpless ram
+you can hear the twisted runners jam
+and he answered, "turn and go
+
+it was our war-ship _clampherdown
+and grimly did she roll
+swung round to take the cruiser's fire
+as the white whale faces the thresher's ire
+when they war by the frozen pole
+
+and faster still fall we
+and it is not meet for english stock
+to bide in the heart of an eight-day clock
+the death they cannot see
+
+we drift upon her beam
+we dare not ram, for she can run
+and dare ye fire another gun
+and die in the peeling steam
+
+it was our war-ship _clampherdown
+that carried an armour-belt
+but fifty feet at stern and bow
+lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow
+to the hail of the nordenfeldt
+
+the chilled steel bolts are swift
+we have emptied the bunkers in open sea
+their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be
+and he answered, "let her drift
+
+it was our war-ship _clampherdown
+swung round upon the tide
+her two dumb guns glared south and north
+and the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth
+and she ground the cruiser's side
+
+they bid you send your sword
+and he answered, "grapple her stern and bow
+they have asked for the steel. they shall have it now
+out cutlasses and board
+
+it was our war-ship _clampherdown
+spewed up four hundred men
+and the scalded stokers yelped delight
+as they rolled in the waist and heard the fight
+stamp o'er their steel-walled pen
+
+they cleared the cruiser end to end
+from conning-tower to hold
+they fought as they fought in nelson's fleet
+they were stripped to the waist, they were bare to the feet
+as it was in the days of old
+
+it was the sinking _clampherdown
+heaved up her battered side
+and carried a million pounds in steel
+to the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel
+and the scour of the channel tide
+
+it was the crew of the _clampherdown
+stood out to sweep the sea
+on a cruiser won from an ancient foe
+as it was in the days of long-ago
+and as it still shall be
+
+
+
+collection because johnnie, a ten-year-old, and many of his friends
+say, "it's great." (1788-1824
+
+the assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold
+and his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold
+and the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea
+when the blue wave rolls nightly on deep galilee
+
+like the leaves of the forest when the summer is green
+that host with their banners at sunset were seen
+like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown
+that host on the morrow lay withered and strown
+
+for the angel of death spread his wings on the blast
+and breathed in the face of the foe as he passed
+and the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill
+and their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still
+
+and there lay the steed with his nostril all wide
+but through it there rolled not the breath of his pride
+and the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf
+and cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf
+
+and there lay the rider distorted and pale
+with the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail
+and the tents were all silent, the banners alone
+the lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown
+
+and the widows of ashur are loud in their wail
+and the idols are broke in the temple of baal
+and the might of the gentile, unsmote by the sword
+hath melted like snow in the glance of the lord
+
+
+
+i remember, i remember
+the house where i was born
+the little window where the sun
+came peeping in at morn
+he never came a wink too soon
+nor brought too long a day
+but now, i often wish the night
+had borne my breath away
+
+i remember, i remember
+the roses, red and white
+the violets, and the lily-cups
+those flowers made of light
+the lilacs where the robin built
+and where my brother set
+the laburnum on his birthday
+the tree is living yet
+
+i remember, i remember
+where i was used to swing
+and thought the air must rush as fresh
+to swallows on the wing
+my spirit flew in feathers then
+that is so heavy now
+and summer pools could hardly cool
+the fever on my brow
+
+i remember, i remember
+the fir trees dark and high
+i used to think their slender tops
+were close against the sky
+it was a childish ignorance
+but now 'tis little joy
+to know i'm farther off from heaven
+than when i was a boy
+
+
+
+out of the clover and blue-eyed grass
+he turned them into the river lane
+one after another he let them pass
+then fastened the meadow bars again
+
+under the willows and over the hill
+he patiently followed their sober pace
+the merry whistle for once was still
+and something shadowed the sunny face
+
+only a boy! and his father had said
+he never could let his youngest go
+two already were lying dead
+under the feet of the trampling foe
+
+but after the evening work was done
+and the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp
+over his shoulder he slung his gun
+and stealthily followed the footpath damp
+
+across the clover, and through the wheat
+with resolute heart and purpose grim
+though the dew was on his hurrying feet
+and the blind bat's flitting startled him
+
+thrice since then had the lanes been white
+and the orchards sweet with apple-bloom
+and now, when the cows came back at night
+the feeble father drove them home
+
+for news had come to the lonely farm
+that three were lying where two had lain
+and the old man's tremulous, palsied arm
+could never lean on a son's again
+
+the summer day grew cool and late
+he went for the cows when the work was done
+but down the lane, as he opened the gate
+he saw them coming one by one
+
+brindle, ebony, speckle, and bess
+shaking their horns in the evening wind
+cropping the buttercups out of the grass
+but who was it following close behind
+
+loosely swung in the idle air
+the empty sleeve of army blue
+and worn and pale, from the crisping hair
+looked out a face that the father knew
+
+for close-barred prisons will sometimes yawn
+and yield their dead unto life again
+and the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
+in golden glory at last may wane
+
+the great tears sprang to their meeting eyes
+for the heart must speak when the lips are dumb
+and under the silent evening skies
+together they followed the cattle home
+
+
+
+
+it was summer when he smiled
+
+eugene field, above all other poets, paid the finest tribute to
+children. this poet only, could make the whole ocean warm because a
+child's heart was there to warm it
+
+krinken was a little child
+it was summer when he smiled
+oft the hoary sea and grim
+stretched its white arms out to him
+calling, "sun-child, come to me
+let me warm my heart with thee
+but the child heard not the sea
+calling, yearning evermore
+for the summer on the shore
+
+krinken on the beach one day
+saw a maiden nis at play
+on the pebbly beach she played
+in the summer krinken made
+fair, and very fair, was she
+just a little child was he
+just a kiss, and go with me
+to the summer-lands that be
+down within the silver sea
+
+krinken was a little child
+by the maiden nis beguiled
+hand in hand with her went he
+and 'twas summer in the sea
+and the hoary sea and grim
+to its bosom folded him
+clasped and kissed the little form
+and the ocean's heart was warm
+
+now the sea calls out no more
+it is winter on the shore
+winter where that little child
+made sweet summer when he smiled
+though 'tis summer on the sea
+where with maiden nis went he
+it is winter on the shore
+winter, winter evermore
+
+of the summer on the deep
+come sweet visions in my sleep
+these my dreams of summer be
+
+krinken was a little child
+by the maiden nis beguiled
+oft the hoary sea and grim
+reached its longing arms to him
+crying, "sim-child, come to me
+let me warm my heart with thee
+but the sea calls out no more
+it is winter on the shore
+winter, cold and dark and wild
+
+krinken was a little child
+it was summer when he smiled
+down he went into the sea
+and the winter bides with me
+just a little child was he
+
+
+
+she spoke to stevenson--the master smiled
+too swift they come, and all too swiftly fly
+
+so by a formal deed he there conveyed
+all right and title in his natal day
+to have and hold, to sell or give away
+then signed, and gave it to the little maid
+
+joyful, yet fearing to believe too much
+she took the deed, but scarcely dared unfold
+ah, liberal genius! at whose potent touch
+all common things shine with transmuted gold
+a day of stevenson's will prove to be
+not part of time, but immortality
+
+
+
+i learned "a modest wit" as a reading-lesson when i was a child. it has
+clung to me and so i cling to it. it is just as good as it ever was. it
+is a sharp thrust at power that depends on externalities. selleck
+osborne
+
+a supercilious nabob of the east
+haughty, being great--purse-proud, being rich
+a governor, or general, at the least
+i have forgotten which
+had in his family a humble youth
+who went from england in his patron's suit
+an unassuming boy, in truth
+a lad of decent parts, and good repute
+
+this youth had sense and spirit
+but yet with all his sense
+excessive diffidence
+obscured his merit
+
+one day, at table, flushed with pride and wine
+his honour, proudly free, severely merry
+conceived it would be vastly fine
+to crack a joke upon his secretary
+
+did your good father gain a livelihood
+
+instead of teaching you to sew
+pray, why did not your father make
+a saddler, sir, of you
+
+each parasite, then, as in duty bound
+the joke applauded, and the laugh went round
+at length modestus, bowing low
+said (craving pardon, if too free he made
+your father's trade
+
+my father's trade? why, blockhead, are you mad
+my father, sir, did never stoop so low
+he was a gentleman, i'd have you know
+
+modestus said, with archness on his brow
+a gentleman of you
+
+
+
+1774-1843). but "the mouse-tower on the rhine" is an object of interest
+to travellers, and the story has a point
+
+the summer and autumn had been so wet
+that in winter the corn was growing yet
+the grain lie rotting on the ground
+
+every day the starving poor
+crowded around bishop hatto's door
+for he had a plentiful last-year's store
+and all the neighbourhood could tell
+his granaries were furnished well
+
+at last bishop hatto appointed a day
+to quiet the poor without delay
+he bade them to his great barn repair
+and they should have food for winter there
+
+rejoiced such tidings good to hear
+the poor folk flocked from far and near
+the great barn was full as it could hold
+of women and children, and young and old
+
+then, when he saw it could hold no more
+bishop hatto, he made fast the door
+and while for mercy on christ they call
+he set fire to the barn and burned them all
+
+for ridding it in these times forlorn
+of rats that only consume the corn
+
+so then to his palace returnèd he
+and he sat down to supper merrily
+and he slept that night like an innocent man
+but bishop hatto never slept again
+
+in the morning as he entered the hall
+where his picture hung against the wall
+a sweat-like death all over him came
+for the rats had eaten it out of the frame
+
+as he looked, there came a man from his farm
+he had a countenance white with alarm
+and the rats had eaten all your corn
+
+another came running presently
+and he was pale as pale could be
+the lord forgive you yesterday
+
+the walls are high, and the shores are steep
+and the stream is strong, and the water deep
+
+bishop hatto fearfully hastened away
+and he crossed the rhine without delay
+and reached his tower, and barred with care
+all windows, doors, and loop-holes there
+
+he laid him down, and closed his eyes
+but soon a scream made him arise
+he started and saw two eyes of flame
+on his pillow, from whence the screaming came
+
+he listened and looked; it was only the cat
+but the bishop he grew more fearful for that
+for she sat screaming, mad with fear
+at the army of rats that was drawing near
+
+for they have swum over the river so deep
+and they have climbed the shore so steep
+and up the tower their way is bent
+to do the work for which they were sent
+
+they are not to be told by the dozen or score
+by thousands they come, and by myriads and more
+such numbers had never been heard of before
+such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore
+
+down on his knees the bishop fell
+and faster and faster his beads did tell
+as, louder and louder drawing near
+the gnawing of their teeth he could hear
+
+and in at the windows and in at the door
+and through the walls, helter-skelter they pour
+and down from the ceiling and up through the floor
+from the right and the left, from behind and before
+and all at once to the bishop they go
+
+they have whetted their teeth against the stones
+and now they pick the bishop's bones
+they gnawed the flesh from every limb
+for they were sent to do judgment on him
+
+
+
+we are greatly indebted to joaquin miller for his "sail on! sail on
+endurance is the watchword of the poem and the watchword of our
+republic. every man to his gun! columbus discovered america in his own
+mind before he realised it or proved its existence. i have often drawn
+a chart of columbus's life and voyages to show what need he had of the
+motto "sail on!" to accomplish his end. this is one of our greatest
+american poems. the writer still lives in california
+
+behind him lay the gray azores
+behind the gates of hercules
+before him not the ghost of shores
+before him only shoreless seas
+the good mate said: "now must we pray
+for lo! the very stars are gone
+speak, admiral, what shall i say
+
+my men grow ghastly wan and weak
+the stout mate thought of home; a spray
+of salt wave wash'd his swarthy cheek
+if we sight naught but seas at dawn
+
+they sailed and sailed, as winds might blow
+until at last the blanch'd mate said
+should i and all my men fall dead
+these very winds forget their way
+for god from these dread seas is gone
+now speak, brave admiral, and say
+he said: "sail on! and on
+
+they sailed, they sailed, then spoke his mate
+he curls his lip, he lies in wait
+with lifted teeth as if to bite
+brave admiral, say but one word
+what shall we do when hope is gone
+the words leaped as a leaping sword
+
+then, pale and worn, he kept his deck
+and thro' the darkness peered that night
+ah, darkest night! and then a speck
+a light! a light! a light! a light
+it grew--a star-lit flag unfurled
+it grew to be time's burst of dawn
+he gained a world! he gave that world
+its watch-word: "on! and on
+
+
+
+once a year the children learn "the shepherd of king admetus," which is
+one of the finest poems ever written as showing the possible growth of
+real history into mythology, the tendency of mankind to deify what is
+fine or sublime in human action. not every child will learn this entire
+poem, because it is too long. but every child will learn the best lines
+in it while the children are teaching it to me and when i take my turn
+in teaching it to them. no child fails to catch the spirit and intent
+of the poem and to become entirely familiar with it. (1819-91
+
+there came a youth upon the earth
+some thousand years ago
+whose slender hands were nothing worth
+whether to plow, or reap, or sow
+
+upon an empty tortoise-shell
+he stretched some chords, and drew
+music that made men's bosoms swell
+fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew
+
+then king admetus, one who had
+pure taste by right divine
+decreed his singing not too bad
+to hear between the cups of wine
+
+and so, well pleased with being soothed
+into a sweet half-sleep
+three times his kingly beard he smoothed
+and made him viceroy o'er his sheep
+
+his words were simple words enough
+and yet he used them so
+that what in other mouths was rough
+in his seemed musical and low
+
+men called him but a shiftless youth
+in whom no good they saw
+and yet, unwittingly, in truth
+they made his careless words their law
+
+they knew not how he learned at all
+for idly, hour by hour
+he sat and watched the dead leaves fall
+or mused upon a common flower
+
+it seemed the loveliness of things
+did teach him all their use
+for, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs
+he found a healing power profuse
+
+men granted that his speech was wise
+but, when a glance they caught
+of his slim grace and woman's eyes
+they laughed, and called him good-for-naught
+
+yet after he was dead and gone
+and e'en his memory dim
+earth seemed more sweet to live upon
+more full of love, because of him
+
+and day by day more holy grew
+each spot where he had trod
+till after-poets only knew
+their first-born brother as a god
+
+
+
+i have an old essay written by a lad of fourteen years on "how they
+brought the good news from ghent to aix." i should judge from this
+essay that any boy at that age would like the poem, even if he had not
+himself been over the ground as this boy had. (1812-89
+
+i sprang to the stirrup, and joris, and he
+i galloped, dirck galloped, we galloped all three
+behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest
+and into the midnight we galloped abreast
+
+not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
+neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place
+i turned in my saddle and made its girth tight
+then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right
+rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit
+nor galloped less steadily roland a whit
+
+lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear
+at boom, a great yellow star came out to see
+at düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be
+and from mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime
+so joris broke silence with, "yet there is time
+
+at aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun
+and against him the cattle stood black every one
+to stare through the mist at us galloping past
+and i saw my stout galloper roland at last
+with resolute shoulders, each butting away
+the haze, as some bluff river headland its spray
+
+and his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
+for my voice, and the other pricked out on his track
+and one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance
+o'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance
+and the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
+his fierce lips shook upward in galloping on
+
+by hasselt, dirck groaned; and cried joris, "stay spur
+your roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her
+we'll remember at aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze
+of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees
+and sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank
+as down on her haunches she shuddered and sank
+
+past looz and past tongres, no cloud in the sky
+the broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh
+till over by dalhem a dome-spire sprang white
+and "gallop," gasped joris, "for aix is in sight
+
+rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone
+and there was my roland to bear the whole weight
+of the news which alone could save aix from her fate
+with his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim
+and with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim
+
+then i cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall
+shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all
+stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear
+called my roland his pet-name, my horse without peer
+clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good
+till at length into aix roland galloped and stood
+
+and all i remember is--friends flocking round
+as i sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground
+and no voice but was praising this roland of mine
+as i poured down his throat our last measure of wine
+which (the burgesses voting by common consent
+was no more than his due who brought the good news from ghent
+
+
+
+a child. a distinguished teacher says: "it has become a part of popular
+education," as has also "the eve of waterloo" and "the death of
+napoleon." they are all poems of great rhythmical swing, intense and
+graphic. (1791-1823
+
+not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
+as his corse to the rampart we hurried
+not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
+o'er the grave where our hero we buried
+
+we buried him darkly at dead of night
+the sods with our bayonets turning
+by the struggling moonbeam's misty light
+and the lantern dimly burning
+
+no useless coffin enclosed his breast
+not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him
+but he lay like a warrior taking his rest
+with his martial cloak around him
+
+few and short were the prayers we said
+and we spoke not a word of sorrow
+but we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead
+and we bitterly thought of the morrow
+
+we thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed
+and smoothed down his lonely pillow
+that the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head
+and we far away on the billow
+
+lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone
+and o'er his cold ashes upbraid him
+but little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
+in the grave where a briton has laid him
+
+but half of our heavy task was done
+when the clock struck the hour for retiring
+and we heard the distant and random gun
+that the foe was sullenly firing
+
+slowly and sadly we laid him down
+from the field of his fame fresh and gory
+we carved not a line, and we raised not a stone
+but we left him alone with his glory
+
+
+
+reading-book gem that will always be dear to every boy's heart if he
+only reads it a few times
+
+there was a sound of revelry by night
+and belgium's capital had gathered then
+her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
+the lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men
+a thousand hearts beat happily; and when
+music arose with its voluptuous swell
+soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again
+and all went merry as a marriage-bell
+but hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell
+
+did ye not hear it? no; 'twas but the wind
+or the car rattling o'er the stony street
+on with the dance! let joy be unconfined
+no sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
+to chase the glowing hours with flying feet
+but hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more
+as if the clouds its echo would repeat
+and nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before
+arm! arm! it is--it is the cannon's opening roar
+
+ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro
+and gathering tears, and tremblings of distress
+and cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago
+blushed at the praise of their own loveliness
+and there were sudden partings, such as press
+the life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
+which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess
+if ever more should meet those mutual eyes
+since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise
+
+and there was mounting in hot haste: the steed
+the mustering squadron, and the clattering car
+went pouring forward with impetuous speed
+and swiftly forming in the ranks of war
+and the deep thunder peal on peal afar
+and near, the beat of the alarming drum
+roused up the soldier ere the morning star
+while thronged the citizens with terror dumb
+or whispering with white lips, "the foe! they come! they come
+
+and ardennes waves above them her green leaves
+dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass
+grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves
+over the unreturning brave--alas
+ere evening to be trodden like the grass
+which, now beneath them, but above shall grow
+in its next verdure, when this fiery mass
+of living valour, rolling on the foe
+and burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low
+
+last noon beheld them full of lusty life
+last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay
+the midnight brought the signal-sound of strife
+the morn the marshalling in arms,--the day
+battle's magnificently stern array
+the thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent
+the earth is covered thick with other clay
+which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent
+rider, and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blent
+
+
+
+
+laddie, aged eleven, do you remember how you studied and recited "king
+henry of navarre" every poetry hour for a year? it was a long poem, but
+you stuck to it to the end. we did not know the meaning of a certain
+word, but i found it up in switzerland. it is the name of a little
+town. (1800-59
+
+now glory to the lord of hosts, from whom all glories are
+and glory to our sovereign liege, king henry of navarre
+
+now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance
+through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, o pleasant
+land of france
+and thou, rochelle, our own rochelle, proud city of the waters
+again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters
+as thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy
+for cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy
+hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war
+hurrah! hurrah! for ivry, and henry of navarre
+
+oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day
+we saw the army of the league drawn out in long array
+with all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers
+and appenzel's stout infantry, and egmont's flemish spears
+there rode the brood of false lorraine, the curses of our land
+and dark mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand
+and, as we looked on them, we thought of seine's empurpled flood
+and good coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood
+and we cried unto the living god, who rules the fate of war
+to fight for his own holy name, and henry of navarre
+
+the king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest
+and he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest
+he looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye
+he looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high
+right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing
+down all our line, a deafening shout, "god save our lord the king
+for never saw i promise yet of such a bloody fray
+press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war
+and be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of navarre
+
+hurrah! the foes are moving. hark to the mingled din
+of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin
+the fiery duke is pricking fast across st. andré's plain
+with all the hireling chivalry of guelders and almayne
+now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of france
+charge for the golden lilies,--upon them with the lance
+a thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest
+a thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest
+and in they burst, and on they rushed, while like a guiding star
+amid the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of navarre
+
+now, god be praised, the day is ours. mayenne hath turned his rein
+d'aumale hath cried for quarter. the flemish count is slain
+their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a biscay gale
+the field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail
+and then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van
+but out spake gentle henry, "no frenchman is my foe
+down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go
+oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war
+as our sovereign lord, king henry, the soldier of navarre
+
+right well fought all the frenchmen who fought for france to-day
+and many a lordly banner god gave them for a prey
+but we of the religion have borne us best in fight
+and the good lord of rosny has ta'en the cornet white
+our own true maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en
+the cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false lorraine
+up with it high; unfurl it wide; that all the host may know
+how god hath humbled the proud house which wrought his church such woe
+then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest points of war
+fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for henry of navarre
+
+ho! maidens of vienna; ho! matrons of lucerne
+weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return
+ho! philip, send, for charity, thy mexican pistoles
+that antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearman's souls
+ho! gallant nobles of the league, look that your arms be bright
+ho! burghers of saint genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night
+for our god hath crushed the tyrant, our god hath raised the slave
+and mocked the counsel of the wise, the valour of the brave
+then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are
+and glory to our sovereign lord, king henry of navarre
+
+
+
+incisive thrust at the vanity of "fair" women. a woman be a "true
+knight" as well as a man. leigh hunt (1784-1859
+
+king francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport
+and one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court
+the nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride
+and 'mong them sat the count de lorge with one for whom he sighed
+and truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show
+valour, and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below
+
+ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws
+they bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind
+went with their paws
+with wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another
+till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother
+the bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air
+said francis then, "faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there
+
+de lorge's love o'erheard the king,--a beauteous lively dame
+with smiling lips and sharp, bright eyes, which always seem'd the same
+she thought, "the count, my lover, is brave as brave can be
+he surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me
+king, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine
+i'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine
+
+she dropped her glove, to prove his love, then look'd
+at him and smiled
+he bowed, and in a moment leapt among the lions wild
+his leap was quick, return was quick, he has regain'd his place
+then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face
+from where he sat
+
+
+
+i found the well of st. keyne in cornwall, england--not the poem, but
+the real well. the poem is of the great body of world-lore. southey
+
+a well there is in the west country
+and a clearer one never was seen
+there is not a wife in the west-country
+but has heard of the well of st. keyne
+
+an oak and an elm tree stand beside
+and behind does an ash tree grow
+and a willow from the bank above
+droops to the water below
+
+a traveller came to the well of st. keyne
+pleasant it was to his eye
+for from cock-crow he had been travelling
+and there was not a cloud in the sky
+
+he drank of the water so cool and clear
+for thirsty and hot was he
+and he sat down upon the bank
+under the willow tree
+
+there came a man from the neighbouring town
+at the well to fill his pail
+on the well-side he rested it
+and bade the stranger hail
+
+the happiest draught thou hast drunk this day
+that ever thou didst in thy life
+
+in cornwall ever been
+for an if she have, i'll venture my life
+she has drunk of the well of st. keyne
+
+the stranger he made reply
+i pray you answer me why
+
+drank of this crystal well
+and before the angel summoned her
+she laid on the water a spell
+
+shall drink before his wife
+a happy man thenceforth is he
+for he shall be master for life
+
+god help the husband then
+the stranger stoop'd to the well of st. keyne
+and drank of the waters again
+
+he to the countryman said
+but the countryman smiled as the stranger spake
+and sheepishly shook his head
+
+and left my wife in the porch
+but i' faith she had been wiser than me
+for she took a bottle to church
+
+
+
+twelve-year-old girl who recited it at one of our poetry hours years
+never read it without feeling that it stands test. anonymous
+
+the nautilus and the ammonite
+were launched in friendly strife
+each sent to float in its tiny boat
+on the wide, wide sea of life
+
+for each could swim on the ocean's brim
+and, when wearied, its sail could furl
+and sink to sleep in the great sea-deep
+in its palace all of pearl
+
+and theirs was a bliss more fair than this
+which we taste in our colder clime
+for they were rife in a tropic life
+a brighter and better clime
+
+they swam 'mid isles whose summer smiles
+were dimmed by no alloy
+whose groves were palm, whose air was balm
+and life one only joy
+
+they sailed all day through creek and bay
+and traversed the ocean deep
+and at night they sank on a coral bank
+in its fairy bowers to sleep
+
+and the monsters vast of ages past
+they beheld in their ocean caves
+they saw them ride in their power and pride
+and sink in their deep-sea graves
+
+and hand in hand, from strand to strand
+they sailed in mirth and glee
+these fairy shells, with their crystal cells
+twin sisters of the sea
+
+and they came at last to a sea long past
+but as they reached its shore
+the almighty's breath spoke out in death
+and the ammonite was no more
+
+so the nautilus now in its shelly prow
+as over the deep it strays
+still seems to seek, in bay and creek
+its companion of other days
+
+and alike do we, on life's stormy sea
+as we roam from shore to shore
+thus tempest-tossed, seek the loved, the lost
+and find them on earth no more
+
+yet the hope how sweet, again to meet
+as we look to a distant strand
+where heart meets heart, and no more they part
+who meet in that better land
+
+
+
+i am monarch of all i survey
+my right there is none to dispute
+from the center all round to the sea
+i am lord of the fowl and the brute
+o solitude! where are the charms
+that sages have seen in thy face
+better dwell in the midst of alarms
+than reign in this horrible place
+
+i am out of humanity's reach
+i must finish my journey alone
+never hear the sweet music of speech
+i start at the sound of my own
+the beasts that roam over the plain
+my form with indifference see
+they are so unacquainted with man
+their tameness is shocking to me
+
+society, friendship, and love
+divinely bestow'd upon man
+oh, had i the wings of a dove
+how soon would i taste you again
+my sorrows i then might assuage
+in the ways of religion and truth
+might learn from the wisdom of age
+and be cheer'd by the sallies of youth
+
+ye winds that have made me your sport
+convey to this desolate shore
+some cordial endearing report
+of a land i shall visit no more
+
+my friends--do they now and then send
+a wish or a thought after me
+oh, tell me i yet have a friend
+though a friend i am never to see
+
+how fleet is a glance of the mind
+compared with the speed of its flight
+the tempest itself lags behind
+and the swift-wingèd arrows of light
+when i think of my own native land
+in a moment i seem to be there
+but alas! recollection at hand
+soon hurries me back to despair
+
+but the seafowl is gone to her nest
+the beast is laid down in his lair
+even here is a season of rest
+and i to my cabin repair
+there's mercy in every place
+and mercy, encouraging thought
+gives even affliction a grace
+and reconciles man to his lot
+
+
+
+i wonder if the english people appreciate "the homes of england." it is
+a stately poem worthy of a goethe or a shakespeare. england is
+distinctively a country of homes, pretty, little, humble homes as well
+as stately palaces and castles, homes well made of stone or brick for
+the most part, and clad with ivy and roses. who would not be proud to
+have had such a home as ann hathaway's humble cottage or one of the
+little huts in the lake district? the homes of america are often more
+palatial, especially in small cities, but the use of wood in america
+makes them less substantial than the slate-and-brick houses of england
+
+the stately homes of england
+how beautiful they stand
+amidst their tall ancestral trees
+o'er all the pleasant land
+the deer across their greensward bound
+through shade and sunny gleam
+and the swan glides past them with the sound
+of some rejoicing stream
+
+the merry homes of england
+around their hearths by night
+what gladsome looks of household love
+meet in the ruddy light
+there woman's voice flows forth in song
+or childish tale is told
+or lips move tunefully along
+some glorious page of old
+
+the blessèd homes of england
+how softly on their bowers
+is laid the holy quietness
+that breathes from sabbath hours
+solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime
+floats through their woods at morn
+all other sounds, in that still time
+of breeze and leaf are born
+
+the cottage homes of england
+by thousands on her plains
+they are smiling o'er the silvery brooks
+and round the hamlets' fanes
+through glowing orchards forth they peep
+each from its nook of leaves
+and fearless there the lowly sleep
+as the bird beneath their eaves
+
+the free, fair homes of england
+long, long, in hut and hall
+may hearts of native proof be reared
+to guard each hallowed wall
+and green forever be the groves
+and bright the flowery sod
+where first the child's glad spirit loves
+its country and its god
+
+
+
+but i never saw a boy who did not want some stanzas of it. "hold the
+bridge with me!" boys like that motto instinctively. t.b. macaulay
+
+lars porsena of clusium
+by the nine gods he swore
+that the great house of tarquin
+should suffer wrong no more
+by the nine gods he swore it
+and named a trysting-day
+and bade his messengers ride forth
+east and west and south and north
+to summon his array
+
+east and west and south and north
+the messengers ride fast
+and tower and town and cottage
+have heard the trumpet's blast
+shame on the false etruscan
+who lingers in his home
+when porsena of clusium
+is on the march for rome
+
+the horsemen and the footmen
+are pouring in amain
+from many a stately market-place
+from many a fruitful plain
+from many a lonely hamlet
+which, hid by beech and pine
+like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest
+of purple apennine
+
+the harvests of arretium
+this year, old men shall reap
+this year, young boys in umbro
+shall plunge the struggling sheep
+and in the vats of luna
+this year, the must shall foam
+round the white feet of laughing girls
+whose sires have marched to rome
+
+there be thirty chosen prophets
+the wisest of the land
+who alway by lars porsena
+both morn and evening stand
+evening and morn the thirty
+have turned the verses o'er
+traced from the right on linen white
+by mighty seers of yore
+
+and with one voice the thirty
+have their glad answer given
+go forth, beloved of heaven
+go, and return in glory
+to clusium's royal dome
+and hang round nurscia's altars
+the golden shields of rome
+
+and now hath every city
+sent up her tale of men
+the foot are fourscore thousand
+the horse are thousands ten
+before the gates of sutrium
+is met the great array
+a proud man was lars porsena
+upon the trysting-day
+
+for all the etruscan armies
+were ranged beneath his eye
+and many a banished roman
+and many a stout ally
+and with a mighty following
+to join the muster came
+the tusculan mamilius
+prince of the latian name
+
+but by the yellow tiber
+was tumult and affright
+from all the spacious champaign
+to rome men took their flight
+a mile around the city
+the throng stopped up the ways
+a fearful sight it was to see
+through two long nights and days
+
+now, from the rock tarpeian
+could the wan burghers spy
+the line of blazing villages
+red in the midnight sky
+the fathers of the city
+they sat all night and day
+for every hour some horseman came
+with tidings of dismay
+
+to eastward and to westward
+have spread the tuscan bands
+nor house, nor fence, nor dovecot
+in crustumerium stands
+verbenna down to ostia
+hath wasted all the plain
+astur hath stormed janiculum
+and the stout guards are slain
+
+i wis, in all the senate
+there was no heart so bold
+but sore it ached, and fast it beat
+when that ill news was told
+forthwith up rose the consul
+up rose the fathers all
+in haste they girded up their gowns
+and hied them to the wall
+
+they held a council standing
+before the river gate
+short time was there, ye well may guess
+for musing or debate
+out spoke the consul roundly
+for, since janiculum is lost
+naught else can save the town
+
+just then a scout came flying
+all wild with haste and fear
+lars porsena is here
+on the low hills to westward
+the consul fixed his eye
+and saw the swarthy storm of dust
+rise fast along the sky
+
+and nearer, fast, and nearer
+doth the red whirlwind come
+and louder still, and still more loud
+from underneath that rolling cloud
+is heard the trumpet's war-note proud
+the trampling and the hum
+and plainly and more plainly
+now through the gloom appears
+far to left and far to right
+in broken gleams of dark-blue light
+the long array of helmets bright
+the long array of spears
+
+and plainly and more plainly
+above the glimmering line
+now might ye see the banners
+of twelve fair cities shine
+but the banner of proud clusium
+was the highest of them all
+the terror of the umbrian
+the terror of the gaul
+
+fast by the royal standard
+o'erlooking all the war
+lars porsena of clusium
+sat in his ivory car
+by the right wheel rode mamilius
+prince of the latian name
+and by the left false sextus
+that wrought the deed of shame
+
+but when the face of sextus
+was seen among the foes
+a yell that rent the firmament
+from all the town arose
+on the house-tops was no woman
+but spat toward him and hissed
+no child but screamed out curses
+and shook its little fist
+
+but the consul's brow was sad
+and the consul's speech was low
+and darkly looked he at the wall
+and darkly at the foe
+before the bridge goes down
+and if they once may win the bridge
+what hope to save the town
+
+then out spake brave horatius
+the captain of the gate
+death cometh soon or late
+and how can man die better
+than facing fearful odds
+for the ashes of his fathers
+and the temples of his gods
+
+who dandled him to rest
+and for the wife who nurses
+his baby at her breast
+and for the holy maidens
+who feed the eternal flame
+to save them from false sextus
+that wrought the deed of shame
+
+with all the speed ye may
+i, with two more to help me
+will hold the foe in play
+in yon straight path a thousand
+may well be stopped by three
+now who will stand on either hand
+and keep the bridge with me
+
+then out spake spurius lartius
+a ramnian proud was he
+i will stand at thy right hand
+and keep the bridge with thee
+and out spake strong herminius
+of titian blood was he
+and keep the bridge with thee
+
+and straight against that great array
+forth went the dauntless three
+for romans in rome's quarrel
+spared neither land nor gold
+nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life
+in the brave days of old
+
+now while the three were tightening
+their harness on their backs
+the consul was the foremost man
+to take in hand an ax
+and fathers mixed with commons
+seized hatchet, bar, and crow
+and smote upon the planks above
+and loosed the props below
+meanwhile the tuscan army
+right glorious to behold
+came flashing back the noonday light
+rank behind rank, like surges bright
+of a broad sea of gold
+
+four hundred trumpets sounded
+a peal of warlike glee
+as that great host, with measured tread
+and spears advanced, and ensigns spread
+rolled slowly toward the bridge's head
+where stood the dauntless three
+
+the three stood calm and silent
+and looked upon the foes
+and a great shout of laughter
+from all the vanguard rose
+and forth three chiefs came spurring
+before that deep array
+to earth they sprang, their swords they drew
+and lifted high their shields, and flew
+to win the narrow way
+
+aunus from green tifernum
+lord of the hill of vines
+and seius, whose eight hundred slaves
+sicken in ilva's mines
+and picus, long to clusium
+vassal in peace and war
+who led to fight his umbrian powers
+from that gray crag where, girt with towers
+the fortress of nequinum lowers
+o'er the pale waves of nar
+
+stout lartius hurled down aunus
+into the stream beneath
+herminius struck at seius
+and clove him to the teeth
+at picus brave horatius
+darted one fiery thrust
+and the proud umbrian's gilded arms
+clashed in the bloody dust
+
+then ocnus of falerii
+rushed on the roman three
+and lausulus of urgo
+the rover of the sea
+and aruns of volsinium
+who slew the great wild boar
+the great wild boar that had his den
+amid the reeds of cosa's fen
+and wasted fields and slaughtered men
+along albinia's shore
+
+herminius smote down aruns
+lartius laid ocnus low
+right to the heart of lausulus
+horatius sent a blow
+no more, aghast and pale
+from ostia's walls the crowd shall mark
+the tracks of thy destroying bark
+no more campania's hinds shall fly
+to woods and caverns when they spy
+thy thrice accurséd sail
+
+but now no sound of laughter
+was heard among the foes
+a wild and wrathful clamour
+from all the vanguard rose
+six spears' length from the entrance
+halted that deep array
+and for a space no man came forth
+to win the narrow way
+
+but hark! the cry is astur
+and lo! the ranks divide
+and the great lord of luna
+comes with his stately stride
+upon his ample shoulders
+clangs loud the fourfold shield
+and in his hand he shakes the brand
+which none but he can wield
+
+he smiled on those bold romans
+a smile serene and high
+he eyed the flinching tuscans
+and scorn was in his eye
+quoth he: "the she-wolf's litter
+stand savagely at bay
+but will ye dare to follow
+if astur clears the way
+
+then, whirling up his broadsword
+with both hands to the height
+he rushed against horatius
+and smote with all his might
+with shield and blade horatius
+right deftly turned the blow
+the blow, though turned, came yet too nigh
+it missed his helm, but gashed his thigh
+the tuscans raised a joyful cry
+to see the red blood flow
+
+he reeled, and on herminius
+he leaned one breathing space
+then, like a wildcat mad with wounds
+sprang right at astur's face
+through teeth, and skull, and helmet
+so fierce a thrust he sped
+the good sword stood a handbreadth out
+behind the tuscan's head
+
+and the great lord of luna
+fell at the deadly stroke
+as falls on mount alvernus
+a thunder-smitten oak
+far o'er the crashing forest
+the giant arms lie spread
+and the pale augurs, muttering low
+gaze on the blasted head
+
+on astur's throat horatius
+right firmly pressed his heel
+and thrice and four times tugged amain
+ere he wrenched out the steel
+fair guests, that waits you here
+what noble lucumo comes next
+to taste our roman cheer
+
+but at his haughty challenge
+a sullen murmur ran
+mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread
+along that glittering van
+there lacked not men of prowess
+nor men of lordly race
+for all etruria's noblest
+were round the fatal place
+
+but all etruria's noblest
+felt their hearts sink to see
+on the earth the bloody corpses
+in the path the dauntless three
+and, from the ghastly entrance
+where those bold romans stood
+all shrank, like boys who unaware
+ranging the woods to start a hare
+come to the mouth of the dark lair
+where, growling low, a fierce old bear
+lies amid bones and blood
+
+was none who would be foremost
+to lead such dire attack
+but those behind cried "forward
+and those before cried "back
+and backward now and forward
+wavers the deep array
+and on the tossing sea of steel
+to and fro the standards reel
+and the victorious trumpet peal
+dies fitfully away
+
+yet one man for one moment
+strode out before the crowd
+well known was he to all the three
+and they gave him greeting loud
+now welcome to thy home
+why dost thou stay, and turn away
+here lies the road to rome
+
+thrice looked he at the city
+thrice looked he at the dead
+and thrice came on in fury
+and thrice turned back in dread
+and, white with fear and hatred
+scowled at the narrow way
+where, wallowing in a pool of blood
+the bravest tuscans lay
+
+but meanwhile ax and lever
+have manfully been plied
+and now the bridge hangs tottering
+above the boiling tide
+loud cried the fathers all
+back, ere the ruin fall
+
+back darted spurius lartius
+herminius darted back
+and, as they passed, beneath their feet
+they felt the timbers crack
+but when they turned their faces
+and on the farther shore
+saw brave horatius stand alone
+they would have crossed once more
+
+but with a crash like thunder
+fell every loosened beam
+and, like a dam, the mighty wreck
+lay right athwart the stream
+and a long shout of triumph
+rose from the walls of rome
+as to the highest turret tops
+was splashed the yellow foam
+
+and, like a horse unbroken
+when first he feels the rein
+the furious river struggled hard
+and tossed his tawny mane
+and burst the curb, and bounded
+rejoicing to be free
+and whirling down, in fierce career
+battlement, and plank, and pier
+rushed headlong to the sea
+
+alone stood brave horatius
+but constant still in mind
+thrice thirty thousand foes before
+and the broad flood behind
+with a smile on his pale face
+
+round turned he, as not deigning
+those craven ranks to see
+naught spake he to lars porsena
+to sextus naught spake he
+but he saw on palatinus
+the white porch of his home
+and he spake to the noble river
+that rolls by the towers of rome
+
+to whom the romans pray
+a roman's life, a roman's arms
+take thou in charge this day
+so he spake, and speaking sheathed
+the good sword by his side
+and, with his harness on his back
+plunged headlong in the tide
+
+no sound of joy or sorrow
+was heard from either bank
+but friends and foes in dumb surprise
+with parted lips and straining eyes
+stood gazing where he sank
+and when above the surges
+they saw his crest appear
+all rome sent forth a rapturous cry
+and even the ranks of tuscany
+could scarce forbear to cheer
+
+and fiercely ran the current
+swollen high by months of rain
+and fast his blood was flowing
+and he was sore in pain
+and heavy with his armour
+and spent with changing blows
+and oft they thought him sinking
+but still again he rose
+
+never, i ween, did swimmer
+in such an evil case
+struggle through such a raging flood
+safe to the landing place
+but his limbs were borne up bravely
+by the brave heart within
+and our good father tiber
+bore bravely up his chin
+
+but for this stay, ere close of day
+we should have sacked the town
+for such a gallant feat of arms
+was never seen before
+
+and now he feels the bottom
+now on dry earth he stands
+now round him throng the fathers
+to press his gory hands
+and now with shouts and clapping
+and noise of weeping loud
+he enters through the river gate
+borne by the joyous crowd
+
+they gave him of the corn land
+that was of public right
+as much as two strong oxen
+could plow from morn till night
+and they made a molten image
+and set it up on high
+and there it stands unto this day
+to witness if i lie
+
+it stands in the comitium
+plain for all folk to see
+horatius in his harness
+halting upon one knee
+and underneath is written
+in letters all of gold
+how valiantly he kept the bridge
+in the brave days of old
+
+and still his name sounds stirring
+unto the men of rome
+as the trumpet blast that cries to them
+to charge the volscian home
+and wives still pray to juno
+for boys with hearts as bold
+as his who kept the bridge so well
+in the brave days of old
+
+and in the nights of winter
+when the cold north winds blow
+and the long howling of the wolves
+is heard amid the snow
+when round the lonely cottage
+roars loud the tempest's din
+and the good logs of algidus
+roar louder yet within
+
+when the oldest cask is opened
+and the largest lamp is lit
+when the chestnuts glow in the embers
+and the kid turns on the spit
+when young and old in circle
+around the firebrands close
+when the girls are weaving baskets
+and the lads are shaping bows
+
+when the goodman mends his armour
+and trims his helmet's plume
+when the goodwife's shuttle merrily
+goes flashing through the loom
+with weeping and with laughter
+still is the story told
+how well horatius kept the bridge
+in the brave days of old
+
+
+
+day" exercises. the planting of trees as against their destruction is a
+vital point in our political and national welfare. william cullen
+bryant (1794-1878
+
+come, let us plant the apple-tree
+cleave the tough greensward with the spade
+wide let its hollow bed be made
+there gently lay the roots, and there
+sift the dark mould with kindly care
+and press it o'er them tenderly
+as round the sleeping infant's feet
+we softly fold the cradle sheet
+so plant we the apple-tree
+
+what plant we in this apple-tree
+buds, which the breath of summer days
+shall lengthen into leafy sprays
+boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast
+shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest
+we plant, upon the sunny lea
+a shadow for the noontide hour
+a shelter from the summer shower
+when we plant the apple-tree
+
+what plant we in this apple-tree
+sweets for a hundred flowery springs
+to load the may wind's restless wings
+when, from the orchard row, he pours
+its fragrance through our open doors
+a world of blossoms for the bee
+flowers for the sick girl's silent room
+for the glad infant sprigs of bloom
+we plant with the apple-tree
+
+what plant we in this apple-tree
+fruits that shall swell in sunny june
+and redden in the august noon
+and drop, when gentle airs come by
+that fan the blue september sky
+while children come, with cries of glee
+and seek them where the fragrant grass
+betrays their bed to those who pass
+at the foot of the apple-tree
+
+and when, above this apple-tree
+the winter stars are quivering bright
+the winds go howling through the night
+girls, whose eyes o'erflow with mirth
+shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth
+and guests in prouder homes shall see
+heaped with the grape of cintra's vine
+and golden orange of the line
+the fruit of the apple-tree
+
+the fruitage of this apple-tree
+winds and our flag of stripe and star
+shall bear to coasts that lie afar
+where men shall wonder at the view
+and ask in what fair groves they grew
+and sojourners beyond the sea
+shall think of childhood's careless day
+and long, long hours of summer play
+in the shade of the apple-tree
+
+each year shall give this apple-tree
+a broader flush of roseate bloom
+a deeper maze of verdurous gloom
+and loosen, when the frost-clouds lower
+the crisp brown leaves in thicker shower
+the years shall come and pass, but we
+shall hear no longer, where we lie
+the summer's songs, the autumn's sigh
+in the boughs of the apple-tree
+
+and time shall waste this apple-tree
+oh, when its aged branches throw
+thin shadows on the ground below
+shall fraud and force and iron will
+oppress the weak and helpless still
+what shall the tasks of mercy be
+amid the toils, the strifes, the tears
+of those who live when length of years
+is wasting this apple-tree
+
+the children of that distant day
+thus to some aged man shall say
+and, gazing on its mossy stem
+the gray-haired man shall answer them
+born in the rude but good old times
+on planting the apple-tree
+
+
+
+
+on and on
+
+
+vision of sir launfal." it finds a place in this volume because it is
+the most perfect description of a charming day ever written
+
+what is so rare as a day in june
+then, if ever, come perfect days
+then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune
+and over it softly her warm ear lays
+whether we look, or whether we listen
+we hear life murmur, or see it glisten
+every clod feels a stir of might
+an instinct within it that reaches and towers
+and, groping blindly above it for light
+climbs to a soul in grass and flowers
+the flush of life may well be seen
+thrilling back over hills and valleys
+the cowslip startles in meadows green
+the buttercup catches the sun in its chalice
+and there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
+to be some happy creature's palace
+the little bird sits at his door in the sun
+atilt like a blossom among the leaves
+and lets his illumined being o'errun
+with the deluge of summer it receives
+his mate feels the eggs beneath her wings
+and the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings
+he sings to the wide world, and she to her nest
+in the nice ear of nature which song is the best
+
+
+
+
+laid up in heaven. it should be learned for its future value to the
+child, not necessarily because the child likes it. its value will dawn
+on him
+
+tell me not, in mournful numbers
+life is but an empty dream
+for the soul is dead that slumbers
+and things are not what they seem
+
+life is real! life is earnest
+and the grave is not its goal
+dust thou art, to dust returnest
+was not spoken of the soul
+
+not enjoyment, and not sorrow
+is our destined end or way
+but to act, that each to-morrow
+find us farther than to-day
+
+art is long, and time is fleeting
+and our hearts, though stout and brave
+still, like muffled drums, are beating
+funeral marches to the grave
+
+in the world's broad field of battle
+in the bivouac of life
+be not like dumb, driven cattle
+be a hero in the strife
+
+trust no future, howe'er pleasant
+let the dead past bury its dead
+act,--act in the living present
+heart within, and god o'erhead
+
+lives of great men all remind us
+we can make our lives sublime
+and, departing, leave behind us
+footprints on the sands of time
+
+footprints, that perhaps another
+sailing o'er life's solemn main
+a forlorn and shipwrecked brother
+seeing, shall take heart again
+
+let us, then, be up and doing
+with a heart for any fate
+still achieving, still pursuing
+learn to labour and to wait
+
+
+
+connection with my lessons on natural history. we have a good specimen
+of a barnacle, and the children see them on the shells on the coast
+the ethical point is invaluable
+
+my soul is sailing through the sea
+but the past is heavy and hindereth me
+the past hath crusted cumbrous shells
+that hold the flesh of cold sea-mells
+about my soul
+the huge waves wash, the high waves roll
+each barnacle clingeth and worketh dole
+and hindereth me from sailing
+
+old past, let go, and drop i' the sea
+till fathomless waters cover thee
+for i am living, but thou art dead
+thou drawest back, i strive ahead
+the day to find
+thy shells unbind! night comes behind
+i needs must hurry with the wind
+and trim me best for sailing
+
+
+
+how happy is he born and taught
+that serveth not another's will
+whose armour is his honest thought
+and simple truth his utmost skill
+
+whose passions not his master's are
+whose soul is still prepared for death
+not tied unto the world with care
+of public fame, or private breath
+
+
+
+reaches into the heart. what is home? a place where we experience
+independence, safety, privacy, and where we can dispense hospitality
+
+be it ever so humble, there's no place like home
+a charm from the sky seems to hallow us there
+which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere
+home! home! sweet, sweet home
+there's no place like home! there's no place like home
+
+an exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain
+o, give me my lowly thatched cottage again
+the birds singing gaily, that came at my call
+give me them,--and the peace of mind, dearer than all
+home! home! sweet, sweet home
+there's no place like home! there's no place like home
+
+how sweet 'tis to sit 'neath a fond father's smile
+and the cares of a mother to soothe and beguile
+let others delight 'mid new pleasures to roam
+but give me, oh, give me, the pleasures of home
+home! home! sweet, sweet home
+there's no place like home! there's no place like home
+
+to thee i'll return, overburdened with care
+the heart's dearest solace will smile on me there
+no more from that cottage again will i roam
+be it ever so humble, there's no place like home
+home! home! sweet, sweet home
+there's no place like home! there's no place like home
+
+
+
+
+i heard last night a little child go singing
+the same words still on notes he went in search
+so high for, you concluded the upspringing
+of such a nimble bird to sky from perch
+must leave the whole bush in a tremble green
+and that the heart of italy must beat
+while such a voice had leave to rise serene
+a little child, too, who not long had been
+by mother's finger steadied on his feet
+and still _o bella libertà_ he sang
+
+
+
+in this collection because i have loved it all my life, and i never
+knew any one who could or would offer a criticism upon it. its value
+lies in its recognition of childhood's pleasures
+
+woodman, spare that tree
+touch not a single bough
+in youth it sheltered me
+and i'll protect it now
+that placed it near his cot
+there, woodman, let it stand
+thy ax shall harm it not
+
+that old familiar tree
+whose glory and renown
+are spread o'er land and sea
+and wouldst thou hew it down
+woodman, forbear thy stroke
+cut not its earth-bound ties
+oh, spare that agèd oak
+now towering to the skies
+
+when but an idle boy
+i sought its grateful shade
+in all their gushing joy
+here, too, my sisters played
+my mother kissed me here
+my father pressed my hand
+forgive this foolish tear
+but let that old oak stand
+
+my heart-strings round thee cling
+close as thy bark, old friend
+here shall the wild-bird sing
+and still thy branches bend
+old tree! the storm still brave
+and, woodman, leave the spot
+while i've a hand to save
+thy ax shall harm it not
+
+
+
+longing for the unchanging and to our love of security
+
+abide with me! fast falls the eventide
+the darkness deepens; lord, with me abide
+when other helpers fail, and comforts flee
+help of the helpless, o abide with me
+
+swift to its close ebbs out life's little day
+earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away
+change and decay in all around i see
+o thou who changest not, abide with me
+
+
+
+cardinal newman was in the stress and strain of perplexity and mental
+distress and bodily pain. the poem has been a star in the darkness to
+thousands. it was the favourite poem of president mckinley
+
+lead, kindly light, amid th' encircling gloom
+lead thou me on
+the night is dark, and i am far from home
+lead thou me on
+keep thou my feet; i do not ask to see
+the distant scene; one step enough for me
+
+i was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
+shouldst lead me on
+i loved to choose and see my path; but now
+lead thou me on
+i loved the garish day; and, spite of fears
+pride ruled my will: remember not past years
+
+so long thy power hath blest me, sure it still
+will lead me on
+o'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
+the night is gone
+and with the morn those angel faces smile
+which i have loved long since, and lost a while
+
+
+
+left blooming alone
+all her lovely companions
+are faded and gone
+no flower of her kindred
+no rose-bud is nigh
+to reflect back her blushes
+or give sigh for sigh
+
+i'll not leave thee, thou lone one
+to pine on the stem
+since the lovely are sleeping
+go, sleep thou with them
+thus kindly i scatter
+thy leaves o'er the bed
+where thy mates of the garden
+lie scentless and dead
+
+so soon may i follow
+when friendships decay
+and from love's shining circle
+the gems drop away
+when true hearts lie withered
+and fond ones are flown
+o! who would inhabit
+this bleak world alone
+
+
+
+popular song on earth. written by william douglas
+
+maxwelton braes are bonnie
+where early fa's the dew
+and it's there that annie laurie
+gie'd me her promise true
+gie'd me her promise true
+which ne'er forgot will be
+and for bonnie annie laurie
+i'd lay me doune and dee
+
+her brow is like the snawdrift
+her throat is like the swan
+her face it is the fairest
+that e'er the sun shone on
+that e'er the sun shone on
+and dark blue is her e'e
+and for bonnie annie laurie
+i'd lay me doune and dee
+
+like dew on the gowan lying
+is the fa' o' her fairy feet
+like the winds in summer sighing
+her voice is low and sweet
+her voice is low and sweet
+and she's a' the world to me
+and for bonnie annie laurie
+i'd lay me doune and dee
+
+
+
+a president of a well-known college writes me that "the ship of state
+was his favourite poem when he was a boy, and did more than any other
+to shape his course in life. longfellow (1807-82
+
+sail on, sail on, o ship of state
+sail on, o union, strong and great
+humanity, with all its fears
+with all the hopes of future years
+is hanging breathless on thy fate
+we know what master laid thy keel
+what workmen wrought thy ribs of steel
+who made each mast, and sail, and rope
+what anvils rang, what hammers beat
+in what a forge and what a heat
+were forged the anchors of thy hope
+fear not each sudden sound and shock
+and not a rent made by the gale
+in spite of rock, and tempest roar
+in spite of false lights on the shore
+sail on, nor fear to breast the sea
+our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee
+our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears
+our faith, triumphant o'er our fears
+are all with thee, are all with thee
+
+
+the constitution and laws are here personified, and addressed as "the
+ship of state
+
+
+poem, regardless of the fact that every american who can sing it ought
+to know it, that he may join in the chorus when patriotic celebrations
+call for it. my boys love to repeat the entire poem, but i often find
+masses of people trying to sing it, knowing only one stanza. it is our
+national anthem, and a part of our education to know every word of it
+
+my country, 'tis of thee
+sweet land of liberty
+of thee i sing
+land where my fathers died
+land of the pilgrims' pride
+from every mountain side
+let freedom ring
+
+my native country, thee
+land of the noble free
+thy name i love
+i love thy rocks and rills
+thy woods and templed hills
+my heart with rapture thrills
+like that above
+
+let music swell the breeze
+and ring from all the trees
+sweet freedom's song
+let mortal tongues awake
+let all that breathe partake
+let rocks their silence break
+the sound prolong
+
+our fathers' god, to thee
+author of liberty
+to thee we sing
+long may our land be bright
+with freedom's holy light
+protect us by thy might
+great god, our king
+
+
+
+that children want when they study the early history of america
+
+the breaking waves dashed high
+on a stern and rock-bound coast
+and the woods against a stormy sky
+their giant branches tossed
+
+and the heavy night hung dark
+the hills and waters o'er
+when a band of exiles moored their bark
+on the wild new england shore
+
+not as the conqueror comes
+they, the true-hearted, came
+not with the roll of the stirring drums
+and the trumpet that sings of fame
+
+not as the flying come
+in silence and in fear
+they shook the depths of the desert gloom
+with their hymns of lofty cheer
+
+amid the storm they sang
+and the stars heard, and the sea
+and the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
+to the anthem of the free
+
+the ocean eagle soared
+from his nest by the white wave's foam
+and the rocking pines of the forest roared
+this was their welcome home
+
+there were men with hoary hair
+amid that pilgrim band
+why had _they_ come to wither there
+away from their childhood's land
+
+there was woman's fearless eye
+lit by her deep love's truth
+there was manhood's brow serenely high
+and the fiery heart of youth
+
+what sought they thus afar
+bright jewels of the mine
+the wealth of seas, the spoils of war
+they sought a faith's pure shrine
+
+ay! call it holy ground
+the soil where first they trod
+they have left unstained what there they found
+freedom to worship god
+
+
+
+the main idea in "the lotos-eaters" is, are we justified in running
+away from unpleasant duties? or, is insensibility justifiable
+
+laddie, do you recollect learning this poem after we had read the story
+of "odysseus"? "the struggle of the soul urged to action, but held back
+by the spirit of self-indulgence." these were the points we discussed
+alfred tennyson (1809-92
+
+in the afternoon they came unto a land
+in which it seemed always afternoon
+all round the coast the languid air did swoon
+breathing like one that hath a weary dream
+full-faced above the valley stood the moon
+and like a downward smoke, the slender stream
+along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem
+
+a land of streams! some, like a downward smoke
+slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go
+and some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke
+rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below
+they saw the gleaming river seaward flow
+from the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops
+three silent pinnacles of agèd snow
+stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops
+up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse
+
+the charmèd sunset linger'd low adown
+in the red west: thro' mountain clefts the dale
+was seen far inland, and the yellow down
+border'd with palm, and many a winding vale
+and meadow, set with slender galingale
+a land where all things always seem'd the same
+and round about the keel with faces pale
+dark faces pale against that rosy flame
+the mild-eyed melancholy lotos-eaters came
+
+branches they bore of that enchanted stem
+laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave
+to each, but whoso did receive of them
+and taste, to him the gushing of the wave
+far, far away did seem to mourn and rave
+on alien shores; and if his fellow spake
+his voice was thin, as voices from the grave
+and deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake
+and music in his ears his beating heart did make
+
+they sat them down upon the yellow sand
+between the sun and moon upon the shore
+and sweet it was to dream of fatherland
+of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
+most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar
+weary the wandering fields of barren foam
+then some one said, "we will return no more
+and all at once they sang, "our island home
+is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam
+
+
+
+presentation of the value of integrity. this poem ranks with "sir
+galahad," if not above it. it is a stroke of genius, and every american
+ought to be proud of it. every time my boys read "odysseus" or the
+story of ulysses with me we read or learn "moly." the plant moly grows
+in the united states as well as in europe
+
+traveller, pluck a stem of moly
+if thou touch at circe's isle
+hermes' moly, growing solely
+to undo enchanter's wile
+when she proffers thee her chalice
+wine and spices mixed with malice
+when she smites thee with her staff
+to transform thee, do thou laugh
+safe thou art if thou but bear
+the least leaf of moly rare
+close it grows beside her portal
+springing from a stock immortal
+yes! and often has the witch
+sought to tear it from its niche
+but to thwart her cruel will
+the wise god renews it still
+though it grows in soil perverse
+heaven hath been its jealous nurse
+and a flower of snowy mark
+springs from root and sheathing dark
+kingly safeguard, only herb
+that can brutish passion curb
+some do think its name should be
+shield-heart, white integrity
+traveller, pluck a stem of moly
+if thou touch at circe's isle
+hermes' moly, growing solely
+to undo enchanter's wile
+
+
+
+my campasbe" (1558-1606) are three dainty poems recommended by mrs
+margaret mooney, of the albany teachers' college, in her "foundation
+studies in literature." children are always delighted with them
+
+t'other day as i was twining
+roses, for a crown to dine in
+what, of all things, 'mid the heap
+should i light on, fast asleep
+but the little desperate elf
+the tiny traitor, love, himself
+by the wings i picked him up
+like a bee, and in a cup
+of my wine i plunged and sank him
+then what d'ye think i did?--i drank him
+faith, i thought him dead. not he
+there he lives with tenfold glee
+and now this moment with his wings
+i feel him tickling my heart-strings
+
+
+
+cupid once upon a bed
+of roses laid his weary head
+luckless urchin, not to see
+within the leaves a slumbering bee
+the bee awak'd--with anger wild
+the bee awak'd, and stung the child
+loud and piteous are his cries
+to venus quick he runs, he flies
+i die with pain--in sooth i do
+stung by some little angry thing
+some serpent on a tiny wing
+a bee it was--for once, i know
+i heard a rustic call it so
+thus he spoke, and she the while
+heard him with a soothing smile
+then said, "my infant, if so much
+thou feel the little wild bee's touch
+how must the heart, ah, cupid! be
+the hapless heart that's stung by thee
+
+
+
+cupid and my campasbe played
+at cards for kisses. cupid paid
+he stakes his quiver, bow and arrows
+his mother's doves and team of sparrows
+loses them, too; then down he throws
+the coral of his lips, the rose
+growing on his cheek, but none knows how
+with them the crystal of his brow
+and then the dimple of his chin
+all these did my campasbe win
+at last he set her both his eyes
+she won and cupid blind did rise
+oh, love, hath she done this to thee
+what shall, alas, become of me
+
+
+
+violo roseboro, one of our good authors, brought to me "a ballad for a
+boy," saying: "i believe it is one of the poems that every child ought
+to know." it is included in this compilation out of respect to her
+opinion and also because the boys to whom i have read it said it was
+to settle their own disputes by a hand-to-hand fight, but they will
+always help each other when a third party or the elements interfere
+humanity is greater than human interests
+
+when george the third was reigning, a hundred years ago
+he ordered captain farmer to chase the foreign foe
+so cruise about the west of france in the frigate called _quebec
+
+king george the second sent a man called general wolfe, you know
+to clamber up a precipice and look into quebec
+as you'd look down a hatchway when standing on the deck
+
+before he got inside the town he died, i must allow
+but since the town was won for us it is a lucky name
+and you'll remember wolfe's good work, and you shall do the same
+
+then farmer said, "i'll try, sir," and farmer bowed so low
+that george could see his pigtail tied in a velvet bow
+george gave him his commission, and that it might be safer
+signed "king of britain, king of france," and sealed it with a wafer
+
+then proud was captain farmer in a frigate of his own
+and grander on his quarter-deck than george upon his throne
+he'd two guns in his cabin, and on the spar-deck ten
+and twenty on the gun-deck, and more than ten-score men
+
+and as a huntsman scours the brakes with sixteen brace of dogs
+with two-and-thirty cannon the ship explored the fogs
+from cape la hogue to ushant, from rochefort to belleisle
+she hunted game till reef and mud were rubbing on her keel
+
+the fogs are dried, the frigate's side is bright with melting tar
+the lad up in the foretop sees square white sails afar
+the east wind drives three square-sailed masts from out the breton bay
+and "clear for action!" farmer shouts, and reefers yell "hooray
+
+the frenchmen's captain had a name i wish i could pronounce
+a breton gentleman was he, and wholly free from bounce
+one like those famous fellows who died by guillotine
+for honour and the fleur-de-lys, and antoinette the queen
+
+the catholic for louis, the protestant for george
+each captain drew as bright a sword as saintly smiths could forge
+and both were simple seamen, but both could understand
+how each was bound to win or die for flag and native land
+
+the french ship was _la surveillante_, which means the watchful maid
+she folded up her head-dress and began to cannonade
+her hull was clean, and ours was foul; we had to spread more sail
+on canvas, stays, and topsail yards her bullets came like hail
+
+sore smitten were both captains, and many lads beside
+and still to cut our rigging the foreign gunners tried
+a sail-clad spar came flapping down athwart a blazing gun
+we could not quench the rushing flames, and so the frenchman won
+
+our quarter-deck was crowded, the waist was all aglow
+men hung upon the taffrail half scorched, but loth to go
+our captain sat where once he stood, and would not quit his chair
+he bade his comrades leap for life, and leave him bleeding there
+
+the guns were hushed on either side, the frenchmen lowered boats
+they flung us planks and hen-coops, and everything that floats
+they risked their lives, good fellows! to bring their rivals aid
+twas by the conflagration the peace was strangely made
+
+they had to dodge the east wind to reach the port of brest
+and where the waves leapt lower and the riddled ship went slower
+in triumph, yet in funeral guise, came fisher-boats to tow her
+
+they dealt with us as brethren, they mourned for farmer dead
+and as the wounded captives passed each breton bowed the head
+then spoke the french lieutenant, "twas fire that won, not we
+you never struck your flag to us; you'll go to england free
+
+twas the sixth day of october, seventeen hundred seventy-nine
+a year when nations ventured against us to combine
+but thanks be to the french book wherein they're not forgot
+
+now you, if you've to fight the french, my youngster, bear in mind
+those seamen of king louis so chivalrous and kind
+think of the breton gentlemen who took our lads to brest
+and treat some rescued breton as a comrade and a guest
+
+
+it pure literature and good history
+
+who, with thy hollow breast
+still in rude armour drest
+comest to daunt me
+wrapt not in eastern balms
+but with thy fleshless palms
+stretched, as if asking alms
+why dost thou haunt me
+
+then from those cavernous eyes
+pale flashes seemed to rise
+as when the northern skies
+gleam in december
+and, like the water's flow
+under december's snow
+came a dull voice of woe
+from the heart's chamber
+
+my deeds, though manifold
+no skald in song has told
+no saga taught thee
+take heed that in thy verse
+thou dost the tale rehearse
+else dread a dead man's curse
+for this i sought thee
+
+by the wild baltic's strand
+i, with my childish hand
+tamed the gerfalcon
+and, with my skates fast-bound
+skimmed the half-frozen sound
+that the poor whimpering hound
+trembled to walk on
+
+tracked i the grizzly bear
+while from my path the hare
+fled like a shadow
+oft through the forest dark
+followed the were-wolf's bark
+until the soaring lark
+sang from the meadow
+
+joining a corsair's crew
+o'er the dark sea i flew
+with the marauders
+wild was the life we led
+many the souls that sped
+many the hearts that bled
+by our stern orders
+
+wore the long winter out
+often our midnight shout
+set the cocks crowing
+as we the berserk's tale
+measured in cups of ale
+draining the oaken pail
+filled to overflowing
+
+tales of the stormy sea
+soft eyes did gaze on me
+burning yet tender
+and as the white stars shine
+on the dark norway pine
+on that dark heart of mine
+fell their soft splendour
+
+yielding, yet half afraid
+and in the forest's shade
+our vows were plighted
+under its loosened vest
+fluttered her little breast
+like birds within their nest
+by the hawk frighted
+
+shields gleamed upon the wall
+loud sang the minstrels all
+chanting his glory
+when of old hildebrand
+i asked his daughter's hand
+mute did the minstrels stand
+to hear my story
+
+loud then the champion laughed
+and as the wind-gusts waft
+the sea-foam brightly
+so the loud laugh of scorn
+out of those lips unshorn
+from the deep drinking-horn
+blew the foam lightly
+
+i but a viking wild
+and though she blushed and smiled
+i was discarded
+should not the dove so white
+follow the sea-mew's flight
+why did they leave that night
+her nest unguarded
+
+bearing the maid with me
+fairest of all was she
+among the norsemen
+when on the white sea-strand
+waving his armed hand
+saw we old hildebrand
+with twenty horsemen
+
+bent like a reed each mast
+yet we were gaining fast
+when the wind failed us
+and with a sudden flaw
+came round the gusty skaw
+so that our foe we saw
+laugh as he hailed us
+
+round veered the flapping sail
+midships with iron keel
+struck we her ribs of steel
+down her black hulk did reel
+through the black water
+
+sails the fierce cormorant
+seeking some rocky haunt
+with his prey laden
+so toward the open main
+beating to sea again
+through the wild hurricane
+bore i the maiden
+
+and when the storm was o'er
+cloud-like we saw the shore
+stretching to leeward
+there for my lady's bower
+built i the lofty tower
+which to this very hour
+stands looking seaward
+
+time dried the maiden's tears
+she had forgot her fears
+she was a mother
+death closed her mild blue eyes
+under that tower she lies
+ne'er shall the sun arise
+on such another
+
+still as a stagnant fen
+hateful to me were men
+the sunlight hateful
+in the vast forest here
+clad in my warlike gear
+fell i upon my spear
+oh, death was grateful
+
+bursting these prison bars
+up to its native stars
+my soul ascended
+there from the flowing bowl
+deep drinks the warrior's soul
+thus the tale ended
+
+
+
+
+tennyson's (1807-92) "the _revenge_" finds a welcome here because it is
+a favourite with teachers of elocution and their audiences. it teaches
+us to hold life cheap when the nation's safety is at stake
+
+at flores in the azores sir richard grenville lay
+and a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from away
+then sware lord thomas howard: "'fore god, i am no coward
+but i cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear
+and the half my men are sick. i must fly, but follow quick
+we are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three
+
+then spake sir richard grenville: "i know you are no coward
+you fly them for a moment, to fight with them again
+but i've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore
+i should count myself the coward if i left them, my lord howard
+to these inquisition dogs and the devildoms of spain
+
+so lord howard passed away with five ships of war that day
+till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven
+but sir richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land
+very carefully and slow
+men of bideford in devon
+and we laid them on the ballast down below
+for we brought them all aboard
+and they blest him in their pain that they were not left to spain
+to the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the lord
+
+he had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight
+and he sail'd away from flores till the spaniard came in sight
+with his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow
+good sir richard, tell us now
+for to fight is but to die
+
+and sir richard said again: "we be all good englishmen
+let us bang these dogs of seville, the children of the devil
+for i never turn'd my back upon don or devil yet
+
+sir richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so
+the little _revenge_ ran on sheer into the heart of the foe
+with her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below
+for half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen
+and the little _revenge_ ran on thro' the long sea-lane between
+
+thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and laugh'd
+thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft
+running on and on, till delay'd
+by their mountain-like _san philip_ that, of fifteen hundred tons
+and up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns
+took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd
+
+and while now the great _san philip_ hung above us like a cloud
+whence the thunderbolt will fall
+long and loud
+four galleons drew away
+from the spanish fleet that day
+and two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay
+and the battle-thunder broke from them all
+
+but anon the great _san philip_, she bethought herself and went
+having that within her womb that had left her ill content
+and the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand
+for a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers
+and a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears
+when he leaps from the water to the land
+
+and the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea
+but never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three
+ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came
+ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder
+and flame
+ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead
+and her shame
+for some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so could
+fight us no more
+god of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before
+
+for he said, "fight on! fight on
+tho' his vessel was all but a wreck
+and it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone
+with a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck
+but a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead
+and himself he was wounded again in the side and the head
+and he said, "fight on! fight on
+
+and the night went down, and the sun smiled out far
+over the summer sea
+and the spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring
+but they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that
+we still could sting
+so they watched what the end would be
+and we had not fought them in vain
+but in perilous plight were we
+seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain
+and half of the rest of us maim'd for life
+in the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife
+and the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold
+and the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was
+all of it spent
+and the masts and the rigging were lying over the side
+but sir richard cried in his english pride
+as may never be fought again
+we have won great glory, my men
+and a day less or more
+at sea or ashore
+we die--does it matter when
+sink me the ship, master gunner--sink her, split her in twain
+fall into the hands of god, not into the hands of spain
+
+and the gunner said. "ay, ay," but the seamen made reply
+and the lord hath spared our lives
+we will make the spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go
+we shall live to fight again, and to strike another blow
+and the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe
+and the stately spanish men to their flagship bore him then
+where they laid him by the mast, old sir richard caught at last
+and they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace
+but he rose upon their decks, and he cried
+i have only done my duty as a man is bound to do
+with a joyful spirit i, sir richard grenville, die
+and he fell upon their decks, and he died
+
+and they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true
+and had holden the power and glory of spain so cheap
+that he dared her with one little ship and his english few
+was he devil or man? he was devil for aught they knew
+but they sank his body with honour down into the deep
+and they mann'd the _revenge_ with a swarthier alien crew
+and away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own
+when a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep
+and the water began to heave and the weather to moan
+and or ever that evening ended a great gale blew
+and a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew
+till it smote on their hulls, and their sails, and their masts
+and their flags
+and the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of spain
+and the little _revenge_ herself went down by the island crags
+to be lost evermore in the main
+
+
+
+sir galahad is the most moral and upright of all the knights of the
+round table. the strong lines of the poem (tennyson, 1809-92) are the
+strong lines of human destiny
+
+because my heart is pure
+
+my good blade carves the casques of men
+my tough lance thrusteth sure
+my strength is as the strength of ten
+because my heart is pure
+the shattering trumpet shrilleth high
+the hard brands shiver on the steel
+the splintered spear-shafts crack and fly
+the horse and rider reel
+they reel, they roll in clanging lists
+and when the tide of combat stands
+perfume and flowers fall in showers
+that lightly rain from ladies' hands
+
+how sweet are looks that ladies bend
+on whom their favours fall
+for them i battle till the end
+to save from shame and thrall
+but all my heart is drawn above
+my knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine
+i never felt the kiss of love
+nor maiden's hand in mine
+more bounteous aspects on me beam
+me mightier transports move and thrill
+so keep i fair thro' faith and prayer
+a virgin heart in work and will
+
+when down the stormy crescent goes
+a light before me swims
+between dark stems the forest glows
+i hear a noise of hymns
+then by some secret shrine i ride
+i hear a voice, but none are there
+the stalls are void, the doors are wide
+the tapers burning fair
+fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth
+the silver vessels sparkle clean
+the shrill bell rings, the censer swings
+and solemn chaunts resound between
+
+sometimes on lonely mountain-meres
+i find a magic bark
+i leap on board: no helmsman steers
+i float till all is dark
+a gentle sound, an awful light
+three angels bear the holy grail
+with folded feet, in stoles of white
+on sleeping wings they sail
+ah, blessèd vision! blood of god
+my spirit beats her mortal bars
+as down dark tides the glory slides
+and star-like mingles with the stars
+
+when on my goodly charger borne
+thro' dreaming towns i go
+the cock crows ere the christmas morn
+the streets are dumb with snow
+the tempest crackles on the leads
+and, ringing, springs from brand and mail
+but o'er the dark a glory spreads
+and gilds the driving hail
+i leave the plain, i climb the height
+no branchy thicket shelter yields
+but blessèd forms in whistling storms
+fly o'er waste fens and windy fields
+
+a maiden knight--to me is given
+such hope, i know not fear
+i yearn to breathe the airs of heaven
+that often meet me here
+i muse on joy that will not cease
+pure spaces cloth'd in living beams
+pure lilies of eternal peace
+whose odours haunt my dreams
+and, stricken by an angel's hand
+this mortal armour that i wear
+this weight and size, this heart and eyes
+are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air
+
+the clouds are broken in the sky
+and thro' the mountain-walls
+a rolling organ-harmony
+swells up, and shakes and falls
+then move the trees, the copses nod
+wings flutter, voices hover clear
+ride on! the prize is near
+so pass i hostel, hall, and grange
+by bridge and ford, by park and pale
+all-arm'd i ride, whate'er betide
+until i find the holy grail
+
+
+
+correct our ready overestimate of our own importance
+
+alone i walked the ocean strand
+a pearly shell was in my hand
+i stooped and wrote upon the sand
+my name--the year--the day
+as onward from the spot i passed
+one lingering look behind i cast
+a wave came rolling high and fast
+and washed my lines away
+
+and so, methought, 'twill shortly be
+with every mark on earth from me
+a wave of dark oblivion's sea
+will sweep across the place
+where i have trod the sandy shore
+of time, and been, to be no more
+of me--my day--the name i bore
+to leave nor track nor trace
+
+and yet, with him who counts the sands
+and holds the waters in his hands
+i know a lasting record stands
+inscribed against my name
+of all this mortal part has wrought
+of all this thinking soul has thought
+and from these fleeting moments caught
+for glory or for shame
+
+
+
+
+the best is yet to be
+the last of life, for which the first was made
+
+
+attractive as years go on. the line in this poem that captivated my
+youthful fancy was
+
+
+the delight with which trees hang out their new little tassels every
+year is one of the charms of "the pine family." john burroughs sent us
+down a tiny hemlock, that grew in our window-box at school for five
+years, and every spring it was a new joy on account of the fine, tender
+tassels. mrs. hemans had a vivid imagination backed up by an abundant
+information
+
+i come, i come! ye have called me long
+i come o'er the mountains, with light and song
+ye may trace my step o'er the waking earth
+by the winds which tell of the violet's birth
+by the primrose stars in the shadowy grass
+by the green leaves opening as i pass
+
+i have breathed on the south, and the chestnut-flowers
+by thousands have burst from the forest bowers
+and the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
+are veiled with wreaths on italian plains
+but it is not for me, in my hour of bloom
+to speak of the ruin or the tomb
+
+i have looked o'er the hills of the stormy north
+and the larch has hung all his tassels forth
+the fisher is out on the sunny sea
+and the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free
+and the pine has a fringe of softer green
+and the moss looks bright, where my step has been
+
+i have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh
+and called out each voice of the deep blue sky
+from the night-bird's lay through the starry time
+in the groves of the soft hesperian clime
+to the swan's wild note by the iceland lakes
+when the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks
+
+from the streams and founts i have loosed the chain
+they are sweeping on to the silvery main
+they are flashing down from the mountain brows
+they are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs
+they are bursting fresh from their sparry caves
+and the earth resounds with the joy of waves
+
+
+
+not expect children to appreciate fully, even when they care enough for
+it to learn it. it is too long for most children to commit to memory
+and i generally assign one stanza to one pupil and another to another
+pupil until it is divided up among them. the poem is a masterpiece
+doubtless the poet meant to show that the forsaken merman had a greater
+soul to save than the woman who sought to save her soul by deserting
+natural duty. salvation does not come through the faith that builds
+itself at the expense of love
+
+come, dear children, let us away
+down and away below
+now my brothers call from the bay
+now the great winds shoreward blow
+now the salt tides seaward flow
+now the wild white horses play
+champ and chafe and toss in the spray
+children dear, let us away
+this way, this way
+
+call her once before you go
+call once yet
+in a voice that she will know
+children's voices should be dear
+children's voices, wild with pain
+surely she will come again
+call her once and come away
+this way, this way
+the wild white horses foam and fret
+margaret! margaret
+
+come, dear children, come away down
+call no more
+one last look at the white-wall'd town
+and the little gray church on the windy shore
+then come down
+she will not come though you call all day
+come away, come away
+
+children dear, was it yesterday
+we heard the sweet bells over the bay
+in the caverns where we lay
+through the surf and through the swell
+the far-off sound of a silver bell
+sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep
+where the winds are all asleep
+where the spent lights quiver and gleam
+where the salt weed sways in the stream
+where the sea-beasts, ranged all round
+feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground
+where the sea-snakes coil and twine
+dry their mail and bask in the brine
+where great whales come sailing by
+sail and sail, with unshut eye
+round the world forever and aye
+when did music come this way
+children dear, was it yesterday
+
+children dear, was it yesterday
+once she sate with you and me
+on a red gold throne in the heart of the sea
+and the youngest sate on her knee
+she comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well
+when down swung the sound of a far-off bell
+she sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea
+she said: "i must go, for my kinsfolk pray
+in the little gray church on the shore to-day
+and i lose my poor soul, merman! here with thee
+i said: "go up, dear heart, through the waves
+say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves
+she smil'd, she went up through the surf in the bay
+children dear, was it yesterday
+
+children dear, were we long alone
+long prayers," i said, "in the world they say
+come!" i said; and we rose through the surf in the bay
+we went up the beach, by the sandy down
+where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town
+through the narrow pav'd streets, where all was still
+to the little gray church on the windy hill
+from the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers
+but we stood without in the cold blowing airs
+we climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains
+and we gaz'd up the aisle through the small leaded panes
+she sate by the pillar; we saw her clear
+dear heart," i said, "we are long alone
+the sea grows stormy, the little ones moan
+but, ah, she gave me never a look
+for her eyes were seal'd to the holy book
+loud prays the priest: shut stands the door
+come away, children, call no more
+come away, come down, call no more
+
+down, down, down
+down to the depths of the sea
+she sits at her wheel in the humming town
+singing most joyfully
+hark what she sings: "o joy, o joy
+for the humming street, and the child with its toy
+for the priest, and the bell, and the holy well
+for the wheel where i spun
+and the blessèd light of the sun
+and so she sings her fill
+singing most joyfully
+till the spindle drops from her hand
+and the whizzing wheel stands still
+she steals to the window, and looks at the sand
+and over the sand at the sea
+and her eyes are set in a stare
+and anon there breaks a sigh
+and anon there drops a tear
+from a sorrow-clouded eye
+and a heart sorrow-laden
+a long, long sigh
+for the cold strange eyes of a little mermaiden
+and the gleam of her golden hair
+
+come away, away, children
+come, children, come down
+the hoarse wind blows colder
+lights shine in the town
+she will start from her slumber
+when gusts shake the door
+she will hear the winds howling
+will hear the waves roar
+we shall see, while above us
+the waves roar and whirl
+a ceiling of amber
+a pavement of pearl
+singing: "here came a mortal
+but faithless was she
+and alone dwell forever
+the kings of the sea
+
+but, children, at midnight
+when soft the winds blow
+when clear falls the moonlight
+when spring-tides are low
+when sweet airs come seaward
+from heaths starr'd with broom
+and high rocks throw mildly
+on the blanch'd sands a gloom
+up the still, glistening beaches
+up the creeks we will hie
+over banks of bright seaweed
+the ebb-tide leaves dry
+we will gaze, from the sand-hills
+at the white, sleeping town
+at the church on the hill-side
+and then come back down
+singing: "there dwells a lov'd one
+but cruel is she
+she left lonely forever
+the kings of the sea
+
+
+
+southwestern part of scotland. robert burns's old home it close to it
+the house has low walls, a thatched roof, and only two rooms. alloway
+kirk and the two bridges so famous in robert burns's verse are near by
+this is an enchanted land, and the scotch people for miles around ayr
+speak of the poet with sincere affection. burns, more than any other
+poet, has thrown the enchantment of poetry over his own locality
+
+ye banks and braes o' bonnie doon
+how can ye blume sae fair
+how can ye chant, ye little birds
+and i sae fu' o' care
+
+thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird
+that sings upon the bough
+thou minds me o' the happy days
+when my fause luve was true
+
+thou'lt break my heart, thou bonnie bird
+that sings beside thy mate
+for sae i sat, and sae i sang
+and wist na o' my fate
+
+aft hae i rov'd by bonnie doon
+to see the woodbine twine
+and ilka bird sang o' its love
+and sae did i o' mine
+
+wi' lightsome heart i pu'd a rose
+frae off its thorny tree
+and my fause luver staw the rose
+but left the thorn wi' me
+
+
+
+oft in the stilly night
+ere slumber's chain has bound me
+fond memory brings the light
+of other days around me
+the smiles, the tears
+of boyhood's years
+the words of love then spoken
+the eyes that shone
+now dimmed and gone
+the cheerful hearts now broken
+thus in the stilly night
+ere slumber's chain has bound me
+sad memory brings the light
+of other days around me
+
+when i remember all
+the friends so link'd together
+i've seen around me fall
+like leaves in wintry weather
+i feel like one
+who treads alone
+some banquet-hall deserted
+whose lights are fled
+whose garlands dead
+and all but he departed
+thus in the stilly night
+ere slumber's chain has bound me
+sad memory brings the light
+of other days around me
+
+
+
+if john burroughs (1837-) had never written any other poem than "my own
+shall come to me," he would have stood to all ages as one of the
+greatest of american poets. the poem is most characteristic of the
+tall, majestic, slow-going poet and naturalist. there is no greater
+line in greek or english literature than
+
+
+serene i fold my hands and wait
+nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea
+i rave no more 'gainst time or fate
+for lo! my own shall come to me
+
+i stay my haste, i make delays
+for what avails this eager pace
+i stand amid the eternal ways
+and what is mine shall know my face
+
+asleep, awake, by night or day
+the friends i seek are seeking me
+no wind can drive my bark astray
+nor change the tide of destiny
+
+what matter if i stand alone
+i wait with joy the coming years
+my heart shall reap when it has sown
+and gather up its fruit of tears
+
+the stars come nightly to the sky
+the tidal wave comes to the sea
+nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high
+can keep my own away from me
+
+the waters know their own and draw
+the brook that springs in yonder heights
+so flows the good with equal law
+unto the soul of pure delights
+
+
+
+assigned to "grammar grades" of schools. it is included here out of
+respect to a boy of eleven years who was more impressed with these
+lines than with any other lines in any poem
+
+in the light of thought
+singing songs unbidden
+till the world is wrought
+to sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not
+
+hail to thee, blithe spirit
+bird thou never wert
+that from heaven or near it
+pourest thy full heart
+in profuse strains of unpremeditated art
+
+higher still and higher
+from the earth thou springest
+like a cloud of fire
+the blue deep thou wingest
+and singing still dost soar and soaring ever singest
+
+in the golden lightning
+of the sunken sun
+o'er which clouds are brightening
+thou dost float and run
+like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun
+
+the pale purple even
+melts around thy flight
+like a star of heaven
+in the broad daylight
+thou art unseen, but yet i hear thy shrill delight
+
+all the earth and air
+with thy voice is loud
+as, when night is bare
+from one lonely cloud
+the moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed
+
+what thou art we know not
+what is most like thee
+from rainbow-clouds there flow not
+drops so bright to see
+as from thy presence showers a rain of melody
+
+like a poet hidden
+in the light of thought
+singing hymns unbidden
+till the world is wrought
+to sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not
+
+teach us, sprite or bird
+what sweet thoughts are thine
+i have never heard
+praise of love or wine
+that panted forth a flood of rapture so divine
+
+chorus hymeneal
+or triumphal chaunt
+matched with thine, would be all
+but an empty vaunt
+a thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want
+
+what objects are the fountains
+of thy happy strain
+what fields, or waves, or mountains
+what shapes of sky or plain
+what love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain
+
+teach me half the gladness
+that thy brain must know
+such harmonious madness
+from my lips would flow
+the world should listen then, as i am listening now
+
+
+
+i have often had the pleasure of riding across the coast from chester
+england, to rhyl, on the north coast of wales, where stretch "the sands
+of dee" (charles kingsley, 1819-75). these purple sands at low tide
+stretch off into the sea miles away, and are said to be full of
+quicksands
+
+and call the cattle home
+and call the cattle home
+across the sands of dee
+the western wind was wild and dark with foam
+and all alone went she
+
+the western tide crept up along the sand
+and o'er and o'er the sand
+and round and round the sand
+as far as eye could see
+the rolling mist came down and hid the land
+and never home came she
+oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair
+a tress of golden hair
+a drownèd maiden's hair
+above the nets at sea
+was never salmon yet that shone so fair
+among the stakes on dee
+
+they rowed her in across the rolling foam
+the cruel crawling foam
+the cruel hungry foam
+to her grave beside the sea
+but still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home
+across the sands of dee
+
+
+
+1770-1850) are two gems that can be valued only for the spirit of quiet
+and modesty diffused by them
+
+mine be a cot beside the hill
+a bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear
+a willowy brook that turns a mill
+with many a fall shall linger near
+
+the swallow, oft, beneath my thatch
+shall twitter from her clay-built nest
+oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch
+and share my meal, a welcome guest
+
+around my ivied porch shall spring
+each fragrant flower that drinks the dew
+and lucy, at her wheel, shall sing
+in russet gown and apron blue
+
+the village church among the trees
+where first our marriage-vows were given
+with merry peals shall swell the breeze
+and point with taper spire to heaven
+
+
+
+she dwelt among the untrodden ways
+beside the springs of dove
+a maid whom there were none to praise
+and very few to love
+
+a violet by a mossy stone
+half-hidden from the eye
+fair as a star, when only one
+is shining in the sky
+
+she lived unknown, and few could know
+when lucy ceased to be
+but she is in her grave, and, oh
+the difference to me
+
+
+
+happy the man, whose wish and care
+a few paternal acres bound
+content to breathe his native air
+in his own ground
+
+whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread
+whose flocks supply him with attire
+whose trees in summer yield him shade
+in winter fire
+
+blest, who can unconcern'dly find
+hours, days, and years slide soft away
+in health of body, peace of mind
+quiet by day
+
+sound sleep by night; study and ease
+together mixt, sweet recreation
+and innocence, which most does please
+with meditation
+
+thus let me live, unseen, unknown
+thus unlamented let me die
+steal from the world, and not a stone
+tell where i lie
+
+
+
+please several teachers
+
+john anderson, my jo, john
+when we were first acquent
+your locks were like the raven
+your bonnie brow was brent
+but now your brow is bald, john
+your locks are like the snow
+but blessings on your frosty pow
+john anderson, my jo
+
+john anderson, my jo, john
+we clamb the hill thegither
+and mony a canty day, john
+we've had wi' ane anither
+now we maun totter down, john
+but hand in hand we'll go
+and sleep thegither at the foot
+john anderson, my jo
+
+
+
+this sonnet the poetess has touched the power of wordsworth or keats
+and placed herself among the immortals
+
+the god of music dwelleth out of doors
+all seasons through his minstrelsy we meet
+breathing by field and covert haunting-sweet
+from organ-lofts in forests old he pours
+a solemn harmony: on leafy floors
+to smooth autumnal pipes he moves his feet
+or with the tingling plectrum of the sleet
+in winter keen beats out his thrilling scores
+leave me the reed unplucked beside the stream
+and he will stoop and fill it with the breeze
+leave me the viol's frame in secret trees
+unwrought, and it shall wake a druid theme
+leave me the whispering shell on nereid shores
+the god of music dwelleth out of doors
+
+
+
+poem is the supreme masterpiece of mrs. browning. the prime thought in
+it is the sacrifice and pain that must go to make a poet of any genius
+
+
+what was he doing, the great god pan
+down in the reeds by the river
+spreading ruin and scattering ban
+splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat
+and breaking the golden lilies afloat
+with the dragon-fly on the river
+
+he tore out a reed, the great god pan
+from the deep cool bed of the river
+the limpid water turbidly ran
+and the broken lilies a-dying lay
+and the dragon-fly had fled away
+ere he brought it out of the river
+
+high on the shore sat the great god pan
+while turbidly flow'd the river
+and hack'd and hew'd as a great god can
+with his hard bleak steel at the patient reed
+till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed
+to prove it fresh from the river
+
+he cut it short, did the great god pan
+then drew the pith, like the heart of a man
+steadily from the outside ring
+and notched the poor dry empty thing
+in holes, as he sat by the river
+
+to make sweet music, they could succeed
+then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed
+he blew in power by the river
+
+sweet, sweet, sweet, o pan
+piercing sweet by the river
+blinding sweet, o great god pan
+the sun on the hill forgot to die
+and the lilies reviv'd, and the dragon-fly
+came back to dream on the river
+
+yet half a beast is the great god pan
+to laugh as he sits by the river
+making a poet out of a man
+the true gods sigh for the cost and pain
+for the reed which grows nevermore again
+as a reed with the reeds in the river
+
+
+
+dramatic, and the music of the refrain has done much to make it
+popular. but the pathos is that which endears it
+
+the old mayor climb'd the belfry tower
+the ringers ran by two, by three
+good ringers, pull your best," quoth he
+ply all your changes, all your swells
+play uppe, 'the brides of enderby
+
+men say it was a stolen tyde
+the lord that sent it, he knows all
+but in myne ears doth still abide
+the message that the bells let fall
+and there was naught of strange, beside
+the flight of mews and peewits pied
+by millions crouch'd on the old sea wall
+
+i sat and spun within the doore
+my thread brake off, i raised myne eyes
+the level sun, like ruddy ore
+lay sinking in the barren skies
+and dark against day's golden death
+she moved where lindis wandereth
+my sonne's faire wife, elizabeth
+
+ere the early dews were falling
+farre away i heard her song
+where the reedy lindis floweth
+floweth, floweth
+from the meads where melick groweth
+faintly came her milking song
+
+leave your meadow grasses mellow
+mellow, mellow
+quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow
+come uppe, whitefoot, come uppe, lightfoot
+quit the stalks of parsley hollow
+hollow, hollow
+come uppe, jetty, rise and follow
+from the clovers lift your head
+come uppe, whitefoot, come uppe, lightfoot
+come uppe, jetty, rise and follow
+jetty, to the milking shed
+
+if it be long ay, long ago
+when i beginne to think howe long
+againe i hear the lindis flow
+swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong
+and all the aire, it seemeth mee
+bin full of floating bells (sayth shee
+that ring the tune of enderby
+
+alle fresh the level pasture lay
+and not a shadowe mote be seene
+save where full fyve good miles away
+the steeple tower'd from out the greene
+and lo! the great bell farre and wide
+was heard in all the country side
+that saturday at eventide
+
+the swanherds where their sedges are
+mov'd on in sunset's golden breath
+the shepherde lads i heard afarre
+and my sonne's wife, elizabeth
+till floating o'er the grassy sea
+came downe that kyndly message free
+the "brides of mavis enderby
+
+then some look'd uppe into the sky
+and all along where lindis flows
+to where the goodly vessels lie
+and where the lordly steeple shows
+they sayde, "and why should this thing be
+what danger lowers by land or sea
+they ring the tune of enderby
+
+of pyrate galleys warping down
+for shippes ashore beyond the scorpe
+they have not spar'd to wake the towne
+but while the west bin red to see
+and storms be none, and pyrates flee
+why ring 'the brides of enderby
+
+i look'd without, and lo! my sonne
+came riding downe with might and main
+he rais'd a shout as he drew on
+till all the welkin rang again
+than my sonne's wife, elizabeth
+
+the rising tide comes on apace
+and boats adrift in yonder towne
+go sailing uppe the market-place
+he shook as one that looks on death
+
+with her two bairns i marked her long
+and ere yon bells beganne to play
+afar i heard her milking song
+he looked across the grassy lea
+to right, to left, "ho, enderby
+they rang "the brides of enderby
+
+with that he cried and beat his breast
+for, lo! along the river's bed
+a mighty eygre rear'd his crest
+and uppe the lindis raging sped
+it swept with thunderous noises loud
+shap'd like a curling snow-white cloud
+or like a demon in a shroud
+
+and rearing lindis backward press'd
+shook all her trembling bankes amaine
+then madly at the eygre's breast
+flung uppe her weltering walls again
+then bankes came downe with ruin and rout
+then beaten foam flew round about
+then all the mighty floods were out
+
+so farre, so fast the eygre drave
+the heart had hardly time to beat
+before a shallow seething wave
+sobb'd in the grasses at oure feet
+the feet had hardly time to flee
+before it brake against the knee
+and all the world was in the sea
+
+upon the roofe we sate that night
+the noise of bells went sweeping by
+i mark'd the lofty beacon light
+stream from the church tower, red and high
+a lurid mark and dread to see
+and awsome bells they were to mee
+that in the dark rang "enderby
+
+they rang the sailor lads to guide
+from roofe to roofe who fearless row'd
+and i--my sonne was at my side
+and yet the ruddy beacon glow'd
+and yet he moan'd beneath his breath
+o lost! my love, elizabeth
+
+and didst thou visit him no more
+thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare
+the waters laid thee at his doore
+ere yet the early dawn was clear
+thy pretty bairns in fast embrace
+the lifted sun shone on thy face
+downe drifted to thy dwelling-place
+
+that flow strew'd wrecks about the grass
+that ebbe swept out the flocks to sea
+a fatal ebbe and flow, alas
+to manye more than myne and mee
+but each will mourn his own (she saith
+and sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
+than my sonne's wife, elizabeth
+
+i shall never hear her more
+by the reedy lindis shore
+ere the early dews be falling
+i shall never hear her song
+where the sunny lindis floweth
+goeth, floweth
+from the meads where melick groweth
+when the water winding down
+onward floweth to the town
+
+i shall never see her more
+where the reeds and rushes quiver
+shiver, quiver
+stand beside the sobbing river
+sobbing, throbbing, in its falling
+to the sandy lonesome shore
+i shall never hear her calling
+mellow, mellow
+quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow
+
+quit your pipes of parsley hollow
+hollow, hollow
+come uppe, lightfoot, rise and follow
+lightfoot, whitefoot
+from your clovers lift the head
+come uppe, jetty, follow, follow
+jetty, to the milking shed
+
+
+
+and most appealing poems a teacher can read to her pupils when teaching
+early american history. the poem is full of magnificent lines, such as
+audience of young people when correlated with the study of north
+carolina and sir walter raleigh. the solitary, majestic character of
+sir walter raleigh, his intrepidity while undergoing tortures inflicted
+by a cowardly king, the ring of indignation--- all these make a weapon
+for him stronger than the ax that beheaded him. in this poem he "has
+the last word
+
+goe, soule, the bodie's guest
+upon a thanklesse arrant
+feare not to touche the best
+the truth shall be thy warrant
+goe, since i needs must dye
+and give the world the lye
+
+goe tell the court it glowes
+and shines like rotten wood
+goe tell the church it showes
+what's good, and doth no good
+if church and court reply
+then give them both the lye
+
+tell potentates they live
+acting by others' actions
+not loved unlesse they give
+not strong but by their factions
+if potentates reply
+give potentates the lye
+
+tell men of high condition
+that rule affairs of state
+their purpose is ambition
+their practice only hate
+and if they once reply
+then give them all the lye
+
+tell zeale it lacks devotion
+tell love it is but lust
+tell time it is but motion
+tell flesh it is but dust
+and wish them not reply
+for thou must give the lye
+
+tell wit how much it wrangles
+in tickle points of nicenesse
+tell wisdome she entangles
+herselfe in over-wisenesse
+and if they do reply
+straight give them both the lye
+
+tell physicke of her boldnesse
+tell skill it is pretension
+tell charity of coldnesse
+tell law it is contention
+and as they yield reply
+so give them still the lye
+
+tell fortune of her blindnesse
+tell nature of decay
+tell friendship of unkindnesse
+tell justice of delay
+and if they dare reply
+then give them all the lye
+
+tell arts they have no soundnesse
+but vary by esteeming
+tell schooles they want profoundnesse
+and stand too much on seeming
+if arts and schooles reply
+give arts and schooles the lye
+
+commanded thee, done blabbing
+although to give the lye
+deserves no less than stabbing
+yet stab at thee who will
+no stab the soule can kill
+
+
+
+sweeping assertion of the individual's right to self-development
+
+when earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are
+twisted and dried
+when the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died
+we shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it--lie down
+for an æon or two
+till the master of all good workmen shall set us to work anew
+
+and those who were good shall be happy: they shall sit
+in a golden chair
+they shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comet's hair
+they shall find real saints to draw from--magdalene, peter, and paul
+they shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all
+
+and only the master shall praise us, and only the master shall blame
+and no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame
+but each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star
+shall draw the thing as he sees it for the god of things as they are
+
+
+
+comfort and control people who are shut up to the joys of
+meditation--people to whom the world of activity is closed. to be
+independent of things material--this is the soul's pleasure
+
+my mind to me a kingdom is
+such perfect joy therein i find
+as far excels all earthly bliss
+that god or nature hath assigned
+though much i want that most would have
+yet still my mind forbids to crave
+
+content i live; this is my stay
+i seek no more than may suffice
+i press to bear no haughty sway
+look, what i lack my mind supplies
+lo, thus i triumph like a king
+content with that my mind doth bring
+
+i laugh not at another's loss
+i grudge not at another's gain
+no worldly wave my mind can toss
+i brook that is another's bane
+i fear no foe, nor fawn on friend
+i loathe not life, nor dread mine end
+
+my wealth is health and perfect ease
+my conscience clear my chief defense
+i never seek by bribes to please
+nor by desert to give offense
+thus do i live, thus will i die
+
+
+
+the harp that once through tara's halls
+the soul of music shed
+now hangs as mute on tara's walls
+as if that soul were fled
+so sleeps the pride of former days
+so glory's thrill is o'er
+and hearts, that once beat high for praise
+now feel that pulse no more
+
+no more to chiefs and ladies bright
+the harp of tara swells
+the chord alone, that breaks at night
+its tale of ruin tells
+thus freedom now so seldom wakes
+the only throb she gives
+is when some heart indignant breaks
+to show that still she lives
+
+
+
+love because it is an elegant expression of something very dear and
+homely
+
+how dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood
+when fond recollection presents them to view
+the orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood
+and every loved spot which my infancy knew
+the wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it
+the bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell
+the cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it
+and e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well
+the old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket
+the moss-covered bucket which hung in the well
+
+that moss-covered vessel i hailed as a treasure
+for often at noon, when returned from the field
+i found it the source of an exquisite pleasure
+the purest and sweetest that nature can yield
+how ardent i seized it, with hands that were glowing
+and quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell
+then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing
+and dripping with coolness, it rose from the well
+the old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket
+the moss-covered bucket arose from the well
+
+how sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it
+as poised on the curb it inclined to my lips
+not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it
+the brightest that beauty or revelry sips
+and now, far removed from the loved habitation
+the tear of regret will intrusively swell
+as fancy reverts to my father's plantation
+and sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well
+the old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket
+the moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well
+
+
+
+many college men speak of it at once as the great poem of their
+boyhood. the poem caught me when a child by its refrain and weird
+picturesqueness. it has never outgrown its mechanical charm
+
+once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary
+over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
+while i nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
+as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door
+only this, and nothing more
+
+ah! distinctly i remember, it was in the bleak december
+and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor
+eagerly i wished the morrow; vainly i had sought to borrow
+from my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost lenore
+for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name lenore
+nameless here for evermore
+
+and the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
+thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before
+so that now, to still the beating of my heart, i stood repeating
+some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door
+this it is, and nothing more
+
+presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer
+but the fact is, i was napping, and so gently you came rapping
+and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door
+that i scarce was sure i heard you." here i opened wide the door
+darkness there, and nothing more
+
+deep into that darkness peering, long i stood there, wondering
+fearing
+doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
+but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token
+and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "lenore
+this i whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "lenore
+merely this, and nothing more
+
+back into my chamber turning, all my soul within me burning
+soon again i heard a rapping, something louder than before
+let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore
+let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore
+
+open here i flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter
+in there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore
+not the least obeisance made he, not a minute stopped or stayed he
+but with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door
+perched above a bust of pallas, just above my chamber door
+perched, and sat, and nothing more
+
+then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
+by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore
+sure, no craven
+ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore
+tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's plutonian shore
+quoth the raven, "nevermore
+
+much i marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly
+though its answer, little meaning, little relevancy bore
+for we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
+ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door
+bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door
+with such a name as "nevermore
+
+but the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
+that one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour
+nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered
+till i scarcely more than muttered--"other friends have flown before
+on the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before
+then the bird said, "nevermore
+
+startled by the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken
+caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
+followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore
+till the dirges of his hope this melancholy burden bore
+of 'never, nevermore
+
+but the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling
+straight i wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and
+bust, and door
+then upon the velvet sinking, i betook myself to linking
+fancy into fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore
+what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
+meant in croaking "nevermore
+
+thus i sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
+to the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core
+this and more i sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
+on the cushion's velvet lining, that the lamp-light gloated o'er
+but whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating o'er
+she shall press, ah, nevermore
+
+then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
+swung by seraphim, whose footfalls twinkled on the tufted floor
+hath sent thee
+respite--respite and nepenthe from my memories of lenore
+quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost lenore
+quoth the raven, "nevermore
+
+whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore
+desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
+on this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, i implore
+is there--_is_ there balm in gilead?--tell me, tell me, i implore
+quoth the raven, "nevermore
+
+by that heaven that bends above us--by that god we both adore
+tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant aiden
+it shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name lenore
+clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name lenore
+quoth the raven, "nevermore
+
+leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken
+leave my loneliness unbroken--quit the bust above my door
+take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door
+quoth the raven, "nevermore
+
+and the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
+on the pallid bust of pallas, just above my chamber door
+and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming
+and the lamp-light o'er him streaming, throws his shadow on the floor
+and my soul from out that shadow, that lies floating on the floor
+shall be lifted--nevermore
+
+
+
+make way for liberty, and died
+in arms the austrian phalanx stood
+a living wall, a human wood
+a wall, where every conscious stone
+seemed to its kindred thousands grown
+a rampart all assaults to bear
+till time to dust their frames should wear
+so still, so dense the austrians stood
+a living wall, a human wood
+
+impregnable their front appears
+all horrent with projected spears
+whose polished points before them shine
+from flank to flank, one brilliant line
+bright as the breakers' splendours run
+along the billows to the sun
+
+opposed to these a hovering band
+contended for their fatherland
+peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
+from manly necks the ignoble yoke
+and beat their fetters into swords
+on equal terms to fight their lords
+and what insurgent rage had gained
+in many a mortal fray maintained
+marshalled, once more, at freedom's call
+they came to conquer or to fall
+where he who conquered, he who fell
+was deemed a dead or living tell
+such virtue had that patriot breathed
+so to the soil his soul bequeathed
+that wheresoe'er his arrows flew
+heroes in his own likeness grew
+and warriors sprang from every sod
+which his awakening footstep trod
+
+and now the work of life and death
+hung on the passing of a breath
+the fire of conflict burned within
+the battle trembled to begin
+yet, while the austrians held their ground
+point for attack was nowhere found
+where'er the impatient switzers gazed
+the unbroken line of lances blazed
+that line 'twere suicide to meet
+and perish at their tyrant's feet
+how could they rest within their graves
+and leave their homes, the homes of slaves
+would not they feel their children tread
+with clanging chains, above their head
+
+it must not be; this day, this hour
+annihilates the invader's power
+all switzerland is in the field
+she will not fly,--she cannot yield
+she must not fall; her better fate
+here gives her an immortal date
+few were the numbers she could boast
+but every freeman was a host
+and felt as 'twere a secret known
+that one should turn the scale alone
+while each unto himself was he
+on whose sole arm hung victory
+
+it did depend on one indeed
+behold him,--arnold winkelried
+there sounds not to the trump of fame
+the echo of a nobler name
+unmarked he stood amid the throng
+in rumination deep and long
+till you might see, with sudden grace
+the very thought come o'er his face
+and, by the motion of his form
+anticipate the bursting storm
+and, by the uplifting of his brow
+tell where the bolt would strike, and how
+
+but 'twas no sooner thought than done
+the field was in a moment won
+then ran, with arms extended wide
+as if his dearest friend to clasp
+ten spears he swept within his grasp
+their keen points crossed from side to side
+he bowed amidst them like a tree
+and thus made way for liberty
+
+swift to the breach his comrades fly
+and through the austrian phalanx dart
+as rushed the spears through arnold's heart
+while instantaneous as his fall
+rout, ruin, panic, seized them all
+an earthquake could not overthrow
+a city with a surer blow
+
+thus switzerland again was free
+thus death made way for liberty
+
+
+
+life! i know not what thou art
+but know that thou and i must part
+and when, or how, or where we met
+i own to me's a secret yet
+life! we've been long together
+through pleasant and through cloudy weather
+tis hard to part when friends are dear
+perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear
+choose thine own time
+say not good night,--but in some brighter clime
+bid me good morning
+
+
+
+from "hamlet," and "antony's speech," from "julius cæsar" (all
+fragments from shakespeare, 1564-1616), find a place in this book
+because a well-known new york teacher--one who is unremitting in his
+book of poetry could not be complete without these extracts
+
+the quality of mercy is not strain'd
+it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
+upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd
+it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes
+the throned monarch better than his crown
+his scepter shows the force of temporal power
+the attribute to awe and majesty
+wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings
+but mercy is above his sceptered sway
+it is enthroned in the hearts of kings
+it is an attribute to god himself
+and earthly power doth then show likest god's
+when mercy seasons justice
+
+shakespeare ("merchant of venice
+
+
+see thou character. give thy thoughts no tongue
+nor any unproportion'd thought his act
+be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar
+the friends thou hast, and their adoption tried
+grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel
+but do not dull thy palm with entertainment
+of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. beware
+of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in
+bear 't that th' opposed may beware of thee
+give every man thine ear, but few thy voice
+take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment
+costly thy habit as thy purse can buy
+but not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy
+for the apparel oft proclaims the man
+neither a borrower nor a lender be
+for loan oft loses both itself and friend
+and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry
+this above all: to thine own self be true
+and it must follow, as the night the day
+thou canst not then be false to any man
+
+shakespeare ("hamlet
+
+
+this was the noblest roman of them all
+all the conspirators, save only he
+did that they did in envy of great cæsar
+he only, in a general honest thought
+and common good to all, made one of them
+his life was gentle; and the elements
+so mix'd in him, that nature might stand up
+and say to all the world, "this was a man
+
+shakespeare ("julius cæsar
+
+
+bird of the wilderness
+blithesome and cumberless
+sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea
+emblem of happiness
+blest is thy dwelling-place
+oh, to abide in the desert with thee
+
+wild is thy lay and loud
+far in the downy cloud
+love gives it energy, love gave it birth
+where, on thy dewy wing
+where art thou journeying
+thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth
+
+o'er fell and fountain sheen
+o'er moor and mountain green
+o'er the red streamer that heralds the day
+over the cloudlet dim
+over the rainbow's rim
+musical cherub, soar, singing, away
+
+then, when the gloaming comes
+low in the heather blooms
+sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be
+emblem of happiness
+blest is thy dwelling-place
+oh, to abide in the desert with thee
+
+
+
+exposition in poetry of this "shakespeare of prose
+
+o, may i join the choir invisible
+of those immortal dead who live again
+in minds made better by their presence; live
+in pulses stirred to generosity
+in deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
+of miserable aims that end with self
+in thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars
+and with their mild persistence urge men's minds
+to vaster issues
+may i reach
+that purest heaven,--be to other souls
+the cup of strength in some great agony
+enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love
+beget the smiles that have no cruelty
+be the sweet presence of good diffused
+and in diffusion ever more intense
+so shall i join the choir invisible
+whose music is the gladness of the world
+
+
+
+the greatest sonnet ever written. it is true that "the eyes of the
+soul" are blinded by a surfeit of worldly "goods." "i went to the lake
+district" (england), said john burroughs, "to see what kind of a
+country could produce a wordsworth." of course he found simple houses
+simple people, barren moors, heather-clad mountains, wild flowers, calm
+lakes, plain, rugged simplicity
+
+the world is too much with us; late and soon
+getting and spending, we lay waste our powers
+little we see in nature that is ours
+we have given our hearts away, a sordid boon
+this sea, that bares her bosom to the moon
+the winds that will be howling at all hours
+and are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers
+for this, for everything, we are out of tune
+it moves us not. great god! i'd rather be
+a pagan, suckled in a creed outworn
+so might i, standing on this pleasant lea
+have glimpses that would make me less forlorn
+have sight of proteus, rising from the sea
+or hear old triton blow his wreathed horn
+
+
+
+stately and pathetic sonnet in existence. the soul enduring enforced
+idleness and loss of power without repining. inactivity made to serve a
+higher end
+
+there is no first or last
+
+when i consider how my light is spent
+ere half my days, in this dark world and wide
+and that one talent which is death to hide
+lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
+to serve therewith my maker, and present
+my true account, lest he, returning, chide
+doth god exact day-labour, light denied
+i fondly ask: but patience, to prevent
+that murmur, soon replies, god doth not need
+either man's work, or his own gifts; who best
+bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state
+is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
+and post o'er land and ocean without rest
+they also serve who only stand and wait
+
+
+
+included here because it is a picture of woman as she should be, not
+made dainty by finery, but by fine ideals
+
+for human nature's daily food
+
+she was a phantom of delight
+when first she gleamed upon my sight
+a lovely apparition, sent
+to be a moment's ornament
+her eyes as stars of twilight fair
+like twilight's, too, her dusky hair
+but all things else about her drawn
+from may-time and the cheerful dawn
+a dancing shape, an image gay
+to haunt, to startle, and waylay
+
+i saw her upon nearer view
+a spirit, yet a woman too
+her household motions light and free
+and steps of virgin liberty
+a countenance in which did meet
+sweet records, promises as sweet
+a creature not too bright or good
+for human nature's daily food
+for transient sorrows, simple wiles
+praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles
+
+and now i see with eye serene
+the very pulse of the machine
+a being breathing thoughtful breath
+a traveller between life and death
+the reason firm, the temperate will
+endurance, foresight, strength, and skill
+a perfect woman, nobly planned
+to warn, to comfort, and command
+and yet a spirit still, and bright
+with something of angelic light
+
+
+
+from windsor castle through eton, down the long hedge-bound road which
+passes the estate of william penn's descendants to stoke pogis, the
+little churchyard where this poem was written. they were trimming a
+great yew-tree under which gray was said to have written this poem. the
+scene is one of peace and quiet. the "elegy" was a favourite form of
+poem with the ancients, but gray is said to have reached the climax
+among poets in this style of verse. the great line of the poem is
+
+
+it would almost seem that poetry has for its greatest mission the
+lesson of a proper humility
+
+the curfew tolls the knell of parting day
+the lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea
+the plowman homeward plods his weary way
+and leaves the world to darkness and to me
+
+now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight
+and all the air a solemn stillness holds
+save where the beetle wheels his droning flight
+and drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds
+
+save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
+the moping owl does to the moon complain
+of such as, wandering near her secret bow'r
+molest her ancient solitary reign
+
+beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade
+where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap
+each in his narrow cell forever laid
+the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep
+
+the breezy call of incense-breathing morn
+the swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed
+the cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn
+no more shall rouse them from their lowly bed
+
+for them no more the blazing hearth shall burn
+or busy housewife ply her evening care
+no children run to lisp their sire's return
+or climb his knees the envied kiss to share
+
+oft did the harvest to their sickle yield
+their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke
+how jocund did they drive their team afield
+how bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke
+
+let not ambition mock their useful toil
+their homely joys, and destiny obscure
+nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
+the short and simple annals of the poor
+
+the boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r
+and all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave
+await alike th' inevitable hour
+the paths of glory lead but to the grave
+
+forgive, ye proud, th' involuntary fault
+if memory to these no trophies raise
+where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
+the pealing anthem swells the note of praise
+
+can storied urn or animated bust
+back to its mansion call the fleeting breath
+can honour's voice provoke the silent dust
+or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death
+
+perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
+some heart once pregnant with celestial fire
+hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd
+or waked to ecstasy the living lyre
+
+but knowledge to their eyes her ample page
+rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll
+chill penury repress'd their noble rage
+and froze the genial current of the soul
+
+full many a gem of purest ray serene
+the dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear
+full many a flower is born to blush unseen
+and waste its sweetness on the desert air
+
+some village-hampden, that with dauntless breast
+the little tyrant of his fields withstood
+some mute inglorious milton here may rest
+some cromwell guiltless of his country's blood
+
+th' applause of listening senates to command
+the threats of pain and ruin to despise
+to scatter plenty o'er a smiling land
+and read their history in a nation's eyes
+
+their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone
+their growing virtues, but their crimes confined
+forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne
+and shut the gates of mercy on mankind
+
+the struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide
+to quench the blushes of ingenuous shame
+or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
+with incense, kindled at the muse's flame
+
+far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife
+their sober wishes never learn'd to stray
+along the cool sequester'd vale of life
+they kept the noiseless tenour of their way
+
+yet e'en those bones from insult to protect
+some frail memorial still erected nigh
+with uncouth rhimes and shapeless sculpture deck'd
+implores the passing tribute of a sigh
+
+their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered muse
+the place of fame and elegy supply
+and many a holy text around she strews
+that teach the rustic moralist to die
+
+for who to dumb forgetfulness a prey
+this pleasing anxious being e'er resigned
+left the warm precincts of the cheerful day
+nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind
+
+on some fond breast the parting soul relies
+some pious drops the closing eye requires
+e'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries
+e'en in our ashes live their wonted fires
+
+for thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead
+dost in these lines their artless tale relate
+if chance, by lonely contemplation led
+some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate
+
+haply some hoary-headed swain may say
+brushing with hasty steps the dews away
+to meet the sun upon the upland lawn
+
+that wreathes its old fantastic roots so high
+his listless length at noon-tide would he stretch
+and pore upon the brook that babbles by
+
+muttering his wayward fancies he would rove
+now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn
+or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love
+
+along the heath, and near his favourite tree
+another came; nor yet beside the rill
+nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he
+
+slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne
+approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
+graved on the stone beneath yon agèd thorn
+
+
+here rests his head upon the lap of earth
+a youth to fortune and to fame unknown
+fair science frown'd not on his humble birth
+and melancholy mark'd him for her own
+
+large was his bounty, and his soul sincere
+heaven did a recompense as largely send
+he gave to mis'ry all he had, a tear
+he gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend
+
+no farther seek his merits to disclose
+or draw his frailties from their dread abode
+the bosom of his father and his god
+
+
+
+and age for counsel; each year, each period of a man's life is but the
+necessary step to the next. youth is an uncertain thing to bank on
+
+the best is yet to be
+the last of life for which the first was made
+
+keynote
+
+
+grow old along with me
+the best is yet to be
+the last of life, for which the first was made
+our times are in his hand
+who saith, "a whole i plann'd
+youth shows but half; trust god: see all nor be afraid
+
+not that, amassing flowers
+youth sigh'd, "which rose make ours
+which lily leave and then as best recall
+not that, admiring stars
+it yearn'd, "nor jove, nor mars
+mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all
+
+not for such hopes and fears
+annulling youth's brief years
+do i remonstrate: folly wide the mark
+rather i prize the doubt
+low kinds exist without
+finish'd and finite clods, untroubled by a spark
+
+poor vaunt of life indeed
+were man but formed to feed
+on joy, to solely seek and find and feast
+such feasting ended, then
+as sure an end to men
+irks care the crop-full bird? frets doubt the maw-cramm'd beast
+
+rejoice we are allied
+to that which doth provide
+and not partake, effect and not receive
+a spark disturbs our clod
+nearer we hold of god
+who gives, than of his tribes that take, i must believe
+
+then, welcome each rebuff
+that turns earth's smoothness rough
+each sting, that bids nor sit nor stand, but go
+be our joys three parts pain
+strive, and hold cheap the strain
+learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe
+
+for thence,--a paradox
+which comforts while it mocks
+shall life succeed in that it seems to fail
+what i aspired to be
+and was not, comforts me
+a brute i might have been, but would not sink i' the scale
+
+what is he but a brute
+whose flesh has soul to suit
+whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play
+to man, propose this test
+thy body at its best
+how far can that project thy soul on its lone way
+
+yet gifts should prove their use
+i own the past profuse
+of power each side, perfection every turn
+eyes, ears took in their dole
+brain treasured up the whole
+should not the heart beat once "how good to live and learn
+
+not once beat "praise be thine
+i see the whole design
+i, who saw power, see now love perfect too
+perfect i call thy plan
+thanks that i was a man
+maker, remake, complete,--i trust what thou shalt do
+
+for pleasant is this flesh
+our soul, in its rose-mesh
+pull'd ever to the earth, still yearns for rest
+would we some prize might hold
+to match those manifold
+possessions of the brute,--gain most, as we did best
+
+let us not always say
+i strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole
+as the bird wings and sings
+let us cry, "all good things
+are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul
+
+therefore i summon age
+to grant youth's heritage
+life's struggle having so far reached its term
+thence shall i pass, approved
+a man, for aye removed
+from the developed brute; a god though in the germ
+
+and i shall thereupon
+take rest, ere i be gone
+once more on my adventure brave and new
+fearless and unperplex'd
+when i wage battle next
+what weapons to select, what armour to indue
+
+youth ended, i shall try
+my gain or loss thereby
+leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold
+and i shall weigh the same
+give life its praise or blame
+young, all lay in dispute; i shall know, being old
+
+for note, when evening shuts
+a certain moment cuts
+the deed off, calls the glory from the gray
+a whisper from the west
+shoots--"add this to the rest
+take it and try its worth: here dies another day
+
+so, still within this life
+though lifted o'er its strife
+let me discern, compare, pronounce at last
+that acquiescence vain
+the future i may face now i have proved the past
+
+for more is not reserved
+to man, with soul just nerved
+to act to-morrow what he learns to-day
+here, work enough to watch
+the master work, and catch
+hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play
+
+as it was better, youth
+should strive, through acts uncouth
+toward making, than repose on aught found made
+so, better, age, exempt
+from strife, should know, than tempt
+further. thou waitedest age: wait death nor be afraid
+
+enough now, if the right
+and good and infinite
+be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own
+with knowledge absolute
+subject to no dispute
+from fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone
+
+be there, for once and all
+sever'd great minds from small
+announced to each his station in the past
+was i, the world arraigned
+were they, my soul disdain'd
+right? let age speak the truth and give us peace at last
+
+now, who shall arbitrate
+ten men love what i hate
+shun what i follow, slight what i receive
+ten, who in ears and eyes
+match me: we all surmise
+they this thing, and i that: whom shall my soul believe
+
+not on the vulgar mass
+call'd "work," must sentence pass
+things done, that took the eye and had the price
+o'er which, from level stand
+the low world laid its hand
+found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice
+
+but all, the world's coarse thumb
+and finger fail'd to plumb
+so pass'd in making up the main account
+all instincts immature
+all purposes unsure
+that weigh'd not as his work, yet swell'd the man's amount
+
+thoughts hardly to be pack'd
+into a narrow act
+fancies that broke through language and escaped
+all i could never be
+all, men ignored in me
+this, i was worth to god, whose wheel the pitcher shaped
+
+ay, note that potter's wheel
+that metaphor! and feel
+why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay
+thou, to whom fools propound
+when the wine makes its round
+
+fool! all that is, at all
+lasts ever, past recall
+earth changes, but thy soul and god stand sure
+what enter'd into thee
+time's wheel runs back or stops: potter and clay endure
+
+he fix'd thee 'mid this dance
+of plastic circumstance
+this present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest
+machinery just meant
+to give thy soul its bent
+try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impress'd
+
+what though the earlier grooves
+which ran the laughing loves
+around thy base, no longer pause and press
+what though, about thy rim
+scull-things in order grim
+grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress
+
+look not thou down but up
+to uses of a cup
+the festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal
+the new wine's foaming flow
+the master's lips aglow
+thou, heaven's consummate cup, what need'st thou with earth's wheel
+
+but i need, now as then
+thee, god, who mouldest men
+and since, not even while the whirl was worst
+did i,--to the wheel of life
+with shapes and colours rife
+bound dizzily,--mistake my end, to slake thy thirst
+
+so, take and use thy work
+amend what flaws may lurk
+what strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim
+my times be in thy hand
+perfect the cup as plann'd
+lest age approve of youth, and death complete the same
+
+
+
+ever written. it is a battle-song and a pæan of victory
+
+and the strong man must go
+and bade me creep past
+
+this poem is included in this book because these lines are enough to
+reconcile any one to any fate
+
+fear death?--to feel the fog in my throat
+the mist in _my_ face
+when the snows begin, and the blasts denote
+i am nearing the place
+the power of the night, the press of the storm
+the post of the foe
+where he stands, the arch fear in a visible form
+yet the strong man must go
+for the journey is done and the summit attained
+and the barriers fall
+though a battle's to fight ere a guerdon be gained
+the reward of it all
+i was ever a fighter, so--one fight more
+the best and the last
+i would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore
+and bade me creep past
+no! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
+the heroes of old
+bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears
+of pain, darkness, and cold
+for sudden the worst turns the best to the brave
+the black minute's at end
+and the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave
+shall dwindle, shall blend
+shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain
+then a light, then thy breast
+o thou soul of my soul! i shall clasp thee again
+and with god be the rest
+
+
+
+the "recessional" (by rudyard kipling, 1865-) is one of the most
+popular poems of this century. it is a warning to an age and a nation
+drunk with power, a rebuke to materialistic tendencies and
+boastfulness, a protest against pride
+
+
+god of our fathers, known of old
+lord of our far-flung battle-line
+beneath whose awful hand we hold
+dominion over palm and pine
+lord god of hosts, be with us yet
+lest we forget--lest we forget
+
+the tumult and the shouting dies
+the captains and the kings depart
+still stands thine ancient sacrifice
+an humble and a contrite heart
+lord god of hosts, be with us yet
+lest we forget--lest we forget
+
+far-called our navies melt away
+on dune and headland sinks the fire
+lo, all our pomp of yesterday
+is one with nineveh and tyre
+judge of the nations, spare us yet
+lest we forget--lest we forget
+
+if, drunk with sight of power, we loose
+wild tongues that have not thee in awe
+such boasting as the gentiles use
+or lesser breeds without the law
+lord god of hosts, be with us yet
+lest we forget--lest we forget
+
+for heathen heart that puts her trust
+in reeking tube and iron shard
+all valiant dust that builds on dust
+and guarding calls not thee to guard
+for frantic boast and foolish word
+thy mercy on thy people, lord! amen
+
+
+
+is a rebuke to the insolent pride of kings and empires. it is extremely
+picturesque. it finds a place here because more elderly scholars of
+good judgment are pleased with it. i remember an old gray-haired
+scholar in chicago who often recited it to his friends merely because
+it touched his fancy
+
+i met a traveller from an antique land
+who said: "two vast and trunkless legs of stone
+stand in the desert. near them on the sand
+half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
+and wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
+tell that its sculptor well those passions read
+which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things
+the hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed
+and on the pedestal these words appear
+look on my works, ye mighty, and despair
+nothing beside remains. round the decay
+of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
+the lone and level sands stretch far away
+
+
+
+favourite poem
+
+o why should the spirit of mortal be proud
+like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud
+a flash of the lightning, a break of the wave
+he passes from life to his rest in the grave
+
+the leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade
+be scattered around and together be laid
+and the young and the old, and the low and the high
+shall moulder to dust and together shall lie
+
+the child that a mother attended and loved
+the mother that infant's affection that proved
+the husband that mother and infant that blessed
+each, all, are away to their dwelling of rest
+
+the maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye
+shone beauty and pleasure,--her triumphs are by
+and the memory of those that beloved her and praised
+are alike from the minds of the living erased
+
+the hand of the king that the scepter hath borne
+the brow of the priest that the miter hath worn
+the eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave
+are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave
+
+the peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap
+the herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep
+the beggar that wandered in search of his bread
+have faded away like the grass that we tread
+
+the saint that enjoyed the communion of heaven
+the sinner that dared to remain unforgiven
+the wise and the foolish, the guilty and just
+have quietly mingled their bones in the dust
+
+so the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed
+that wither away to let others succeed
+so the multitude comes, even those we behold
+to repeat every tale that hath often been told
+
+for we are the same that our fathers have been
+we see the same sights that our fathers have seen
+we drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun
+and we run the same course that our fathers have run
+
+the thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think
+from the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink
+to the life we are clinging to, they too would cling
+but it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing
+
+they loved, but their story we cannot unfold
+they scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold
+they grieved, but no wail from their slumbers may come
+they enjoyed, but the voice of their gladness is dumb
+
+they died, ay! they died! and we things that are now
+who walk on the turf that lies over their brow
+who make in their dwellings a transient abode
+meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road
+
+yea! hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain
+are mingled together like sunshine and rain
+and the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge
+still follow each other, like surge upon surge
+
+from the blossom of health to the paleness of death
+from the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud
+o why should the spirit of mortal be proud
+
+
+
+the last four lines of this sonnet form the most tremendous climax in
+literature. the picture is as vivid as if done with a brush. every
+great book, every great poem is a new world, an undiscovered country
+every learned person is a whole territory, a universe of new thought
+every one who does anything with a heart for it, every specialist every
+one, however simple, who is strenuous and genuine, is a "new
+discovery." let us give credit to the smallest planet that is true to
+its own orbit
+
+much have i travelled in the realms of gold
+and many goodly states and kingdoms seen
+round many western islands have i been
+which bards in fealty to apollo hold
+
+oft of one wide expanse had i been told
+that deep-brow'd homer ruled as his demesne
+yet did i never breathe its pure serene
+till i heard chapman speak out loud and bold
+
+then felt i like some watcher of the skies
+when a new planet swims into his ken
+or like stout cortez when with eagle eyes
+
+he stared at the pacific--and all his men
+look'd at each other with a wild surmise
+silent, upon a peak in darien
+
+
+
+here is a hero who does a great deed simply as a part of his day's
+work. he puts no value on what he has done, because he could have done
+no other way
+
+on the sea and at the hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two
+did the english fight the french--woe to france
+and, the thirty-first of may, helter-skelter through the blue
+like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue
+came crowding ship on ship to st. malo on the rance
+with the english fleet in view
+
+first and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, damfreville
+close on him fled, great and small
+twenty-two good ships in all
+and they signalled to the place
+get us guidance, give us harbour, take us quick--or, quicker still
+here's the english can and will
+
+then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board
+laughed they
+and scored
+shall the _formidable_ here, with her twelve and eighty guns
+think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way
+trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons
+and with flow at full beside
+now 'tis slackest ebb of tide
+reach the mooring! rather say
+while rock stands or water runs
+not a ship will leave the bay
+
+then was called a council straight
+brief and bitter the debate
+all that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow
+for a prize to plymouth sound
+better run the ships aground
+let the captains all and each
+shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach
+france must undergo her fate
+
+was ever spoke or heard
+for up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these
+a captain? a lieutenant? a mate--first, second, third
+no such man of mark, and meet
+with his betters to compete
+but a simple breton sailor pressed by tourville for the fleet
+a poor coasting pilot he, hervé riel, the croisiekese
+
+and "what mockery or malice have we here?" cries hervé riel
+talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell
+on my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell
+are you bought by english gold? is it love the lying's for
+morn and eve, night and day
+have i piloted your bay
+entered free and anchored fast at the foot of solidor
+burn the fleet and ruin france? that were worse than fifty hogues
+sirs, they know i speak the truth! sirs, believe me there's a way
+only let me lead the line
+have the biggest ship to steer
+get this _formidable_ clear
+make the others follow mine
+and i lead them, most and least, by a passage i know well
+right to solidor past grève
+and there lay them safe and sound
+and if one ship misbehave
+why, i've nothing but my life,--here's my head!" cries hervé riel
+
+not a minute more to wait
+take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief
+captains, give the sailor place
+he is admiral, in brief
+still the north wind, by god's grace
+see the noble fellow's face
+as the big ship, with a bound
+clears the entry like a hound
+keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound
+see, safe through shoal and rock
+how they follow in a flock
+not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground
+not a spar that comes to grief
+the peril, see, is past
+all are harboured to the last
+and just as hervé riel hollas "anchor!"--sure as fate
+up the english come--too late
+
+so, the storm subsides to calm
+they see the green trees wave
+on the heights o'erlooking grève
+hearts that bled are stanched with balm
+let the english rake the bay
+gnash their teeth and glare askance
+as they cannonade away
+how hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance
+out burst all with one accord
+let france, let france's king
+thank the man that did the thing
+what a shout, and all one word
+as he stepped in front once more
+not a symptom of surprise
+in the frank blue breton eyes
+just the same man as before
+
+then said damfreville, "my friend
+i must speak out at the end
+though i find the speaking hard
+praise is deeper than the lips
+you have saved the king his ships
+you must name your own reward
+demand whate'er you will
+france remains your debtor still
+ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not damfreville
+
+then a beam of fun outbroke
+on the bearded mouth that spoke
+as the honest heart laughed through
+those frank eyes of breton blue
+since on board the duty's done
+and from malo roads to croisic point, what is it but a run
+since 'tis ask and have, i may
+since the others go ashore
+come! a good whole holiday
+leave to go and see my wife, whom i call the belle aurore
+that he asked and that he got,--nothing more
+
+name and deed alike are lost
+not a pillar nor a post
+in his croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell
+not a head in white and black
+on a single fishing smack
+in memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack
+all that france saved from the fight whence england bore the bell
+go to paris: rank on rank
+search the heroes flung pell-mell
+on the louvre, face and flank
+you shall look long enough ere you come to hervé riel
+so, for better and for worse
+hervé riel, accept my verse
+in my verse, hervé riel, do thou once more
+save the squadron, honour france, love thy wife the belle aurore
+
+
+
+of the world to the other. emerson teaches one lesson above all others
+that each soul must work out for itself its latent force, its own
+individual expression, and that with a "sad sincerity." "the bishop of
+the soul" can do no more
+
+i like a church; i like a cowl
+i love a prophet of the soul
+and on my heart monastic aisles
+fall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles
+yet not for all his faith can see
+would i that cowlèd churchman be
+why should the vest on him allure
+which i could not on me endure
+
+not from a vain or shallow thought
+his awful jove young phidias brought
+never from lips of cunning fell
+the thrilling delphic oracle
+out from the heart of nature rolled
+the burdens of the bible old
+the litanies of nations came
+like the volcano's tongue of flame
+up from the burning core below
+the canticles of love and woe
+the hand that rounded peter's dome
+and groined the aisles of christian rome
+wrought in a sad sincerity
+himself from god he could not free
+he builded better than he knew
+the conscious stone to beauty grew
+
+knowst thou what wove yon woodbird's nest
+of leaves and feathers from her breast
+or how the fish outbuilt her shell
+painting with morn each annual cell
+or how the sacred pine-tree adds
+to her old leaves new myriads
+such and so grew these holy piles
+while love and terror laid the tiles
+earth proudly wears the parthenon
+as the best gem upon her zone
+and morning opes with haste her lids
+to gaze upon the pyramids
+o'er england's abbeys bends the sky
+as on its friends, with kindred eye
+for out of thought's interior sphere
+these wonders rose to upper air
+and nature gladly gave them place
+adopted them into her race
+and granted them an equal date
+with andes and with ararat
+
+these temples grew as grows the grass
+art might obey, but not surpass
+the passive master lent his hand
+to the vast soul that o'er him planned
+and the same power that reared the shrine
+bestrode the tribes that knelt within
+ever the fiery pentecost
+girds with one flame the countless host
+trances the heart through chanting choirs
+and through the priest the mind inspires
+the word unto the prophet spoken
+was writ on tables yet unbroken
+the word by seers or sibyls told
+in groves of oak, or fanes of gold
+still floats upon the morning wind
+still whispers to the willing mind
+one accent of the holy ghost
+the heedless world hath never lost
+i know what say the fathers wise
+the book itself before me lies
+old chrysostom, best augustine
+and he who blent both in his line
+the younger golden lips or mines
+taylor, the shakespeare of divines
+his words are music in my ear
+i see his cowlèd portrait dear
+and yet, for all his faith could see
+i would not the good bishop be
+
+
+
+poem and a great poem. it is a keen thrust at the common practice of
+teaching american children to hate the english of these days on account
+of the actions of a silly old king dead a hundred years. alfred austin
+deserves great credit for this poem
+
+what is the voice i hear
+on the winds of the western sea
+sentinel, listen from out cape clear
+and say what the voice may be
+
+and it says to them: "kinsmen, hail
+we severed have been too long
+now let us have done with a worn-out tale
+the tale of an ancient wrong
+and our friendship last long as our love doth and be stronger
+than death is strong
+
+answer them, sons of the self-same race
+and blood of the self-same clan
+let us speak with each other face to face
+and answer as man to man
+and loyally love and trust each other as none but free men can
+
+now fling them out to the breeze
+shamrock, thistle, and rose
+and the star-spangled banner unfurl with these
+a message to friends and foes
+wherever the sails of peace are seen and wherever the war-wind blows
+
+a message to bond and thrall to wake
+for wherever we come, we twain
+the throne of the tyrant shall rock and quake
+and his menace be void and vain
+for you are lords of a strong land and we are lords of the main
+
+yes, this is the voice of the bluff march gale
+we severed have been too long
+but now we have done with a worn-out tale
+the tale of an ancient wrong
+and our friendship last long as love doth last and stronger
+than death is strong
+
+
+
+it is quite true that the english flag stands for freedom the world
+over. wherever it floats almost any one is safe, whether english or
+
+some time, but ultimately when it fell the crowds rent the air with
+shouts, and seemed to see significance in the incident.--_daily
+papers
+
+winds of the world, give answer? they are whimpering to and fro
+and what should they know of england who only england know
+the poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag
+they are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at
+the english flag
+
+must we borrow a clout from the boer--to plaster anew with dirt
+an irish liar's bandage, or an english coward's shirt
+we may not speak of england; her flag's to sell or share
+what is the flag of england? winds of the world, declare
+
+the north wind blew:--"from bergen my steel-shod van-guards go
+i chase your lazy whalers home from the disko floe
+by the great north lights above me i work the will of god
+that the liner splits on the ice-field or the dogger fills with cod
+
+because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came
+i took the sun from their presence, i cut them down with my blast
+and they died, but the flag of england blew free ere the spirit passed
+
+the musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the northern light
+what is the flag of england? ye have but my bergs to dare
+ye have but my drifts to conquer. go forth, for it is there
+
+the south wind sighed:--"from the virgins my mid-sea course was ta'en
+over a thousand islands lost in an idle main
+where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed
+breakers croon
+their endless ocean legends to the lazy, locked lagoon
+
+i waked the palms to laughter--i tossed the scud in the breeze
+never was isle so little, never was sea so lone
+but over the scud and the palm-trees an english flag was flown
+
+on the horn
+i have chased it north to the lizard--ribboned and rolled and torn
+i have spread its fold o'er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea
+i have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free
+
+where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the southern cross
+what is the flag of england? ye have but my reefs to dare
+ye have but my seas to furrow. go forth, for it is there
+
+the east wind roared:--"from the kuriles, the bitter seas, i come
+and me men call the home-wind, for i bring the english home
+look--look well to your shipping! by the breath of my mad typhoon
+i swept your close-packed praya and beached your best at kowloon
+
+i raped your richest roadstead--i plundered singapore
+i set my hand on the hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose
+and i flung your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows
+
+but a soul goes out on the east wind that died for england's sake
+man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid
+because on the bones of the english the english flag is stayed
+
+the scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows
+what is the flag of england? ye have but my sun to dare
+ye have but my sands to travel. go forth, for it is there
+
+the west wind called:--"in squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly
+that bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die
+they make my might their porter, they make my house their path
+till i loose my neck from their rudder and whelm them all in my wrath
+
+they bellow one to the other, the frightened ship-bells toll
+for day is a drifting terror till i raise the shroud with my breath
+and they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death
+
+i heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away
+first of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky
+dipping between the rollers, the english flag goes by
+
+the naked stars have seen it, a fellow-star in the mist
+what is the flag of england? ye have but my breath to dare
+ye have but my waves to conquer. go forth, for it is there
+
+
+
+american ought to be proud of it, for we want no such type allowed to
+be developed in this country as the low-browed peasant of france. this
+poem is a stroke of genius. the story goes that it so offended a modern
+plutocrat that he offered a reward of $10,000 to any one who could
+write an equally good poem in rebuttal. "the man with the hoe" has won
+for edwin markham the title of "poet laureate of the labouring
+classes
+
+
+god made man in his own image, in the image of god made he
+
+bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
+upon his hoe and gazes on the ground
+the emptiness of ages in his face
+and on his back the burden of the world
+who made him dead to rapture and despair
+a thing that grieves not and that never hopes
+stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox
+who loosened and let down this brutal jaw
+whose was the hand that slanted back this brow
+whose breath blew out the light within this brain
+
+is this the thing the lord god made and gave
+to have dominion over sea and land
+to trace the stars and search the heavens for power
+to feel the passion of eternity
+is this the dream he dreamed who shaped the suns
+and marked their ways upon the ancient deep
+down all the stretch of hell to its last gulf
+there is no shape more terrible than this
+more tongued with censure of the world's blind greed
+more filled with signs and portents for the soul
+more fraught with menace to the universe
+
+what gulfs between him and the seraphim
+slave of the wheel of labour, what to him
+are plato and the swing of pleiades
+what the long reaches of the peaks of song
+the rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose
+through this dread shape the suffering ages look
+time's tragedy is in that aching stoop
+through this dread shape humanity betrayed
+plundered, profaned, and disinherited
+cries protest to the judges of the world
+a protest that is also prophecy
+
+o masters, lords, and rulers in all lands
+is this the handiwork you give to god
+this monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched
+how will you ever straighten up this shape
+touch it again with immortality
+give back the upward looking and the light
+rebuild in it the music and the dream
+make right the immemorial infamies
+perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes
+
+o masters, lords, and rulers in all lands
+how will the future reckon with this man
+how answer his brute question in that hour
+when whirlwinds of rebellion shake the world
+how will it be with kingdoms and with kings
+with those who shaped him to the thing he is
+when this dumb terror shall reply to god
+after the silence of the centuries
+
+
+
+characteristic poems. i love the swing and the stride of his great long
+lines. i love his rough-shod way of trampling down and kicking out of
+the way the conventionalities that spring up like poisonous mushrooms
+to make the world a vast labyrinth of petty "proprieties" until
+everything is nasty. i love the oxygen he pours on the world. i love
+his genius for brotherliness, his picture of the negro with rolling
+eyes and the firelock in the corner. these excerpts are some of his
+best lines
+
+i celebrate myself, and sing myself
+and what i assume you shall assume
+for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you
+i loafe and invite my soul
+i lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass
+my tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air
+born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
+parents the same
+i, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin
+hoping to cease not till death
+
+i harbor for good or bad, i permit to speak at every hazard
+nature without check with original energy
+
+have you reckoned a thousand acres much? have you reckon'd the
+earth much
+have you practised so long to learn to read
+have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems
+
+stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin
+of all poems
+you shall possess the good of the earth and sun (there are
+millions of suns left
+you shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
+through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the specters in books
+you shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me
+you shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself
+
+a child said, "_what is the grass?_" fetching it to me with full hands
+how could i answer the child? i do not know what it is any more
+than he
+i guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
+stuff woven
+or, i guess it is the handkerchief of the lord
+a scented gift and remembrance designedly dropt
+bearing the owner's name some way in the corners
+that we may see and remark, and say
+
+alone far in the wilds and mountains i hunt
+wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee
+in the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night
+kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game
+falling asleep on the gathered leaves with my dog and gun by my side
+the yankee clipper is under her sky-sails, she cuts the sparkle
+and scud
+my eyes settle the land, i bend at her prow or shout joyously from
+the deck
+the boatman and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me
+i tucked my trouser-ends in my boots and went and had a good time
+you should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle
+
+the runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside
+i heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile
+through the swung half-door of the kitchen i saw him limpsy and weak
+and went where he sat on a log and led him in and assured him
+and brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and
+bruis'd feet
+and gave him a room that entered from my own, and gave him some
+coarse clean clothes
+and remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness
+and remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles
+he staid with me a week before he was recuperated and passed north
+i had him sit next me at table, my firelock lean'd in the corner
+
+i am the poet of the woman the same as the man
+and i say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man
+and i say there is nothing greater than the mother of men
+
+i understand the large hearts of heroes
+the courage of present times and all times
+how the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steamship
+and death chasing it up and down the storm
+how he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch and was faithful of
+days and faithful of nights
+and chalked in large letters on a board, "_be of good cheer, we will
+not desert you
+how he followed with them and tack'd with them three days and would
+not give it up
+how he saved the drifting company at last
+how the lank loose-gown'd women looked when boated from the side
+of their prepared graves
+how the silent old-faced infants and the lifted sick, and the
+sharp-lipp'd unshaved men
+all this i swallow, it tastes good, i like it well, it becomes mine
+i am the man, i suffered, i was there
+the disdain and calmness of martyrs
+the mother of old, condemned for a witch, burned with dry wood, her
+children gazing on
+the hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence blowing
+covered with sweat
+i am the hounded slave, i wince at the bite of the dogs
+hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen
+i clutch the rails of the fence, my gore dribs, thinn'd with the
+ooze of my skin
+i fall on the weeds and stones
+the riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close
+taunt my dizzy ears and beat me violently over the head with
+whip-stocks
+
+old age superbly rising! o welcome, ineffable grace of dying days
+
+see ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that
+count ever so much, there is limitless time around that
+my rendezvous is appointed, it is certain
+the lord will be there and wait till i come on perfect terms
+the great camerado, the lover true for whom i pine will be there
+
+and whoever walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own
+funeral drest in his shroud
+
+and to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds
+the learning of all times
+and there is no trade or employment but the young man following
+it may become a hero
+and there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd
+universe
+and i say to any man or woman, "let your soul stand cool and composed
+before a million universes
+
+i see something of god each hour of the twenty-four, and each
+moment then
+in the faces of men and women i see god, and in my own face in
+the glass
+i find letters from god dropt in the street, and every one is
+sign'd by god's name
+and i leave them where they are, for i know that wheresoe'er i go
+others will punctually come forever and ever
+
+listener up there! what have you to confide in me
+look in my face while i snuff the sidle of evening
+longer
+who has done his day's work? who will soonest be through with
+his supper
+who wishes to walk with me
+
+i too am not a bit tamed, i too am untranslatable
+i sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world
+
+
+when silence flees before the voice of love
+of what expression does that god approve
+is dulcet song or flowing verse his choice
+or stately prose, made regal by his voice
+speaks love in couplets, or in epics grand
+and is love humble, or does he command
+
+there is no language that love does not speak
+to-day commanding and to-morrow meek
+one hour laconic and the next verbose
+with hope triumphant and with doubt morose
+his varying moods all forms of speech employ
+to give expression to his painful joy
+
+to voice the phases of his joyful pain
+he rings the changes on the poet’s strain
+yet not in epic, epigram or verse
+can love the passion of his heart rehearse
+all speech, all language, is inadequate
+there are no words with love commensurate
+
+
+between the little here and larger yonder
+there is a realm (or so one day i read
+where faithful spirits love-enchained may wander
+till some remembering soul from earth has fled
+then, reunited, they go forth afar
+from sphere to sphere, where wondrous angels are
+
+not many spirits in that realm are waiting
+not many pause upon its shores to rest
+for only love, intense and unabating
+can hold them from the longer, higher quest
+and after grief has wept itself to sleep
+few hearts on earth their vital memories keep
+
+should i pass on, across the mystic border
+let thy love link me to that pallid land
+i would not seek the heavens of finer order
+until thy barque had left this coarser strand
+how desolate such journeyings would be
+though straight to him, were they not shared by thee
+
+wert thou first called (dear god, how could i bear it
+i should enchain thee with my love, i know
+not great enough am i to free thy spirit
+from all these tender ties, and bid thee go
+nor would a soul, unselfish as thine own
+forget so soon, and speed to heaven alone
+
+on earth we find no joy in ways diverging
+how could we find it in the worlds unseen
+i know old memories from my bosom surging
+would keep thee waiting in that land between
+until together, side by side, we trod
+a path of stars, in our great search for god
+
+
+midway upon the route, he paused athirst
+and suddenly across the wastes of heat
+he saw cool waters gleaming, and a sweet
+green oasis upon his vision burst
+a tender dream, long in his bosom nursed
+spread love’s illusive verdure for his feet
+the barren sands changed into golden wheat
+the way grew glad that late had seemed accursed
+
+she shone, the woman wonder, on his soul
+the garden spot, for which men toil and wait
+the house of rest, that is each heart’s demand
+but when, at last, he reached the gleaming goal
+he found, oh, cruel irony of fate
+but desert sun upon the desert sand
+
+
+i know the need of the world
+though it would not have me know
+it would hide its sorrow deep
+where only god may go
+yet its secret it can not keep
+it tells it awake, or asleep
+it tells it to all who will heed
+and he who runs may read
+the need of the world i know
+
+i know the need of the world
+when it boasts of its wealth the loudest
+when it flaunts it in all men’s eyes
+when its mien is the gayest and proudest
+oh! ever it lies—it lies
+for the sound of its laughter dies
+in a sob and a smothered moan
+and it weeps when it sits alone
+the need of the world i know
+
+i know the need of the world
+when the earth shakes under the tread
+of men who march to the fight
+when rivers with blood are red
+and there is no law but might
+and the wrong way seems the right
+when he who slaughters the most
+is all men’s pride and boast
+the need of the world i know
+
+i know the need of the world
+when it babbles of gold and fame
+it is only to lead us astray
+from the thing that it dare not name
+for this is the sad world’s way
+oh! poor blind world grown grey
+with the need of a thing so near
+with the want of a thing so dear
+the need of the world i know
+
+the need of the world is love
+deep under the pride of power
+down under its lust of greed
+for the joys that last but an hour
+there lies forever its need
+for love is the law and the creed
+and love is the unnamed goal
+of life, from man to the mole
+love is the need of the world
+
+
+skilled mariner, and counted sane and wise
+that was a curious thing which chanced to me
+so good a sailor on so fair a sea
+with favouring winds and blue unshadowed skies
+led by the faithful beacon of love’s eyes
+past reef and shoal, my life-boat bounded free
+and fearless of all changes that might be
+under calm waves, where many a sunk rock lies
+
+a golden dawn; yet suddenly my barque
+strained at the sails, as in a cyclone’s blast
+and battled with an unseen current’s force
+for we had entered when the night was dark
+that old tempestuous gulf stream of the past
+but for love’s eyes, i had not kept the course
+
+
+his art was loving; eres set his sign
+upon that youthful forehead, and he drew
+the hearts of women, as the sun draws dew
+love feeds love’s thirst as wine feeds love of wine
+nor is there any potion from the vine
+which makes men drunken like the subtle brew
+of kisses crushed by kisses; and he grew
+inebriated with that draught divine
+
+yet in his sober moments, when the sun
+of radiant summer paled to lonely fall
+and passion’s sea had grown an ebbing tide
+from out the many, memory singled one
+full cup that seemed the sweetest of them all—
+
+
+
+the world an abject vassal to her charms
+and kings competing for a single smile
+yet love she knew not, till upon this isle
+she gave surrender to abducting arms
+not theseus, who plucked her lips’ first kiss
+not menelaus, lawful mate and spouse
+such answering passion in her heart could rouse
+or wake such tumult in her soul as this
+let come what will, let greece and asia meet
+let heroes die and kingdoms run with gore
+let devastation spread from shore to shore—
+resplendent helen finds her bondage sweet
+the whole world fights her battles, while she lies
+sunned in the fervour of young paris’ eyes
+
+
+the battles ended, ardent paris dead
+of faithful menelaus long bereft
+time is the only suitor who is left
+helen survives, with youth and beauty fled
+by hate remembered, but by love forgot
+dethroned and driven from her high estate
+unhappy helen feels the lash of fate
+and knows at last an unloved woman’s lot
+the grecian marvel, and the trojan joy
+the world’s fair wonder, from her palace flies
+the furies follow, and great helen dies
+a death of horror, for the pride of troy
+
+helen, immortal in her beauty, lives
+
+
+lais when young, and all her charms in flower
+lais, whose beauty was the fateful light
+that led great ships to anchor in the night
+and bring their priceless cargoes to her bower
+lais yet found her cup of sweet turned sour
+great plato’s pupil, from his lofty height
+zenocrates, unmoved, had seen the white
+sweet wonder of her, and defied her power
+
+she snared the world in nets of subtle wiles
+the proud, the famed, all clamoured at her gate
+dictators plead, inside her portico
+wisdom sought madness, in her favouring smiles
+now was she made the laughing-stock of fate
+one loosed her clinging arms, and bade her go
+
+
+lais, when old and all her beauty gone
+lais, the erstwhile courted pleasure queen
+walked homeless through corinth
+one mocked her mien—
+one tossed her coins; she took them and passed on
+down by the harbour sloped a terraced lawn
+where fountains played; she paused to view the scene
+a marble palace stood in bowers of green
+’twas here of old she revelled till the dawn
+
+through yonder portico her lovers came—
+hero and statesman, athlete, merchant, sage
+they flung the whole world’s treasures at her feet
+to buy her favour and exalt her shame
+
+and faded like a phantom down the street
+
+
+you are here, and you are wanted
+though a waif upon life’s stair
+though the sunlit hours are haunted
+with the shadowy shapes of care
+still the great one, the all-seeing
+called your spirit into being—
+gave you strength for any fate
+since your life by him was needed
+all your ways by him are heeded—
+you can trust and you can wait
+
+you can wait to know the meaning
+of the troubles sent your soul
+of the chasms intervening
+’twixt your purpose and your goal
+of the sorrows and the trials
+of the silence and denials
+ofttimes answering to your pleas
+of the stinted sweets of pleasure
+and of pain’s too generous measure—
+you can wait the _why_ of these
+
+forth from planet unto planet
+you have gone, and you will go
+space is vast, but we must span it
+for life’s purpose is _to know
+earth retains you but a minute
+make the best of what lies in it
+light the pathway where you are
+there is nothing worth the doing
+that will leave regret or rueing
+as you speed from star to star
+
+you are part of the beginning
+you are parcel of to-day
+when he set his world to spinning
+you were flung upon your way
+when the system falls to pieces
+when this pulsing epoch ceases
+when the _is_ becomes the _was
+you will live, for you will enter
+in the great creative centre
+in the all-enduring cause
+
+
+
+sailing away on a summer sea
+out of the bleak march weather
+drifting away for a loaf and play
+just you and i together
+and it’s good-bye worry and good-bye hurry
+and never a care have we
+with the sea below and the sun above
+and nothing to do but dream and love
+sailing away together
+
+sailing away from the grim old town
+and tasks the town calls duty
+sailing away from walls of grey
+to a land of bloom and beauty
+and it’s good-bye to letters from our lessers and our betters
+to the cold world’s smile or its frown
+we sail away on a sunny track
+to find the summer and bring it back
+and love is our only duty
+
+
+afloat on a sea of passion
+without a compass or chart
+but the glow of your eye shows the sun is high
+by the sextant of my heart
+i know we are nearing the tropics
+by the languor that round us lies
+and the smile on your mouth says the course is south
+and the port is paradise
+
+we have left grey skies behind us
+we sail under skies of blue
+you are off with me on lovers’ sea
+and i am away with you
+we have not a single sorrow
+and i have but one fear—
+that my lips may miss one offered kiss
+from the mouth that is smiling near
+
+there is no land of winter
+there is no world of care
+there is bloom and mirth all over the earth
+and love, love everywhere
+our boat is the barque of pleasure
+and whatever port we sight
+the touch of your hand will make the land
+the harbour of pure delight
+
+
+
+i wrenched from a passing comet in its flight
+by that great force of two mad hearts aflame
+a soul incarnate, back to earth you came
+to glow like star-dust for a little night
+deep shadows hide you wholly from our sight
+the centuries leave nothing but your name
+tinged with the lustre of a splendid shame
+that blazed oblivion with rebellious light
+
+the mighty passion that became your cause
+still burns its lengthening path across the years
+we feel its raptures, and we see its tears
+and ponder on its retributive laws
+time keeps that deathless story ever new
+yet finds no answer, when we ask of you
+
+
+at argenteuil, i saw the lonely cell
+where heloise dreamed through her broken rest
+that baby lips pulled at her undried breast
+it needed but my woman’s heart to tell
+of those long vigils and the tears that fell
+when aching arms reached out in fruitless quest
+as after flight, wings brood an empty nest
+
+across the centuries there comes no sound
+of that vast anguish; not one sigh or word
+or echo of the mother loss has stirred
+the sea of silence, lasting and profound
+yet to each heart, that once has felt this grief
+sad memory restores time’s missing leaf
+
+
+but what of you?  who took the mother’s place
+when sweet expanding love its object sought
+was there a voice to tell her tragic lot
+and did you ever look upon her face
+was yours a cloistered seeking after grace
+or in the flame of adolescent thought
+were abelard’s departed passions caught
+to burn again in you and leave their trace
+
+conceived in nature’s bold primordial way
+you came to earth, a soul immaculate
+baptized in fire, with some great part to play
+what was that part, and wherefore hid from us
+immortal mystery, astrolabius
+
+
+when i shall meet god’s generous dispensers
+of all the riches in the heavenly store
+those lesser gods, who act as recompensers
+for loneliness and loss upon this shore
+methinks abashed, and somewhat hesitating
+my soul its wish and longing will declare
+lest they reply: ‘here are no bounties waiting
+we gave on earth, your portion and your share.’
+
+then shall i answer: ‘yea, i do remember
+the many blessings to my life allowed
+my june was always longer than december
+my sun was always stronger than my cloud
+my joy was ever deeper than my sorrow
+my gain was ever greater than my loss
+my yesterday seemed less than my to-morrow
+the crown looked always larger than the cross
+
+‘i have known love, in all its radiant splendour
+it shone upon my pathway to the end
+i trod no road that did not bloom with tender
+and fragrant blossoms, planted by some friend
+and those material things we call successes
+in modest measure, crowned my earthly lot
+yet was there one sweet happiness that blesses
+the life of woman, which to me came not
+
+‘i knew the hope of motherhood; a season
+i felt a fluttering heart beat ’neath my own
+a little cry—then silence.  for that reason
+i dare, to you, my only wish make known
+the babe who grew to angelhood in heaven
+i never watched unfold from child to man
+and so i ask, that unto me be given
+that motherhood, which was god’s primal plan
+
+‘all womankind he meant to share its glories
+he meant us all to nurse our babes to rest
+to croon them songs, to tell them sleepy stories
+else why the wonder of a woman’s breast
+he must provide for all earth’s cheated mothers
+in his vast heavens of shining sphere on sphere
+and with my son, there must be many others—
+my spirit children who will claim me here
+
+‘fair creatures by my loving thoughts created—
+too finely fashioned for a mortal birth—
+between the borders of two worlds they waited
+until they saw my spirit leave the earth
+in god’s great nursery they must be waiting
+to welcome me with many an infant wile
+now let me go and satisfy this longing
+to mother children for a little while.’
+
+
+as the grey twilight, tiptoed down the deep
+and shadowy valley, to the day’s dark end
+she whom i thought my ever-faithful friend
+fair-browed, calm-eyed and mother-bosomed sleep
+met me with smiles.  ‘poor longing heart, i keep
+sweet joy for you,’ she murmured.  ‘i will send
+one whom you love, with your own soul to blend
+in visions, as the night hours onward creep.’
+
+i trusted her; and watched by starry beams
+i slumbered soundly, free from all alarms
+then not my love, but one long banished came
+led by false sleep, down secret stairs of dreams
+and clasped me, unresisting in fond arms
+oh, treacherous sleep—to sell me to such shame
+
+
+meditating
+
+
+now have i fully fixed upon my part
+good-bye to dreams; for me a life of art
+beloved art!  oh, realm serene and fair
+above the mean and sordid world of care
+above earth’s small ambitions and desires
+art! art! the very word my soul inspires
+from foolish memories it sets me free
+not what has been, but that which is to be
+absorbs me now.  adieu to vain regret
+the bow is tensely drawn—the target set
+
+
+maid (_aside
+
+the night is dark and chill; the hour is late
+
+
+who knocks upon my door
+
+
+’tis i, your fate
+
+
+thou dost deceive, not me, but thine own self
+my fate is not a wandering, vagrant elf
+my fate is here, within this throbbing heart
+that beats alone for glory, and for art
+
+
+
+pray, let me in; i am so faint and cold
+
+outstretched hands
+
+maid (_indignantly
+
+methinks thou art not faint, however cold
+but rather too courageous, and most bold
+surprisingly ill-mannered, sir, and rude
+without an invitation to intrude
+into my very presence
+
+cupid (_warming his hands
+
+but, you see
+girls never mind a little chap like me
+they’re always watching for me on the sly
+and hoping i will call
+
+maid (_haughtily
+
+my heart has listened to a sweeter voice
+a clarion call that gives command—not choice
+and i have answered to that call, ‘i come’
+to other voices shall my ears be dumb
+to art alone i consecrate my life—
+art is my spouse, and i his willing wife
+
+cupid (_slowly_, _gazing in the grate
+
+art is a sultan, and you must divide
+his love with many another ill-fed bride
+now i know one who worships you alone
+
+maid (_impatiently
+
+i will not listen! for the dice is thrown
+and art has won me.  on my brow some day
+shall rest the laurel wreath—
+
+cupid (_sitting down and looking at_ maid _critically
+
+just let me say
+i think sweet orange blossoms under lace
+are better suited to your type of face
+
+maid (_ignoring interruption
+
+i yet shall stand before an audience
+that listens as one mind, absorbed, intense
+and with my genius i shall rouse its cheers
+still it to silence, soften it to tears
+or wake its laughter.  oh, the play! the play
+the play’s the thing!  my boy, _the play
+
+cupid (_suddenly clapping his hands
+
+oh, say
+i know a splendid role for you to take
+and one that always keeps the house awake—
+and calls for pretty dressing.  oh, it’s great
+
+maid (_excitedly
+
+well, well, what is it?  wherefore make me wait
+
+cupid (_tapping his brow_, _thoughtfully
+
+how is it those lines run—oh, now i know
+you make a stately entrance—measured—slow—
+to stirring music, then you kneel and say
+something about—to honour and obey—
+for better and for worse—till death do part
+
+maid (_angrily
+
+be still, you foolish boy; that is not _art
+
+cupid (_seriously
+
+she needs great skill who takes the role of wife
+in god’s stupendous drama human life
+
+maid (_suddenly becoming serious
+
+so i once thought!  oh, once my very soul
+was filled and thrilled with dreaming of that role
+life seemed so wonderful; it held for me
+no purpose, no ambition, but to be
+loving and loved.  my highest thought of fame
+was some day bearing my dear lover’s name
+alone, i ofttimes uttered it aloud
+or wrote it down, half timid, and all proud
+to see myself lost utterly in him
+as some small star might joy in growing dim
+when sinking in the sun; or as the dew
+forgetting the brief little life it knew
+in space, might on the ocean’s bosom fall
+and ask for nothing—only to give all
+
+cupid (_aside
+
+now, _that’s_ the talk—it’s music to my ear
+after that stuff on ‘art’ and a ‘career.’
+i hope she’ll keep it up
+
+maiden (_continuing her reverie
+
+again my dream
+shaped into changing pictures.  i would seem
+to see myself in beautiful array
+move down the aisle upon my wedding day
+and then i saw the modest living-room
+with lighted lamp, and fragrant plants in bloom
+and books and sewing scattered all about
+and just we two alone
+
+cupid (_in glee aside
+
+there’s not a doubt
+i’ll land her yet
+
+
+my dream kaleidoscope
+changed still again, and framed love’s dearest hope—
+the trinity of home; and life was good
+and all its deepest meaning understood
+
+‘_beautiful land of nod_.’  cupid _in ecstasy tiptoes about and clasps
+his hands in delight
+
+another scene! a matron in her prime
+i saw myself glide peacefully with time
+into the quiet middle years, content
+with simple joys the dear home circle lent
+my sons and daughters made my diadem
+i saw my happy youth renewed in them
+the pain of growing old lost all its sting
+for love stood near—in winter, as in spring
+
+dramatically
+
+’twas but a dream!  i woke all suddenly
+the world had changed!  and now life means to me
+my art—the stage—excitement and the crowd—
+the glare of many foot-lights—and the loud
+applause of men, as i cry in rage
+‘give me the dagger!’ or creep down the stage
+in that sleep-walking scene.  oh, art like mine
+will send the chills down every listener’s spine
+and when i choose, salt tears shall freely flow
+as in the moonlight i cry, ‘romeo!  romeo
+oh, wherefore art thou, romeo?’
+ay, ’tis done
+my dream of home life
+
+
+it is but begun
+
+
+the heart but once can dream a dream so fair
+and so henceforth love thoughts i do forswear
+since faith in love has crumbled to the dust
+in fame alone, i put my hope and trust
+
+
+
+here’s one who will explain yourself to you
+and make that old sweet dream of love come true
+fix up your foolish quarrel; time is brief—
+so waste no more of it in doubt or grief
+
+
+cupid (_in doorway
+
+warm lip to lip, and heart to beating heart
+the cast is made—my lady has her part
+
+
+
+
+is this the way to greet thy loving spouse
+but now returned from scenes of blood and strife
+i pray thee raise thy veil and let me gaze
+upon that beauty which hath greater power
+to conquer me than all the arts of war
+
+
+my beauty!  ay, my _beauty_!  i do hold
+in thy regard, no more an honoured place
+than yonder marble pillar, or the gold
+and jewelled wine-cup which thy lips caress
+thou wouldst degrade me in the people’s sight
+
+
+degrade thee, vashti?  rather do i seek
+to show my people who are gathered here
+how, as the consort of so fair a queen
+i feel more pride than as the mighty king
+for there be many rulers on the earth
+but only _one_ such queen.  come, raise thy veil
+
+
+ay! only _one_ such queen!  a queen is one
+who shares her husband’s greatness and his throne
+i am no more than yonder dancing girl
+who struts and smirks before a royal court
+but i will loose my veil and loose my tongue
+now listen, sire—my master and my king
+and let thy princes and the court give ear
+’tis time all heard how vashti feels her shame
+
+
+shame is no word to couple with thy name
+shame and a spotless woman may not meet
+even in a sentence.  choose another word
+
+
+ay, _shame_, my lord—there is no synonym
+that can give voice to my ignoble state
+to be a thing for eyes to gaze upon
+yet held an outcast from thy heart and mind
+to hear my beauty praised but not my worth
+to come and go at pleasure’s beck and call
+while barred from wisdom’s conclaves!  think ye _that
+a noble calling for a noble dame
+why, any concubine amongst thy train
+could play my royal part as well as i—
+were she as fair
+
+
+queen vashti, art thou _mad
+i would behead another did he dare
+to so besmirch thee with comparison
+
+vashti (_to the court
+
+gaze now your fill!  behold queen vashti’s eyes
+how large they gleam beneath her inch of brow
+how like a great white star, her splendid face
+shines through the midnight forest of her hair
+and see the crushed pomegranate of her mouth
+observe her arms, her throat, her gleaming breasts
+whereon the royal jewels rise and fall!—
+and note the crescent curving of her hips
+and lovely limbs suggested ’neath her robes
+gaze, gaze, i say, for these have made her queen
+she hath no mind, no heart, no dignity
+worth royal recognition and regard
+but her fair body approbation meets
+and whets the sated appetite of kings
+now ye have seen what she was bid to show
+the queen hath played her part and begs to go
+
+
+ay, vashti, go and never more return
+not only hast thou wronged thine own true lord
+and mocked and shamed me in the people’s eyes
+but thou hast wronged all princes and all men
+by thy pernicious and rebellious ways
+queens act and subjects imitate.  so let
+queen vashti weigh her conduct and her words
+or be no more called ‘queen!’
+
+
+i was a princess ere i was a queen
+and worthy of a better fate than this
+there lies the crown that made me queen in name
+here stands the woman—wife in name alone
+now, no more queen—nor wife—but woman still—
+ay, and a woman strong enough to be
+her own avenger
+
+
+
+tell me thy name
+
+
+my name, great sire, is esther
+
+
+so thou art esther?  esther! ’tis a name
+breathed into sound as softly as a sigh
+a woman’s name should melt upon the lips
+like love’s first kisses, and thy countenance
+is fit companion for so sweet a name
+
+
+thou art most kind.  i would my name and face
+were mine own making and not accident
+then i might feel elated at thy praise
+where now i feel confusion
+
+
+thou hast wit
+as well as beauty, esther.  both are gems
+that do embellish woman in man’s sight
+yet they are gems of second magnitude
+dost _thou_ possess the one great perfect gem—
+the matchless jewel of the world called _love
+
+
+sire, in the heart of every woman dwells
+that wondrous perfect gem
+
+
+then, esther, speak
+and tell me what is _love_!  i fain would know
+thy definition of that much-mouthed word
+by woman most employed—least understood
+
+
+what can a humble jewish maiden know
+that would instruct a warrior and a king
+i have but dreamed of love as maidens will
+while thou hast known its fulness.  all the world
+loves great ahasueras
+
+
+all the world
+are rarely loved as anything but kings
+love, as i see it in the court and camp
+means seeking royal favour.  i would know
+how love is fashioned in a maiden’s dreams
+
+
+sire, love seeks nothing that kings can bestow
+love is the king of all kings here below
+love makes the monarch but a bashful boy
+love makes the peasant monarch in his joy
+love seeks not place, all places are the same
+when lighted by the radiance of love’s flame
+who deems proud love could fawn to power and splendour
+hath known not love, but some base-born pretender
+
+
+if this be love, i would know more of it
+speak on, fair esther!  what is love beside
+
+
+love is in all things, all things are in love
+love is the earth, the sea, the skies above
+love is the bird, the blossom, and the wind
+love hath a million eyes, yet love is blind
+love is a tempest, awful in its might
+love is the silence of a moon-lit night
+love is the aim of every human soul
+and he who hath not loved hath missed life’s goal
+
+
+but tell me of thyself, of thine own dreams
+how wouldst thou love, and how be loved again
+
+
+who most doth love thinks least of love’s return
+she is content to feel the passion burn
+in her own bosom, and its sacred fire
+consumes each selfish purpose and desire
+’tis in the giving, love’s best rapture lies
+not in the counting of the things it buys
+
+
+yet, is there not vast anguish and despair
+in love that finds no answering word or smile
+
+
+so radiant is love, it lends a glow
+to each dark sorrow and to every woe
+to love completely is to part with pain
+nor is there mortal who can love in vain
+love is its own reward, it pays full measure
+and in love’s sharpest grief lies subtlest pleasure
+
+
+methinks, a mighty warrior, lord or king
+must in thy fancy play the lover’s part
+none else could wake such reverential thought
+
+
+when woman loves one born of lowly state
+her thought gives crown and sceptre to her mate
+yet be he king, or chief of some great clan
+she loves him but as woman loves a man
+monarch or peasant, ’tis the same, i wis
+when once she gives him love’s surrendering kiss
+
+
+
+what were thy thoughts, sweet esther?  something passed
+across thy face, that for a moment veiled
+thy soul from mine, and left me desolate
+thy thoughts were not of me
+
+
+ay, _all_ of thee
+i wondered, if in truth, thou wert content
+with me—thy choice.  was there no other one
+of all who passed before thee at thy court
+whose memory pursues thee with regret
+
+
+i do confess i much regret that day
+and wish i could relive it
+
+
+oh!  my lord
+
+
+yea!  i regret those hours i wasted on
+the poor procession that preceded thee
+hadst thou come first, then all the added wealth
+
+of one long day of loving thee were mine—
+a boundless fortune squandered.  though i live
+to three score years and ten, as i do hope
+in wedded love beside thee, that one day
+was filched from me and cannot be restored
+
+
+and then to think how frightened and abashed
+i hung outside thy gates from early morn
+not daring to go in and meet thine eyes
+till pitying twilight clothed me in her veil
+and evening walked beside me to thy door
+
+
+so it was thou, fair thief, who stole that day
+and made me poorer, by—how many hours
+
+
+full eight, i think.  they seemed a hundred then
+and now time flies a hundred times too fast
+
+
+then eight more kisses do i claim from thee
+this very hour—first tithes of many due
+i shall exact these payments as i will
+and if they be not ready on demand
+i’ll lock thee in the prison of my arms
+like this—and take them so—and so—and so
+
+
+but kings must think of other things than love
+and live for other aims than happiness
+i would not drag thee from thy altitude
+of mighty ruler and great conqueror
+to chain thee by my side
+
+
+such slavery
+would please me better than to conquer earth
+without thee, esther.  i have stood on heights
+and heard the cheers of multitudes below
+have known the loneliness of being great
+now, let me live and love thee, like a man
+forgetting i am king—
+i am content
+
+
+content is not the pathway to great deeds
+as man, i hold thee higher than all kings
+as king, thou must stand higher than all men
+in other eyes.  let no one say of me
+‘she spoiled his greatness by her littleness
+she made a languorous lover of a king
+and silenced war-cries on commanding lips—
+with honeyed kisses; made her woman’s arms
+preferred to armour, and her couch to tents
+until the kingdom, with no guiding hand
+plunged down to ruin.’
+
+
+thou wouldst have me go—
+so soon thy heart hath wearied
+
+
+my heart is bursting with its love for thee
+canst thou not feel its fervour?  but great men
+need wiser guidance than a woman’s heart
+my pride in thee is equal to my love
+and i would have thee greater than thou art—
+ay, greater than all other men on earth—
+though forced long years to feed my hungry heart
+on food of memories and wine of tears
+wert thou but winning glory and renown
+
+
+thou art most noble, esther; thou art fit
+to be the consort of a king of kings
+but i have chewed upon ambition’s husks
+and starved for love through all my manhood’s years
+and now the mighty gods have seen it fit
+to spread love’s banquet and to name thee host
+may i not feast my fill?  o esther, take
+the tempting nectar of those lips away
+and give me wine to rouse the brute in me
+to make me thirst for blood instead of love
+wine!  wine!  i say
+
+
+ahasueras, wait
+methinks good music is wine turned to sound
+here comes thy minstrel with an offering
+pressed from the ripened fruit of my fond heart
+mine own the words and mine the melody
+and may it linger longer in thine ear
+than on thy lip would stay the taste of wine
+sing on
+
+
+when from the field returning
+love is a warrior’s yearning
+love in his heart is burning
+love is his dream
+talk not to him of glory
+speak not of faces gory
+sing of love’s tender story
+make it thy theme
+sing of his lady’s tresses
+sing of the smile that blesses
+sing of the sweet caresses
+and yet again
+sing of fair children’s faces
+sing of the dear home graces
+sing till the vacant places
+ring with thy strain
+yet as the days go speeding
+shall he arise unheeding
+love songs or words of pleading
+strong in his might
+helmet and armour wearing
+hies he to deeds of daring
+forth to the battle faring
+back to the fight
+sing now of ranks contending
+sing of loud voices blending
+sing of great warriors sending
+death to their foes
+sing of war missiles humming
+strike into martial drumming
+sing of great victory coming
+as forth he goes
+back to the battle faring
+back into deeds of daring
+back to the fight
+
+
+no less a lover but a greater man
+a better warrior and a nobler king
+i will be from this hour for thy dear sake
+
+
+god finished woman in the twilight hour
+and said, ‘to-morrow thou shalt find thy place
+man’s complement, the mother of the race—
+with love the motive power—
+the one compelling power.’
+
+all night she dreamed and wondered.  with the light
+her lover came—and then she understood
+the purpose of her being.  life was good
+and all the world seemed right—
+and nothing was, but right
+
+she had no wish for any wider sway
+by all the questions of the world unvexed
+supremely loving and superbly sexed
+she passed upon her way—
+her feminine fair way
+
+but god neglected, when he fashioned man
+to fuse the molten splendour of his mind
+with that sixth sense he gave to womankind
+and so he marred his plan—
+ay, marred his own great plan
+
+she asked so little, and so much she gave
+that man grew selfish: and she soon became
+to god’s great sorrow and the whole world’s shame
+man’s sweet and patient slave—
+his uncomplaining slave
+
+yet in the nights (oh! nights so dark and long
+she clasped her little children to her breast
+and wept.  and in her anguish of unrest
+she thought upon her wrong
+she knew how great her wrong
+
+and one sad hour, she said unto her heart
+‘since thou art cause of all my bitter pain
+i bid thee abdicate the throne: let brain
+rule now, and do his part—
+his masterful, strong part.’
+
+she wept no more.  by new ambition stirred
+her ways led out, to regions strange and vast
+men stood aside and watched, dismayed, aghast
+and all the world demurred—
+misjudged her, and demurred
+
+still on and up, from sphere to widening sphere
+till thorny paths bloomed with the rose of fame
+who once demurred, now followed with acclaim
+the hiss died in the cheer—
+the loud applauding cheer
+
+she stood triumphant in that radiant hour
+man’s mental equal, and competitor
+but ah! the cost! from out the heart of her
+had gone love’s motive power—
+love’s all-compelling power
+
+
+i dreamed a voice, of one god-authorised
+cried loudly thro’ the world, ‘disarm!  disarm!’
+and there was consternation in the camps
+and men who strutted under braid and lace
+beat on their medalled breasts, and wailed, ‘undone!’
+the word was echoed from a thousand hills
+and shop and mill, and factory and forge
+where throve the awful industries of death
+hushed into silence.  scrawled upon the doors
+the passer read, ‘peace bids her children starve.’
+but foolish women clasped their little sons
+and wept for joy, not reasoning like men
+
+again the voice commanded: ‘now go forth
+and build a world for progress and for peace
+this work has waited since the earth was shaped
+but men were fighting, and they could not toil
+the needs of life outnumber needs of death
+leave death with god.  go forth, i say, and build.’
+
+and then a sudden, comprehensive joy
+shone in the eyes of men; and one who thought
+only of conquests and of victories
+woke from his gloomy reverie and cried
+‘ay, come and build!  i challenge all to try
+and i will make a world more beautiful
+than eden was before the serpent came.’
+and like a running flame on western wilds
+ambition spread from mind to listening mind
+and lo! the looms were busy once again
+and all the earth resounded with men’s toil
+
+vast palaces of science graced the world
+their banquet tables spread with feasts of truth
+for all who hungered.  music kissed the air
+once rent with boom of cannons.  statues gleamed
+from wooded ways, where ambushed armies hid
+in times of old.  the sea and air were gay
+with shining sails that soared from land to land
+a universal language of the world
+made nations kin, and poverty was known
+
+but as a word marked ‘obsolete,’ like war
+the arts were kindled with celestial fire
+new poets sang so homer’s fame grew dim
+and brush and chisel gave the wondering race
+sublimer treasures than old greece displayed
+men differed still; fierce argument arose
+for men are human in this human sphere
+but unarmed arbitration stood between
+and reason settled in a hundred hours
+what war disputed for a hundred years
+
+oh, that a voice, of one god-authorised
+might cry to all mankind, disarm!  disarm
+
+
+once in a time of trouble and of care
+i dreamed i talked with god about my pain
+with sleepland courage, daring to complain
+of what i deemed ungracious and unfair
+‘lord, i have grovelled on my knees in prayer
+hour after hour,’ i cried; ‘yet all in vain
+no hand leads up to heights i would attain
+no path is shown me out of my despair.’
+
+then answered god: ‘three things i gave to thee—
+clear brain, brave will, and strength of mind and heart
+all implements divine, to shape the way
+why shift the burden of thy toil on me
+till to the utmost he has done his part
+with all his might, let no man _dare_ to pray.’
+
+
+two thousand years had passed since christ was born
+when suddenly there rose a mighty host
+of women, sweeping to a central goal
+as many rivers sweep on to the sea
+they came from mountains, valleys, and from coasts
+and from all lands, all nations, and all ranks
+speaking all languages, but thinking one
+and that one language—peace
+
+‘listen,’ they said
+and straightway was there silence on the earth
+for men were dumb with wonder and surprise
+‘listen, o mighty masters of the world
+and hear the edict of all womankind
+since christ his new commandment gave to men
+have passed away, yet earth is red with blood
+the strong male rulers of the world proclaim
+their weakness, when we ask that war shall cease
+now will the poor weak women of the world
+proclaim their strength, and say that war shall end
+hear, then, our edict: never from this day
+will any woman on the crust of earth
+mother a warrior.  we have sworn the oath
+and will go barren to the waiting tomb
+rather than breed strong sons at war’s behest
+or bring fair daughters into life, to bear
+the pains of travail, for no end but war
+ay! let the race die out for lack of babes
+better a dying race than endless wars
+better a silent world than noise of guns
+and clash of armies
+
+‘long we asked for peace
+and oft you promised—but to fight again
+at last you told us, war must ever be
+while men existed, laughing at our plea
+for the disarmament of all mankind
+then in our hearts flamed such a mad desire
+for peace on earth, as lights the world at times
+with some great conflagration; and it spread
+from distant land to land, from sea to sea
+until all women thought as with one mind
+and spoke as with one voice; and now behold
+the great crusading syndicate of peace
+filling all space with one supreme resolve
+give us, o men, your word that war shall end
+disarm the world, and we will give you sons—
+sons to construct, and daughters to adorn
+a beautiful new earth, where there shall be
+fewer and finer people, opulence
+and opportunity and peace for all
+until you promise peace no shrill birth-cry
+shall sound again upon the aging earth
+we wait your answer.’
+
+and the world was still
+while men considered
+
+
+at times i am the mother of the world
+and mine seem all its sorrows, and its fears
+that rose, which in each mother-heart is curled
+the rose of pity, opens with my tears
+and, waking in the night, i lie and hark
+to the lone sobbing, and the wild alarms
+of my world-child, a wailing in the dark
+the child i fain would shelter in my arms
+i call to it (as from another room
+a mother calls, what time she cannot go
+‘sleep well, dear world; love hides behind this gloom
+there is no need for wakefulness or woe
+the long, long night is almost past and gone
+the day is near.’  and yet the world weeps on
+
+again i follow it, throughout the day
+with anxious eyes i see it trip and fall
+and hurt itself in many a foolish way
+childlike, unheeding warning word or call
+i see it grasp, and grasping, break the toys
+it cried to own, then toss them on the floor
+and, breathless, hurry after fancied joys
+that cease to please, when added to its store
+i see the lacerations on its hands
+made by forbidden tools; but when it weeps
+i also weep, as one who understands
+and having been a child, the memory keeps
+ah, my poor world, however wrong thy part
+still is there pity in my mother-heart
+
+
+i cried, ‘dear angel, lead me to the heights
+and spur me to the top.’
+the angel answered, ‘stop
+and set thy house in order; make it fair
+for absent ones who may be speeding there
+then will we talk of heights.’
+
+i put my house in order.  ‘now lead on!’
+the angel said, ‘not yet
+thy garden is beset
+by thorns and tares; go weed it, so all those
+who come to gaze may find the unvexed rose
+then will we journey on.’
+
+i weeded well my garden.  ‘all is done.’
+the angel shook his head
+‘a beggar stands,’ he said
+‘outside thy gates; till thou hast given heed
+and soothed his sorrow, and supplied his need
+say not that all is done.’
+
+the beggar left me singing.  ‘now at last—
+at last the path is clear.’
+‘nay, there is one draws near
+who seeks, like thee, the difficult highway
+he lacks thy courage; cheer him through the day
+then will we cry, “at last!”’
+
+i helped my weaker brother.  ‘now the heights
+oh, guide me, angel, guide!’
+the presence at my side
+with radiant face, said, ‘look, where are we now?’
+and lo! we stood upon the mountain’s brow—
+the heights, the shining heights
+
+
+not great vesuvius, in all his ire
+nor all the centuries, could hide your shame
+there is the little window where you came
+with eyes that woke the demon of desire
+and lips like rose leaves, fashioned out of fire
+and from the lava leaps the molten flame
+of your old sins.  the walls cry out your name—
+your face seems rising from the funeral pyre
+
+there must have dwelt, within your fated town
+full many a virtuous dame, and noble wife
+who made your beauty seem as star to sun
+how strange the centuries have handed down
+your name, fair julia, of immoral life
+and left the others to oblivion
+
+
+master of sweet and loving lore
+give us the open mind
+to know religion means no more
+no less, than being kind
+
+give us the comprehensive sight
+that sees another’s need
+and let our aim to set things right
+prove god inspired our creed
+
+give us the soul to know our kin
+that dwell in flock and herd
+the voice to fight man’s shameful sin
+against the beast and bird
+
+give us a heart with love so fraught
+for all created things
+that even our unspoken thought
+bears healing on its wings
+
+give us religion that will cope
+with life’s colossal woes
+and turn a radiant face of hope
+on troops of pigmy foes
+
+give us the mastery of our fate
+in thoughts so warm and white
+they stamp upon the brows of hate
+love’s glorious seal of light
+
+give us the strong, courageous faith
+that makes of pain a friend
+and calls the secret word of death
+‘beginning,’ and not ‘end.’
+
+
+what is right living?  just to do your best
+when worst seems easier.  to bear the ills
+of daily life with patient cheerfulness
+nor waste dear time recounting them
+to talk
+of hopeful things when doubt is in the air
+to count your blessings often, giving thanks
+and to accept your sorrows silently
+nor question why you suffer.  to accept
+the whole of life as one perfected plan
+and welcome each event as part of it
+to work, and love your work; to trust, to pray
+for larger usefulness and clearer sight
+this is right living, pleasing in god’s eyes
+though you be heathen, heretic or jew
+
+
+however inexplicable may seem
+event and circumstance upon this earth
+though favours fall on those whom none esteem
+and insult and indifference greet worth
+though poverty repays the life of toil
+and riches spring where idle feet have trod
+and storms lay waste the patiently tilled soil—
+yet justice sways the universe of god
+
+as undisturbed the stately stars remain
+beyond the glare of day’s obscuring light
+so justice dwells, though mortal eyes in vain
+seek it persistently by reason’s sight
+but when, once freed, the illumined soul looks out
+its cry will be, ‘o god, how could i doubt!’
+
+
+time looked me in the eyes while passing by
+the milestone of the year.  that piercing gaze
+was both an accusation and reproach
+no speech was needed.  in a sorrowing look
+more meaning lies than in complaining words
+and silence hurts as keenly as reproof
+
+oh, opulent, kind giver of rich hours
+how have i used thy benefits!  as babes
+unstring a necklace, laughing at the sound
+of priceless jewels dropping one by one
+so have i laughed while precious moments rolled
+into the hidden corners of the past
+and i have let large opportunities
+for high endeavour move unheeded by
+while little joys and cares absorbed my strength
+
+and yet, dear time, set to my credit this
+
+be patient with me.  though the sun slants west
+the day has not yet finished, and i feel
+necessity for action and resolve
+bear in upon my consciousness.  i know
+the earth’s eternal need of earnest souls
+and the great hunger of the world for love
+i know the goal to high achievement lies
+through the dull pathway of self-conquest first
+and on the stairs of little duties done
+we climb to joys that stand thy test.  o time
+be patient with me, and another day
+perchance, in passing by, thine eyes may smile
+
+
+in what i do i note the marring flaw
+the imperfections of the work i see
+nor am i one who rather _do_ than _be
+since its reversal is creation’s law
+
+nay, since there lies a better and a worse
+a lesser and a larger, in men’s view
+i would be better than the thing i do
+as god is greater than his universe
+
+he shaped himself before he shaped one world
+a million eons, toiling day and night
+he built himself to majesty and might
+before the planets into space were hurled
+
+and when creation’s early work was done
+what crude beginnings out of chaos came—
+a formless nebula, a wavering flame
+an errant comet, a voracious sun
+
+and, still unable to perfect his plan
+what awful creatures at his touch found birth—
+those protoplasmic monsters of the earth
+that owned the world before he fashioned man
+
+and now, behold the poor unfinished state
+of this, his latest masterpiece!  then why
+be troubled that no voice proclaims it great
+
+before me lie the cycling rounds of years
+with this small earth will die the thing i do
+the thing i am, goes journeying onward through
+a million lives, upon a million spheres
+
+my work i build, as best i can and may
+knowing all mortal effort ends in dust
+i build myself, not as i may, but must
+knowing, or good, or ill, that self must stay
+
+along the ages, out, and on, afar
+its journey leads, and must perforce be made
+likewise its choice, with things of shame and shade
+or up the path of light, from star to star
+
+when all these solar systems shall disperse
+perchance this labour, and this self-control
+may find reward; and my completed soul
+will fling in space, a little universe
+
+
+art thou alive?  nay, not too soon reply
+tho’ hand, and foot, and lip, and ear, and eye
+respond, and do thy bidding yet may be
+grim death has done his direst work with thee
+life, as god gives it, is a thing apart
+from active body and from beating heart
+it is the vital spark, the unseen fire
+that moves the mind to reason and aspire
+it is the force that bids emotion roll
+in mighty billows from the surging soul
+
+it is the light that grows from hour to hour
+and floods the brain with consciousness of power
+it is the spirit dominating all
+and reaching god with its imperious call
+until the shining glory of his face
+illuminates each sorrowful, dark place
+
+it is the truth that sets the bondsman free
+knowing he will be what he wills to be
+with its unburied dead the earth is sad
+art thou alive? proclaim it and be glad
+perchance the dead may hear thee and arise
+knowing they live, and _here_ is paradise
+
+
+i love this age of energy and force
+expectantly i greet each pregnant hour
+emerging from the all-creative source
+supreme with promise, imminent with power
+the strident whistle and the clanging bell
+the noise of gongs, the rush of motored things
+are but the prophet voices which foretell
+a time when thought may use unfettered wings
+
+too long the drudgery of earth has been
+a barrier ’twixt man and his own mind
+remove the stone, and lo! the christ within
+for he is there, and who so seeks shall find
+the great inventor is the modern priest
+he paves the pathway to a higher goal
+once from the grind of endless toil released
+man will explore the kingdom of his soul
+
+and all this restless rush, this strain and strife
+this noise and glare is but the fanfarade
+that ushers in the more majestic life
+where faith shall walk with science, unafraid
+i feel the strong vibrations of the earth
+i sense the coming of an hour sublime
+and bless the star that watched above my birth
+and let me live in this important time
+
+
+unto each mortal who comes to earth
+a ladder is given by god, at birth
+and up this ladder the soul must go
+step by step, from the valley below
+step by step, to the centre of space
+on this ladder of lives, to the starting place
+
+in time departed (which yet endures
+i shaped my ladder, and you shaped yours
+whatever they are—they are what we made
+a ladder of light, or a ladder of shade
+a ladder of love, or a hateful thing
+a ladder of strength, or a wavering string
+a ladder of gold, or a ladder of straw
+each is the ladder of righteous law
+
+we flung them away at the call of death
+we took them again with the next life breath
+for a keeper stands by the great birth gates
+as each soul passes, its ladder waits
+though mine be narrow, and yours be broad
+on my ladder alone can i climb to god
+on your ladder alone can your feet ascend
+for none may borrow, and none may lend
+
+if toil and trouble and pain are found
+twisted and corded, to form each round
+if rusted iron or mouldering wood
+is the fragile frame, you must make it good
+you must build it over and fashion it strong
+though the task be hard as your life is long
+for up this ladder the pathway leads
+to earthly pleasures and spirit needs
+and all that may come in another way
+shall be but illusion, and will not stay
+
+in useless effort, then, waste no time
+rebuild your ladder, and climb and climb
+
+
+who is a christian in this christian land
+of many churches and of lofty spires
+not he who sits in soft upholstered pews
+bought by the profits of unholy greed
+and looks devotion, while he thinks of gain
+not he who sends petitions from the lips
+that lie to-morrow in the street and mart
+not he who fattens on another’s toil
+and flings his unearned riches to the poor
+or aids the heathen with a lessened wage
+and builds cathedrals with an increased rent
+
+christ, with thy great, sweet, simple creed of love
+how must thou weary of earth’s ‘christian’ clans
+who preach salvation through thy saving blood
+while planning slaughter of their fellow men
+who is a christian?  it is one whose life
+is built on love, on kindness and on faith
+who holds his brother as his other self
+and hides no aim or purpose in his heart
+that will not chord with universal good
+
+though he be pagan, heretic or jew
+that man is christian and beloved of christ
+
+
+all your wonderful inventions
+all your houses vast and tall
+all your great gun-fronted vessels
+every fort and every wall
+with the passing of the ages
+they shall pass and they shall fall
+
+as you sit among the idols
+that your avarice gave birth
+as you count the hoarded treasures
+that you think of priceless worth
+time is digging tombs to hide them
+in the bosom of the earth
+
+there shall come a great convulsion
+or a rushing tidal wave
+or a sound of mighty thunders
+from a subterranean cave
+and a boasting world’s possessions
+shall be buried in one grave
+
+from the centuries of silence
+we are bringing back again
+buried vase and bust and column
+and the gods they worshipped then
+in the strange unmentioned cities
+built by prehistoric men
+
+did they steal, and lie, and slaughter
+did they steep their souls in shame
+did they sell eternal virtues
+just to win a passing fame
+did they give the gold of honour
+for the tinsel of a name
+
+we are hurrying all together
+toward the silence and the night
+there is nothing worth the seeking
+but the sun-kissed moral height—
+there is nothing worth the doing
+but the doing of the _right
+
+
+i asked the rock beside the road what joy existence lent
+it answered, ‘for a million years my heart has been content.’
+
+i asked the truffle-seeking swine, as rooting by he went
+‘what is the keynote of your life?’  he grunted out, ‘content.’
+
+i asked a slave, who toiled and sung, just what his singing meant
+he plodded on his changeless way, and said, ‘i am content.’
+
+i asked a plutocrat of greed, on what his thoughts were bent
+he chinked the silver in his purse, and said, ‘i am content.’
+
+i asked the mighty forest tree from whence its force was sent
+its thousand branches spoke as one, and said, ‘from discontent.’
+
+i asked the message speeding on, by what great law was rent
+god’s secret from the waves of space.  it said, ‘from discontent.’
+
+i asked the marble, where the works of god and man were blent
+what brought the statue from the block.  it answered, ‘discontent.’
+
+i asked an angel, looking down on earth with gaze intent
+how man should rise to larger growth.  quoth he, ‘through discontent.’
+
+
+slowly the people waken; they have been
+like weary soldiers, sleeping in their tents
+while traitors tiptoed through the silent camp
+intent on plunder.  suddenly a sound—
+a careless movement of too bold a thief—
+starts one dull sleeper; then another stirs
+a third cries out a warning, and at last
+the people are awake!  oh, when as one
+the many rise, united and alert
+with justice for their motto, they reflect
+the mighty force of god’s omnipotence
+and nothing stands before them.  lusty greed
+tyrannical corruption long in power
+and smirking cant (whose right hand robs and slays
+so that the left may dower church and school
+monopoly, whose mandate took from toil
+the mother earth, that idleness might loll
+and breed the monster of colossal wealth—
+all these must fall before the gathering force
+of public indignation.  that old strife
+which marks the progress of each century
+the war of right with might, is on once more
+and shame to him who does not take his stand
+
+this is the weightiest moment of all time
+and on the issues of the present hour
+a nation’s honour and a country’s peace
+a people’s future, ay, a world’s, depends
+
+until the vital questions of the day
+are solved and settled, and the spendthrift thieves
+who rob the coffers of the saving poor
+are led from fashion’s feasts to prison fare
+and taught the saving grace of honest work—
+till labour claims the privilege of toil
+and toil the proceeds of its labour shares—
+let no man sleep, let no man dare to sleep
+
+
+i am sorry in the gladness
+of the joys that crown my days
+for the souls that sit in sadness
+or walk uninviting ways
+
+on the radiance of my labour
+that a loving fate bestowed
+falls the shadow of my neighbour
+crushed beneath a thankless load
+
+as the canticle of pleasure
+from my lovelit altar rolls
+there is one discordant measure
+as i think of homeless souls
+
+and i know that grim old story
+preached from pulpits, is not so
+for no god could sit in glory
+and see sinners writhe below
+
+in that great eternal centre
+where all human life has birth
+boundless love and pity enter
+and flow downward to the earth
+
+and all souls in sin or sorrow
+are but passing through the night
+and i know on some to-morrow
+god will love them into light
+
+
+
+i heard a strange voice in the distance calling
+as from a star an echo might be falling
+
+it spoke four syllables, concise and brief
+charged with a god-sent message of relief
+
+hark to the new command and comfort borrow
+
+even as the master left his cross below
+and rose to paradise, let go, let go
+
+forget your wrongs, your troubles and your losses
+for with the tools of thought we build our crosses
+
+forget your griefs, all grudges and all fear
+and enter paradise—its gates are near
+
+heaven is a realm by loving souls created
+and hell was fashioned by the hearts that hated
+
+love, hope and trust; believe all joys are yours
+life pays the soul whose confidence endures
+
+the blows of adverse fate, by larger pleasures
+as after storms the soil yields fuller measures
+
+let go the cross; roll self—the stone—away
+and dwell with love in paradise to-day
+
+
+when the summer sun is shining
+and the green things push and grow
+oft my heart runs over measure
+with its flowing fount of pleasure
+as i feel the sea winds blow
+ah, then life is good, i know
+
+and i think of sweet birds building
+and of children fair and free
+and of glowing sun-kissed meadows
+and of tender twilight shadows
+and of boats upon the sea
+oh, then life seems good to me
+
+then unbidden and unwanted
+come the darker, sadder sights
+city shop and stifling alley
+where misfortune’s children rally
+and the hot crime-breeding nights
+and the dearth of god’s delights
+
+and i think of narrow prisons
+where unhappy songbirds dwell
+and of cruel pens and cages
+where some captured wild thing rages
+like a madman in his cell
+in the zoo, the wild beasts’ hell
+
+and i long to lift the burden
+of man’s selfishness and sin
+and to open wide earth’s treasures
+of god’s storehouse, full of pleasures
+for my dumb and human kin
+and to ask the whole world in
+
+
+between the ringing of bells and the musical clang of chimes
+i hear a sound like the breaking of chains, all through these
+christmas times
+for the thought of the world is waking out of a slumber deep and long
+and the race is beginning to understand how right can master wrong
+
+and the eyes of the world are opening wide, and great are the truths
+they see
+and the heart of the world is singing a song, and its burden is ‘be
+free!’
+now the thought of the world and the wish of the world and the song of
+the world will make
+a force so strong that the fetters forged for a million years must
+break
+
+fetters of superstitious fear have bound the race to creeds
+that hindered the upward march of man to the larger faith he needs
+fetters of greed and pride have made the race bow down to kings
+but the pompous creed and the costly throne must yield to simpler
+things
+
+the thought of the world has climbed above old paths for centuries
+and cloth and crown no longer mean the ‘vested power of god.’
+the race no longer bends beneath the weight of adam’s sin
+but stands erect and knows itself the maker’s first of kin
+
+and the need of the world and the wish of the world and the song of
+the world i hear
+all through the clanging and clashing of bells, this christmas time o’
+the year
+and i hear a sound like the breaking of chains, and it seems to say to
+in the voice of one who spoke of old, ‘the truth shall make men free.’
+
+
+upon december’s windy portico
+the old year stood, and looked out where the sun
+went wading down the west, through drifting clouds
+‘i, too, shall sink full soon to rest,’ he sighed
+‘and follow where my children’s feet have trod
+brave january, beauteous may and june
+my lovely daughters, and my valiant sons
+all, all save one, have left me for that bourne
+men call the past.  it seems but yesterday
+i saw fair august, laughing with the sea
+snaring the earth with her seductive wiles
+and making conquest, even of the sun
+yet has she gone, and left me here to mourn.’
+then spake december, from an open door
+‘father, the night grows cold; come in and rest
+sit with me here beside this glowing grate
+i have not left thee; thou art not alone
+my house is thine; all warm with love and light
+and bright with holly and with cedar sweet
+my stalwart arm is thine to lean upon
+the feast is spread, i only wait for thee
+god smiles upon thy dead, smile thou on me.’
+then through the open door the old year passed
+and darkness settled on the outer world
+
+
+however certain of the way thou art
+take not the self-appointed leader’s part
+follow no man, and by no man be led
+and no man lead.  _awake_, and go ahead
+thy path, though leading straight unto the goal
+might prove confusing to another soul
+the goal is central; but from east, and west
+and north, and south, we set out on the quest
+from lofty mountains, and from valleys low:—
+how could all find one common way to go
+
+lord buddha to the wilderness was brought
+lord jesus to the cross.  and yet, think not
+by solitude, or cross, thou canst achieve
+lest in thine own true self thou dost believe
+know thou art one, with life’s almighty source
+then are thy feet set on the certain course
+
+nor does it matter if thou feast, or fast
+or what thy creed—or where thy lot is cast
+in halls of pleasure or in crowded mart
+in city streets, or from all men apart—
+thy path leads to the light; and peace and power
+shall be thy portion, growing hour by hour
+follow no man, and by no man be led
+and no man lead.  but _know_ and go ahead
+
+
+what shall the leader be in that great day
+when we who sleep and dream that we are slaves
+shall wake and know that liberty is ours
+mark well that word—not yours, not mine, but ours
+for through the mingling of the separate streams
+of individual protest and desire
+in one united sea of purpose, lies
+the course to freedom
+
+when progression takes
+her undisputed right of way, and sinks
+the old traditions and conventions where
+they may not rise, what shall the leader be
+
+no mighty warrior skilled in crafts of war
+sowing earth’s fertile furrows with dead men
+and staining crimson god’s cerulean sea
+to prove his prowess to a shuddering world
+
+nor yet a monarch with a silly crown
+perched on an empty head, an in-bred heir
+to senseless titles and anemic blood
+
+no ruler, purchased by the perjured votes
+of striving demagogues whose god is gold
+not one of these shall lead to liberty
+the weakness of the world cries out for strength
+the sorrow of the world cries out for hope
+its suffering cries for kindness
+
+he who leads
+must then be strong and hopeful as the dawn
+that rises unafraid and full of joy
+above the blackness of the darkest night
+he must be kind to every living thing
+kind as the krishna, buddha and the christ
+and full of love for all created life
+oh, not in war shall his great prowess lie
+nor shall he find his pleasure in the chase
+too great for slaughter, friend of man and beast
+touching the borders of the unseen realms
+and bringing down to earth their mystic fires
+to light our troubled pathways, wise and kind
+and human to the core, so shall he be
+the coming leader of the coming time
+
+
+hear thou my prayer, great god of opulence
+give me no blessings, save as recompense
+for blessings which i lovingly bestow
+on needy stranger or on suffering foe
+if wealth, by chance, should on my path appear
+let wisdom and benevolence stand near
+and charity within my portal wait
+to guard me from acquaintance intimate
+
+yet in this intricate great art of living
+guide me away from misdirected giving
+and show me how to spur the laggard soul
+to strive alone once more to gain the goal
+
+repay my worldly efforts to attain
+only as i develop heart and brain
+nor brand me with the ‘dollar sign’ above
+a bosom void of sympathy and love
+
+if on the carrying winds my name be blown
+to any land or time beyond my own
+let it not be as one who gained the day
+by crowding others from the chosen way
+rather as one who missed the highest place
+pausing to cheer spent runners in the race
+the greater boon i ask, dear god, from thee
+
+
+thank god for life, in such an age as this
+rich with the promises of better things
+thank god for being part of this great nation’s heart
+whose strong pulsations are not ruled by kings
+
+our thanks for fearless and protesting speech
+when cloven hoofs show ’neath the robes of state
+for us no servile song of ‘kings can do no wrong.’
+not royal birth, but worth, makes rulers great
+
+thank god for peace within our border lands
+and for the love of peace within each soul
+who thinks on peace has wrought, mosaic-squares of thought
+in the foundation of our future goal
+
+our thanks for love, and knowledge of love’s laws
+love is a greater power than vested might
+love is the central source of all enduring force
+love is the law that sets the whole world right
+
+our thanks for that increasing torch of light
+the tireless hand of science holds abroad
+and may its growing blaze shine on all hidden ways
+till man beholds the silhouette of god
+
+
+i know it is early morning
+and hope is calling aloud
+and your heart is afire with youth’s desire
+to hurry along with the crowd
+but linger a bit by the roadside
+and lend a hand by the way
+’tis a curious fact that a generous act
+brings leisure and luck to a day
+
+i know it is only the noontime—
+there is chance enough to be kind
+but the hours run fast when noon has passed
+and the shadows are close behind
+so think while the light is shining
+and act ere the set of the sun
+for the sorriest woe that a soul can know
+is to think what it might have done
+
+i know it is almost evening
+but the twilight hour is long
+if you listen and heed each cry of need
+you can right full many a wrong
+for when we have finished the journey
+we will all look back and say
+‘on life’s long mile there was nothing worth while
+but the good we did by the way.’
+
+
+when with clanging and with ringing
+comes the year’s initial day
+i can feel the rhythmic swinging
+of the world upon its way
+and though right still wears a fetter
+and though justice still is blind
+time’s beyond is always better
+than the paths he leaves behind
+
+in our eons of existence
+as we circle through the night
+we annihilate the distance
+’twixt the darkness and the light
+from beginnings crude and lowly
+round and round our souls have trod
+through the circles, winding slowly
+up to knowledge and to god
+
+with each century departed
+some old evil found a tomb
+some old truth was newly started
+in propitious soil to bloom
+with each epoch some condition
+that has handicapped the race
+unto knowledge yields its place
+
+though in folly and in blindness
+and in sorrow still we grope
+yet in man’s increasing kindness
+lies the world’s stupendous hope
+for our darkest hour of errors
+is as radiant as the dawn
+set beside the awful terrors
+of the ages that have gone
+
+and above the sad world’s sobbing
+and the strife of clan with clan
+i can hear the mighty throbbing
+of the heart of god in man
+and a voice chants through the chiming
+of the bells, and seems to say
+we are climbing, we are climbing
+as we circle on our way
+
+
+life is a privilege.  its youthful days
+shine with the radiance of continuous mays
+to live, to breathe, to wonder and desire
+to feed with dreams the heart’s perpetual fire
+to thrill with virtuous passions and to glow
+with great ambitions—in one hour to know
+the depths and heights of feeling—god! in truth
+how beautiful, how beautiful is youth
+
+life is a privilege.  like some rare rose
+the mysteries of the human mind unclose
+what marvels lie in earth and air and sea
+what stores of knowledge wait our opening key
+what sunny roads of happiness lead out
+beyond the realms of indolence and doubt
+and what large pleasures smile upon and bless
+the busy avenues of usefulness
+
+life is a privilege.  though noontide fades
+and shadows fall along the winding glades
+though joy-blooms wither in the autumn air
+yet the sweet scent of sympathy is there
+pale sorrow leads us closer to our kind
+and in the serious hours of life we find
+depths in the soul of men which lend new worth
+and majesty to this brief span of earth
+
+life is a privilege.  if some sad fate
+sends us alone to seek the exit gate
+if men forsake us as the shadows fall
+still does the supreme privilege of all
+come in that reaching upward of the soul
+to find the welcoming presence at the goal
+and in the knowledge that our feet have trod
+paths that lead from and must lead back to god
+
+
+before the statue of a giant hun
+there stood a dwarf, misshapen and uncouth
+his lifted eyes seemed asking: ‘why, in sooth
+was i not fashioned like this mighty one
+would god show favour to an older son
+like earthly kings, and beggar without ruth
+another, who sinned only by his youth
+why should two lives in such divergence run?’
+
+strange, as he gazed, that from a vanished past
+no memories revived of war and strife
+of misused prowess, and of broken law
+that old hun’s spirit, in the dwarf re-cast
+lived out the sequence of an earthly life
+
+
+god, what a world, if men in street and mart
+felt that same kinship of the human heart
+which makes them, in the face of flame and flood
+rise to the meaning of true brotherhood
+
+
+among the virile hosts he passed along
+conspicuous for an undetermined grace
+of sexless beauty.  in his form and face
+god’s mighty purpose somehow had gone wrong
+then on his loom, he wove a careful song
+of sensuous threads; a wordy web of lace
+wherein the primal passions of the race
+and his own sins made wonder for the throng
+
+a little pen prick opened up a vein
+and gave the finished mesh a crimson blot—
+the last consummate touch of studied art
+but those who knew strong passion and keen pain
+looked through and through the pattern and found not
+one single great emotion of the heart
+
+
+when god had formed the universe, he thought
+of all the marvels therein to be wrought
+and to his aid then motherhood was brought
+
+‘my lesser self, the feminine of me
+she will go forth throughout all time,’ quoth he
+‘and make my world what i would have it be
+
+‘for i am weary, having laboured so
+and for a cycle of repose would go
+into that silence which but god may know
+
+‘therefore i leave the rounding of my plan
+to motherhood; and that which i began
+let woman finish in perfecting man
+
+‘she is the soil: the human mother earth
+she is the sun, that calls the seed to earth
+she is the gardener, who knows its worth
+
+‘from me, all seed, of any kind must spring
+divine the growth such seed and soil will bring
+for all is me, and i am everything.’
+
+thus having spoken to himself aloud
+his glorious face upon his breast he bowed
+and sought repose behind a wall of cloud
+
+come forth, o god! though great thy thought and good
+in shaping woman for true motherhood
+lord, speak again; she has not understood
+
+the centuries pass: the cycles roll along—
+the earth is peopled with a mighty throng
+yet men are fighting and the world goes wrong
+
+lord, speak again, ere yet it be too late
+unloved, unwanted souls come through earth’s gate
+the unborn child is given a dower of hate
+
+thy world progresses in all ways save one
+in motherhood, for which it was begun
+lord, lord, behold how little has been done
+
+children are spawned like fishes in the sand
+with ignorance and crime they fill the land
+lord, speak again, till mothers understand
+
+it is not all of motherhood to know
+conception pleasure or deliverance woe
+who plants the seed should help the shoot to grow
+
+better a barren soil than weed and tare
+or sickly plants that die for want of care
+in poisonous jungles, void of sun and air
+
+true motherhood is not alone to breed
+the human race; it is to know and heed
+its holiest purpose and its highest need
+
+lord, speak again, so woman shall be stirred
+with the full meaning of that mighty word
+true motherhood.  she has not rightly heard
+
+
+unhoused in deserts of accepted thought
+and lost in jungles of confusing creeds
+my soul strayed, homeless, finding its own needs
+unsatisfied with what tradition taught
+
+the pros and cons, the little ifs and ands
+the but and maybe, and the this and that
+on which the churches thicken and grow fat
+i found but structures built on shifting sands
+
+and all their heavens were strange and far away
+and all their hells were made of human hate
+and since for death i did not care to wait
+a heaven i fashioned for myself one day
+
+of happy thoughts i built it stone by stone
+with joy of life i draped each spacious room
+with love’s great light i drove away all gloom
+and in the centre i made god a throne
+
+and this dear heaven i set within my heart
+and carried it about with me alway
+and then the changing dogmas of the day
+seemed alien to my thoughts and held no part
+
+now as i take my heaven from place to place
+i find new rooms by love’s revealing light
+and death will give me but a larger sight
+to see my palace spreading into space
+
+
+on a bleak, bald hill with a dull world under
+the dreary world of the commonplace
+i have stood when the whole world seemed a blunder
+of dotard time, in an aimless race
+with worry about me and want before me—
+yet deep in my soul was a rapture spring
+that made me cry to the grey sky o’er me
+‘oh, i know this life is a goodly thing!’
+
+i have given sweet years to a thankless duty
+while cold and starving, though clothed and fed
+for a young heart’s hunger for joy and beauty
+is harder to bear than the need of bread
+i have watched the wane of a sodden season
+which let hope wither, and made care thrive
+and through it all, without earthly reason
+i have thrilled with the glory of being alive
+
+and now i stand by the great sea’s splendour
+where love and beauty feed heart and eye
+the brilliant light of the sun grows tender
+as it slants to the shore of the by and by
+i prize each hour as a golden treasure—
+a pearl time drops from a broken string
+and all my ways are the ways of pleasure
+and i know this life is a goodly thing
+
+and i know, too, that not in the seeing
+or having, or doing the things we would
+lies that deep rapture that comes from being
+and not from pleasure the heart may borrow
+that rare contentment for which we strive
+unless through trouble, and want, and sorrow
+it has thrilled with the glory of being alive
+
+
+there is no summit you may not attain
+no purpose which you may not yet achieve
+if you will wait serenely and believe
+each seeming loss is but a step toward gain
+
+between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain
+let nothing make you question, doubt or grieve
+give only good, and good alone receive
+and as you welcome joy, so welcome pain
+
+that which you most desire awaits your word
+throw wide the door and bid it enter in
+speak, and the strong vibrations shall be stirred
+speak, and above earth’s loud, unmeaning din
+your silent declarations shall be heard
+all things are possible to god’s own kin
+
+
+talk not of strength, until your heart has known
+and fought with weakness through long hours alone
+
+talk not of virtue, till your conquering soul
+has met temptation and gained full control
+
+boast not of garments, all unscorched by sin
+till you have passed, unscathed, through fires within
+
+oh, poor that pride the unscarred soldier shows
+who safe in camp, has never faced his foes
+
+
+a granite rock in the mountain side
+gazed on the world and was satisfied
+it watched the centuries come and go
+it welcomed the sunlight, yet loved the snow
+it grieved when the forest was forced to fall
+yet joyed when steeples rose, white and tall
+in the valley below it, and thrilled to hear
+the voice of the great town roaring near
+
+when the mountain stream from its idle play
+was caught by the mill wheel and borne away
+and trained to labour, the grey rock mused
+‘trees and verdure and stream are used
+by man the master; but i remain
+friend of the mountain, and star, and plain
+unchanged forever by god’s decree
+while passing centuries bow to me.’
+
+then all unwarned, with a mighty shock
+out of the mountain was wrenched the rock
+bruised and battered and broken in heart
+it was carried away to the common mart
+wrecked and ruined in piece and pride
+‘oh, god is cruel,’ the granite cried
+‘comrade of mountains, of stars the friend
+by all deserted, how sad my end.’
+
+a dreaming sculptor in passing by
+gazed at the granite with thoughtful eye
+then stirred with a purpose supremely grand
+he bade his dream in the rock expand
+and lo! from the broken and shapeless mass
+that grieved and doubted, it came to pass
+that a glorious statue of priceless worth
+and infinite beauty, adorned the earth
+
+
+‘_since sinus crossed the milky way_, _sixty thousand years have
+
+since sirius crossed the milky way
+full sixty thousand years have gone
+yet hour by hour, and day by day
+this tireless star speeds on and on
+
+methinks he must be moved to mirth
+by that droll tale of genesis
+which says creation had its birth
+for such a puny world as this
+
+to hear how one who fashioned all
+those solar systems, tier on tiers
+expressed in little adam’s fall
+the purpose of a million spheres
+
+and, witness of the endless plan
+to splendid wrath he must be wrought
+by pigmy creeds presumptuous man
+sends forth as god’s primeval thought
+
+perchance from half a hundred stars
+he hears as many curious things
+from venus, jupiter and mars
+and saturn with the beauteous rings
+
+there may be students of the cause
+who send their revelations out
+and formulate their codes of laws
+with heavens for faith and hells for doubt
+
+on planets old ere form or place
+was lent to earth, may dwell—who knows—
+a god-like and perfected race
+that hails great sirius as he goes
+
+in zones that circle moon and sun
+’twixt world and world, he may see souls
+whose span of earthly life is done
+still journeying up to higher goals
+
+and on dead planets grey and cold
+grim spectral souls, that harboured hate
+life after life, he may behold
+descending to a darker fate
+
+and on his grand majestic course
+he may have caught one glorious sight
+of that vast shining central source
+from which proceeds all life, all light
+
+since sirius crossed the milky way
+full sixty thousand years have gone
+no mortal man may bid him stay
+no mortal man may speed him on
+
+no mortal mind may comprehend
+what is beyond, what was before
+to god be glory without end
+let man be humble and adore
+
+
+at fontainebleau, i saw a little bed
+fashioned of polished wood, with gold ornate
+ambition, hope, and sorrow, ay, and hate
+once battled there, above a childish head
+and there in vain, grief wept, and memory plead
+it was so small! but ah, dear god, how great
+the part it played in one sad woman’s fate
+how wide the gloom, that narrow object shed
+
+the symbol of an over-reaching aim
+the emblem of a devastated joy
+it spoke of glory, and a blasted home
+of fleeting honours, and disordered fame
+and the lone passing of a fragile boy
+
+
+
+look in the eyes of trouble with a smile
+extend your hand and do not be afraid
+’tis but a friend who comes to masquerade
+and test your faith and courage for awhile
+
+fly, and he follows fast with threat and jeer
+shrink, and he deals hard blow on stinging blow
+but bid him welcome as a friend, and lo
+the jest is off—the masque will disappear
+
+
+is the way hard and thorny, oh, my brother
+do tempests beat, and adverse wild winds blow
+and are you spent, and broken, at each nightfall
+yet with each morn you rise and onward go
+brother, i know, i know
+i, too, have journeyed so
+
+is your heart mad with longing, oh, my sister
+are all great passions in your breast aglow
+does the white wonder of your own soul blind you
+and are you torn with rapture and with woe
+sister, i know, i know
+i, too, have suffered so
+
+is the road filled with snare and quicksand, pilgrim
+do pitfalls lie where roses seem to grow
+and have you sometimes stumbled in the darkness
+and are you bruised and scarred by many a blow
+pilgrim, i know, i know
+i, too, have stumbled so
+
+do you send out rebellious cry and question
+as mocking hours pass silently and slow
+does your insistent ‘wherefore’ bring no answer
+while stars wax pale with watching, and droop low
+i, too, have questioned so
+but now _i know_, _i know
+to toil, to strive, to err, to cry, to grow
+
+
+when from the prison of its body free
+my soul shall soar, before it goes to thee
+thou great creator, give it power to know
+the language of all sad, dumb things below
+and let me dwell a season still on earth
+before i rise to some diviner birth
+invisible to men, yet seen and heard
+and understood by sorrowing beast and bird—
+invisible to men, yet always near
+to whisper counsel in the human ear
+and with a spell to stay the hunter’s hand
+and stir his heart to know and understand
+to plant within the dull or thoughtless mind
+the great religious impulse to be kind
+
+before i prune my spirit wings and rise
+to seek my loved ones in their paradise
+yea! even before i hasten on to see
+that lost child’s face, so like a dream to me
+i would be given this intermediate role
+and carry comfort to each poor, dumb soul
+and bridge man’s gulf of cruelty and sin
+by understanding of his lower kin
+’twixt weary driver and the straining steed
+on wings of mercy would my spirit speed
+and each should know, before his journey’s end
+that in the other dwelt a loving friend
+from zoo and jungle, and from cage and stall
+i would translate each inarticulate call
+each pleading look, each frenzied act and cry
+and tell the story to each passer-by
+and of a spirit’s privilege possessed
+pursue indifference to its couch of rest
+and whisper in its ear until in awe
+it woke and knew god’s all-embracing law
+of universal life—the one in all
+
+
+
+‘hurry up!’
+no lingering by old doors of doubt—
+no loitering by the way
+no waiting a to-morrow car
+when you can board to-day
+success is somewhere down the track
+before the chance is gone
+accelerate your laggard pace
+swing on, i say, swing on—
+hurry up
+
+‘step lively!’
+belated souls are following fast
+they shout and signal, ‘wait.’
+conductor time brooks no delay
+he rings the bell of fate
+but you can give the man behind
+with one hand on the bar
+a final chance to brook defeat
+and board the moving car
+step lively
+
+‘move up!’
+make way for others as you sit
+or stand.  this crowded earth
+has room for every journeying soul
+en route to higher birth
+ay, room and comfort, if no one
+took double share or space
+nor let his greed and selfishness
+absorb another’s place
+move up
+
+‘hold fast!’
+the jolting switch of obstacles
+with jarring rails is near
+stand firm of foot, be strong of grip
+brace well and have no fear
+the maker of the car of life
+foresaw that curve—despair
+and hung the straps of faith, and hope
+so you might grasp them there
+hold fast
+
+
+send forth your heart’s desire, and work and wait
+the opportunities of life are brought
+to our own doors, not by capricious fate
+but by the strong compelling force of thought
+
+
+the wonderful age of the world i sing—
+the age of battery, coil and spring
+of steam, and storage, and motored thing
+
+though faith may slumber and art seem dead
+and all that is spoken has once been said
+and all that is written were best unread
+
+though hearts are iron and thoughts are steel
+and all that has value is mercantile
+yet marvellous truths shall the age reveal
+
+ay, greater the marvels this age shall find
+than all the centuries left behind
+when faith was a bigot and art was blind
+
+oh, sorry the search of the world for gods
+through faith that slaughters and art that lauds
+while reason sits on its throne and nods
+
+but out of the leisure that men will know
+when the cruel things of the sad earth go
+a faith that is knowledge shall rise and grow
+
+in the throb and whir of each new machine
+thinner is growing the veil between
+the visible earth and the worlds unseen
+
+the true religion shall leisure bring
+and art shall awaken and love shall sing
+oh, ho! for the age of the motored thing
+
+
+
+‘the night is cold, the hour is late, the world is bleak and drear
+who is it knocking at my door?’
+
+
+‘i am good cheer.’
+
+
+‘your voice is strange; i know you not; in shadows dark i grope
+what seek you here?’
+
+
+‘friend, let me in; my name is hope.’
+
+
+‘and mine is failure; you but mock the life you seek to bless
+pass on.’
+
+
+‘nay, open wide the door; i am success.’
+
+
+‘but i am ill and spent with pain; too late has come your wealth
+i cannot use it.’
+
+
+‘listen, friend; i am good health.’
+
+
+‘now, wide i fling my door.  come in, and your fair statements
+prove.’
+
+
+‘but you must open, too, your heart, for i am love.’
+
+
+we have outgrown the helmet and cuirass
+the spear, the arrow, and the javelin
+these crude inventions of a cruder age
+when men killed men to show their love of god
+and he who slaughtered most was greatest king
+we have outgrown the need of war
+should men
+unite in this one thought, all war would end
+
+disarm the world; and let all nations meet
+like men, not monsters, when disputes arise
+when crossed opinions tangle into snarls
+let courts untie them, and not armies cut
+when state discussions breed dissensions, let
+union and arbitration supersede
+the hell-created implements of war
+disarm the world! and bid destructive thought
+slip like a serpent from the mortal mind
+down through the marshes of oblivion.  soon
+a race of gods shall rise!  disarm!  disarm
+
+
+all wantonly in hours of joy
+i made a song of pain
+soon grief drew near, and paused to hear
+and sang the sad refrain
+again and yet again
+
+then recklessly in my despair
+i sang of hope one day
+and joy turned back upon life’s track
+and smiled, and came my way
+and sat her down to stay
+
+
+oh, a great world, a fair world, a true world i find it
+a sun that never forgets to rise
+on the darkest night, a star in the skies
+and a god of love behind it
+
+oh, a good life, a sweet life, a large life i take it
+is what he offers to you, and me
+a chance to do, and a chance to be
+whatever we chose to make it
+
+oh, a far way, a high way, a sure way he leads us
+and if the journey at times seems long
+we must trudge ahead, with a trustful song
+and know at the end he needs us
+
+
+
+
+the world is full of selfishness and greed
+lord, i would lave its sin
+
+
+yea, mortal, earth of thy good help has need
+go cleanse _thyself_ within
+
+
+mine ear is hurt by harsh and evil speech
+i would reform men’s ways
+
+
+there is but one convincing way to teach
+speak _thou_ but words of praise
+
+
+on every hand is wretchedness and grief
+despondency and fear
+lord, i would give my fellow men relief
+
+
+be, then, all hope, all cheer
+
+
+lord, i look outward and grow sick at heart
+such need of change i see
+
+
+mortal, look _in_.  do thy allotted part
+
+
+a weed is but an unloved flower
+go dig, and prune, and guide, and wait
+until it learns its high estate
+and glorifies some bower
+a weed is but an unloved flower
+
+all sin is virtue unevolved
+release the angel from the clod—
+go love thy brother up to god
+behold each problem solved
+all sin is virtue unevolved
+
+
+who is the strong?  not he who puts to test
+his sinews with the strong and proves the best
+but he who dwells where weaklings congregate
+and never lets his splendid strength abate
+
+who is the good?  not he who walks each day
+with moral men along the high, clean way
+but he who jostles gilded sin and shame
+yet will not sell his honour or his name
+
+who is the wise?  not he who from the start
+with wisdom’s followers has taken part
+but he who looks in folly’s tempting eyes
+and turns away, perceiving her disguise
+
+who is serene?  not he who flees his kind
+some mountain fastness, or some cave to find
+but he who in the city’s noisiest scene
+keeps calm within—he only is serene
+
+
+body and mind, and spirit, all combine
+to make the creature, human and divine
+
+of this great trinity no part deny
+
+affirm the body, beautiful and whole
+the earth-expression of immortal soul
+
+affirm the mind, the messenger of the hour
+to speed between thee and the source of power
+
+affirm the spirit, the eternal i—
+of this great trinity no part deny
+
+
+they stood before the angel at the gate
+the angel asked: ‘why should you enter in?’
+one said: ‘on earth my place was high and great;’
+and one: ‘i warned my fellow-men from sin;’
+another: ‘i was teacher of the faith
+i scorned my life and lived in love with death.’
+
+and one stood silent.  ‘speak!’ the angel said
+‘what earthly deed has sent you here to-day?’
+‘alas!  i did but follow where they led,’
+he answered sadly: ‘i had lost my way—
+so new the country, and so strange my flight
+i only sought for guidance and for light.’
+
+‘you have no passport?’  ‘none,’ the answer came
+‘i loved the earth, tho’ lowly was my lot
+i strove to keep my record free from blame
+and make a heaven about my humble spot
+a narrow life; i see it now, too late
+so, angel, drive me from the heavenly gate.’
+
+the angel swung the portal wide and free
+and took the sorrowing stranger by the hand
+‘nay, you alone,’ he said, ‘shall come with me
+of all this waiting and insistent band
+of what god gave, you built your paradise
+behold your mansion waiting in the skies.’
+
+
+unnumbered gods may unremembered die
+a thousand creeds may perish and pass by
+yet do i lift mine eyes to one on high
+
+unnamed be he from whom creation came
+there is no word whereby to speak his name
+but petty men have mouthed it into shame
+
+i lift mine eyes, and with a river’s force
+my love’s full tide goes sweeping on its course
+to that supreme and all-embracing source
+
+then back through all those thirsting channels roll
+the mighty billows of the over soul
+and i am he, the portion and the whole
+
+as little streams before the flood-tide flee
+as rivers vanish to become the sea
+
+
+oh, a word is a gem, or a stone, or a song
+or a flame, or a two-edged sword
+or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume
+or a drop of gall, is a word
+
+you may choose your word like a connoisseur
+and polish it up with art
+but the word that sways, and stirs, and stays
+is the word that comes from the heart
+
+you may work on your word a thousand weeks
+but it will not glow like one
+that all unsought, leaps forth white hot
+when the fountains of feeling run
+
+you may hammer away on the anvil of thought
+and fashion your word with care
+but unless you are stirred to the depths, that word
+shall die on the empty air
+
+for the word that comes from the brain alone
+alone to the brain will speed
+but the word that sways, and stirs, and stays
+oh! that is the word men heed
+
+
+lean on no mortal, love, and serve
+but it was never god’s intent
+your spirit from its path should swerve
+to gain another’s point of view
+as well might jupiter, or mars
+go seeking help from other stars
+instead of sweeping on, as you
+look to the great eternal cause
+and not to any man, for light
+look in; and learn the wrong, and right
+from your own soul’s unwritten laws
+and when you question, or demur
+let love be your interpreter
+
+
+if fallacies come knocking at my door
+i’d rather feed, and shelter full a score
+than hide behind the black portcullis, doubt
+and run the risk of barring one truth out
+
+and if pretension for a time deceive
+and prove me one too ready to believe
+far less my shame, than if by stubborn act
+i brand as lie, some great colossal fact
+
+on my soul’s door, the latch-string hangs outside
+within, the lighted candle.  let me guide
+some errant follies, on their wandering way
+rather, than wisdom give no welcoming ray
+
+
+god, what a glory, is this consciousness
+of life on life, that comes to those who seek
+nor would i, if i might, to others speak
+the fulness of that knowledge.  it can bless
+only the eager souls, that willing, press
+along the mountain passes, to the peak
+not to the dull, the doubting, or the weak
+will truth explain, or mystery confess
+
+not to the curious or impatient soul
+that in the start, demands the end be shown
+and at each step, stops waiting for a sign
+but to the tireless toiler toward the goal
+shall the great miracles of god be known
+and life revealed, immortal and divine
+
+
+upon the wreckage of thy yesterday
+design the structure of to-morrow.  lay
+strong corner stones of purpose, and prepare
+great blocks of wisdom, cut from past despair
+shape mighty pillars of resolve, to set
+deep in the tear-wet mortar of regret
+work on with patience.  though thy toil be slow
+yet day by day the edifice shall grow
+believe in god—in thine own self believe
+all that thou hast desired thou shalt achieve
+
+
+our souls should be vessels receiving
+the waters of love for relieving
+the sorrows of men
+
+for here lies the pleasure of living
+in taking god’s bounties, and giving
+the gifts back again
+
+
+when the great universe was wrought
+to might and majesty from naught
+the all creative force was—
+
+that force is thine.  though desolate
+the way may seem, command thy fate
+send forth thy thought—
+create—_create
+
+
+would you believe in presences unseen—
+in life beyond this earthly life
+be still: be stiller yet; and listen.  set the screen
+of silence at the portal of your will
+relax, and let the world go by unheard
+and seal your lips with some all-sacred word
+
+breathe ‘god,’ in any tongue—it means the same
+love absolute: think, feel, absorb the thought
+shut out all else; until a subtle flame
+shall permeate your being, and shall glow
+
+not in a moment, or an hour, or day
+the knowledge comes; the power is far too great
+to win in any desultory way
+no soul is worthy till it learns to wait
+day after day be patient, then, oh, soul
+month after month—till, lo! the goal! the goal
+
+
+give, and thou shalt receive.  give thoughts of cheer
+of courage and success, to friend and stranger
+and from a thousand sources, far and near
+strength will be sent thee in thy hour of danger
+
+give words of comfort, of defence, and hope
+to mortals crushed by sorrow and by error
+and though thy feet through shadowy paths may grope
+thou shalt not walk in loneliness or terror
+
+give of thy gold, though small thy portion be
+gold rusts and shrivels in the hand that keeps it
+it grows in one that opens wide and free
+who sows his harvest is the one who reaps it
+
+give of thy love, nor wait to know the worth
+of what thou lovest; and ask no returning
+and wheresoe’er thy pathway leads on earth
+there thou shalt find the lamp of love-light burning
+
+
+the leaf that ripens only in the sun
+is dull and shrivelled ere its race is run
+the leaf that makes a carnival of death
+must tremble first before the north wind’s breath
+
+the life that neither grief nor burden knows
+is dwarfed in sympathy before its close
+the life that grows majestic with the years
+must taste the bitter tonic found in tears
+
+
+fear is the twin of faith’s sworn foe, distrust
+if one breaks in your heart the other must
+
+fear is the open enemy of good
+it means the god in man misunderstood
+
+who walks with fear adown life’s road will meet
+his boon companions, failure and defeat
+
+but look the bully boldly in the eyes
+with mien undaunted, and he turns and flies
+
+
+between the finite and the infinite
+the missing link of love has left a void
+supply the link, and earth with heaven will join
+in one continued chain of endless life
+
+hell is wherever love is not, and heaven
+is love’s location.  no dogmatic creed
+no austere faith based on ignoble fear
+can lead thee into realms of joy and peace
+unless the humblest creatures on the earth
+are bettered by thy loving sympathy
+think not to find a paradise beyond
+
+there is no sudden entrance into heaven
+slow is the ascent by the path of love
+
+
+i value more than i despise
+my tendency to sin
+because it helps me sympathise
+with all my tempted kin
+
+he who has nothing in his soul
+that links him to the sod
+knows not that joy of self-control
+which lifts him up to god
+
+and i am glad my heart can say
+when others trip and fall
+‘i understand it all.’
+
+
+there was a thought he hid from all men’s eyes
+and by his prudent life and deeds of worth
+he left a goodly record upon earth
+as one both pure and wise
+
+but when he reached a dark unsightly door
+beyond the grave, there stood his secret thought
+it was the mansion he had built and brought
+to dwell in, on that shore
+
+
+an unkind tale was whispered in his ear
+he paused to hear
+his thoughts were food that helped a falsehood thrive
+and keep alive
+
+years dawned and died.  one day by venom’s tongue
+his name was stung
+he cried aloud, nor dreamed the lie was spawn
+of thoughts long gone
+
+each mental wave we send out from the mind
+or base, or kind
+completes its circuit, then with added force
+seeks its own source
+
+
+know this, ye restless denizens of earth
+know this, ye seekers after joy and mirth
+three things there are, eternal in their worth
+
+love, that outreaches to the humblest things
+work that is glad, in what it does and brings
+and faith that soars upon unwearied wings
+
+divine the powers that on this trio wait
+supreme their conquest, over time and fate
+love, work, and faith—these three alone are great
+
+
+‘the slothful man saith, there is a lion in the way; a lion is in the
+street.’—proverbs xxvi. 13
+
+there are no lions in the street
+no lions in the way
+go seek the goal, thou slothful soul
+awake, awake, i say
+
+thou dost but dream of obstacles
+in god’s great lexicon
+that word illstarred, no page has marred
+press on, i say, press on
+
+nothing can keep thee from thine own
+but thine own slothful mind
+to one who knocks, each door unlocks
+and he who seeks, shall find
+
+
+lean on thyself until thy strength is tried
+then ask god’s help; it will not be denied
+
+use thine own sight to see the way to go
+when darkness falls ask god the path to show
+
+think for thyself and reason out thy plan
+god has his work and thou hast thine, oh, man
+
+exert thy will and use it for control
+god gave thee jurisdiction of thy soul
+
+all thine immortal powers bring into play
+think, act, strive, reason, then look up and pray
+
+
+who climbs the mountain does not always climb
+the winding road slants downward many a time
+yet each descent is higher than the last
+has thy path fallen?  that will soon be past
+beyond the curve the way leads up and on
+think not thy goal forever lost or gone
+keep moving forward; if thine aim is right
+thou canst not miss the shining mountain height
+who would attain to summits still and fair
+must nerve himself through valleys of despair
+
+
+
+‘there is no death, there are no dead.’
+from zone to zone, from sphere to sphere
+the souls of all who pass from here
+by hosts of living thoughts are led
+and dark or bright, those souls must tread
+the paths they fashioned year on year
+for hells are built of hate or fear
+and heavens of love our lives have shed
+
+across unatlassed worlds of space
+and through god’s mighty universe
+with thoughts that bless or thoughts that curse
+each journeys to his rightful place
+oh, greater truth no man has said
+‘there is no death, there are no dead.’
+
+it lifts the mourner from the sod
+and bids him cast away the reed
+of some uncomforting poor creed
+and walk with knowledge for a rod
+it bids the doubter seek the broad
+vast fields, where living facts will feed
+all those whose patience proves their need
+of these immortal truths of god
+
+it brings before the eyes of faith
+those realms of radiance, tier on tier
+where our beloved ‘dead’ appear
+more beautiful because of ‘death.’
+it speaks to grief: ‘be comforted
+there is no death, there are no dead.’
+
+
+hers was a lonely, shadowed lot
+or so the unperceiving thought
+who looked no deeper than her face
+devoid of chiselled lines of grace—
+no farther than her humble grate
+and wondered how she bore her fate
+
+yet she was neither lone nor sad
+so much of love her spirit had
+she found an ever-flowing spring
+of happiness in everything
+
+so near to her was nature’s heart
+it seemed a very living part
+of her own self; and bud and blade
+and heat and cold, and sun and shade
+and dawn and sunset, spring and fall
+held raptures for her, one and all
+
+the year’s four changing seasons brought
+to her own door what thousands sought
+in wandering ways and did not find—
+diversion and content of mind
+
+she loved the tasks that filled each day—
+such menial duties; but her way
+of looking at them lent a grace
+to things the world deemed commonplace
+
+obscure and without place or name
+she gloried in another’s fame
+poor, plain and humble in her dress
+she thrilled when beauty and success
+and wealth passed by, on pleasure bent
+they made earth seem so opulent
+yet none of quicker sympathy
+when need or sorrow came, than she
+and so she lived, and so she died
+
+she woke as from a dream.  how wide
+and wonderful the avenue
+that stretched to her astonished view
+and up the green ascending lawn
+a palace caught the rays of dawn
+
+then suddenly the silence stirred
+with one clear keynote of a bird
+a thousand answered, till ere long
+the air was quivering bits of song
+she rose and wandered forth in awe
+amazed and moved by all she saw
+for, like so many souls who go
+away from earth, she did not know
+the cord was severed
+
+down the street
+with eager arms stretched forth to greet
+came one she loved and mourned in youth
+her mother followed; then the truth
+broke on her, golden wave on wave
+of knowledge infinite.  the grave
+the body and the earthly sphere
+were gone!  immortal life was here
+they led her through the palace halls
+from gleaming mirrors on the walls
+she saw herself, with radiant mien
+and robed in splendour like a queen
+while glory round about her shone
+‘all this,’ love murmured, ‘is your own.’
+
+and when she gazed with wondering eye
+and questioned whence and where and why
+love answered thus: ‘all heaven is made
+by thoughts on earth; your walls were laid
+year after year, of purest gold
+the beauty of your mind behold
+in this fair palace; ay, and more
+waits farther on, so vast your store
+i was not worthy when i died
+to take my place here at your side
+i toiled through long and weary years
+from lower planes to these high spheres
+and through the love you sent from earth
+i have attained a second birth
+oft when my erring soul would tire
+i felt the strength of your desire
+i heard you breathe my name in prayer
+and courage conquered weak despair
+ah! earth needs heaven, but heaven indeed
+of earth has just as great a need.’
+
+across the terrace with a bound
+there sped a lambkin and a hound
+and fondled her caressing hand
+
+‘you loved them into paradise’
+was answered to her questioning eyes
+‘you taught them love; love has no end
+nor does love’s life on form depend
+if there be mortal without love
+he wakes to no new life above
+if love in humbler things exist
+it must through other realms persist
+hark!  hear the heavenly cherubim!’
+
+then hushed and awed, with joy so vast
+it knew no future and no past
+she stood amidst the radiant throng
+that came to swell love’s welcoming song—
+this humble soul from earth’s far coast
+the centre of the heavenly host
+
+on earth they see her grave and say
+‘she lies there till the judgment day;’
+nor dream, so limited their thought
+what miracles by love are wrought
+
+
+o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done
+the ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won
+the port is near, the bells i hear, the people all exulting
+while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring
+but, o heart! heart! heart
+o the bleeding drops of red
+where on the deck my captain lies
+fallen, cold and dead
+
+o captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells
+rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills
+for you bouquets and ribboned wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding
+for you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning
+here captain! dear father
+this arm beneath your head
+it is some dream that on the deck
+you've fallen cold and dead
+
+my captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still
+my father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse or will
+the ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done
+from fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won
+exult, o shores! and ring, o bells
+but i, with mournful tread
+walk the deck my captain lies
+fallen, cold and dead
+
+
+
+for i dipt into the future, far as human eye could see
+saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be
+saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails
+pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales
+heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew
+from the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue
+far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm
+with the standards of the peoples plunging through the thunderstorm
+till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battleflags were furl'd
+in the parliament of man, the federation of the world
+there the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe
+and the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law
+
+
+
+the breaking waves dashed high
+on a stern and rock-bound coast
+and the woods against a stormy sky
+their giant branches tossed
+
+and the heavy night hung dark
+the hills and waters o'er
+when a band of exiles moored their bark
+on the wild new england shore
+
+not as the conqueror comes
+they, the true-hearted, came
+not with the roll of the stirring drums
+and the trumpet that sings of fame
+
+not as the flying come
+in silence and in fear
+they shook the depths of the desert's gloom
+with their hymns of lofty cheer
+
+amidst the storms they sang
+and the stars heard, and the sea
+and the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
+to the anthem of the free
+
+the ocean eagle soared
+from his nest by the white wave's foam
+and the rocking pines of the forest roared
+this was their welcome home
+
+there were men with hoary hair
+amidst that pilgrim band
+why had they come to wither there
+away from their childhood's land
+
+there was woman's fearless eye
+lit by her deep love's truth
+there was manhood's brow serenely high
+and the fiery heart of youth
+
+what sought they thus afar
+bright jewels of the mine
+the wealth of seas, the spoils of war
+they sought a faith's pure shrine
+
+ay, call it holy ground
+the soil where first they trod
+they have left unstained what there they found
+freedom to worship god
+
+
+
+for you know how i love thee
+tell me, darling, will you be
+the wife of bobby shaftoe
+
+for you've asked me twice before
+let us be good friends, no more
+no more, bobby shaftoe
+
+i will go away to sea
+and you ne'er again shall be
+a friend of bobby shaftoe
+
+for you've said so twice to-day
+stop! he's gone! dear bobby, stay
+dearest bobby shaftoe
+
+silver buckles on his knee
+but he'll come back and marry me
+pretty bobby shaftoe
+
+and how happy i shall be
+he'll come back and marry me
+dearest bobby shaftoe
+
+he cannot come back to thee
+and you ne'er again will see
+your dear bobby shaftoe
+
+and regret we ne'er shall see
+our friend bobby, true and free
+dearest bobby shaftoe
+
+and can ne'er come back to me
+but i'll ever faithful be
+true to bobby shaftoe
+
+i've come back to marry thee
+for i know you're true to me
+true to bobby shaftoe
+
+and now you've come back to me
+and we will always happy be
+dearest bobby shaftoe
+
+and we will united be
+heart and hand in unity
+mr. and mrs. shaftoe
+
+
+
+once there was a little boy
+whose name was robert reese
+and every friday afternoon
+he had to speak a piece
+
+so many poems thus he learned
+that soon he had a store
+of recitations in his head
+and still kept learning more
+
+now this it is what happened
+he was called upon one week
+and totally forgot the piece
+he was about to speak
+
+his brain he vainly cudgeled
+but no word was in his head
+and so he spoke at random
+and this is what he said
+
+my beautiful, my beautiful
+who standest proudly by
+it was the schooner hesperus
+the breaking waves dashed high
+
+why is the forum crowded
+what means this stir in rome
+under a spreading chestnut tree
+there is no place like home
+
+when freedom from her mountain height
+cried, "twinkle, little star
+shoot if you must this old gray head
+king henry of navarre
+
+if you're waking, call me early
+to be or not to be
+curfew must not ring to-night
+oh, woodman, spare that tree
+
+charge, chester, charge! on, stanley, on
+and let who will be clever
+the boy stood on the burning deck
+but i go on for ever
+
+
+the kid has gone to the colors
+and we don't know what to say
+the kid we have loved and cuddled
+stepped out for the flag to-day
+we thought him a child, a baby
+with never a care at all
+but his country called him man-size
+and the kid has heard the call
+
+he paused to watch the recruiting
+where, fired by the fife and drum
+he bowed his head to old glory
+and thought that it whispered: "come
+the kid, not being a slacker
+stood forth with patriot-joy
+to add his name to the roster
+and god, we're proud of the boy
+
+the kid has gone to the colors
+it seems but a little while
+since he drilled a schoolboy army
+in a truly martial style
+but now he's a man, a soldier
+and we lend him a listening ear
+for his heart is a heart all loyal
+unscourged by the curse of fear
+
+his dad, when he told him, shuddered
+his mother--god bless her!--cried
+yet, blest with a mother-nature
+she wept with a mother-pride
+but he whose old shoulders straightened
+was granddad--for memory ran
+to years when he, too, a youngster
+was changed by the flag to a man
+
+
+
+summer of 'sixty-three, sir, and conrad was gone away
+gone to the county-town, sir, to sell our first load of hay
+we lived in the log house yonder, poor as ever you've seen
+roschen there was a baby, and i was only nineteen
+
+conrad, he took the oxen, but he left kentucky belle
+how much we thought of kentuck, i couldn't begin to tell
+came from the blue-grass country; my father gave her to me
+when i rode north with conrad, away from the tennessee
+
+conrad lived in ohio--a german he is, you know
+the house stood in broad cornfields, stretching on, row after row
+the old folks made me welcome; they were kind as kind could be
+but i kept longing, longing, for the hills of the tennessee
+
+oh, for a sight of water, the shadowed slope of a hill
+clouds that hang on the summit, a wind that never is still
+but the level land went stretching away to meet the sky
+never a rise, from north to south, to rest the weary eye
+
+from east to west, no river to shine out under the moon
+nothing to make a shadow in the yellow afternoon
+only the breathless sunshine, as i looked out, all forlorn
+only the rustle, rustle, as i walked among the corn
+
+when i fell sick with pining, we didn't wait any more
+but moved away from the cornlands, out to this river shore
+the tuscarawas it's called, sir--off there's a hill, you see
+and now i've grown to like it next best to the tennessee
+
+i was at work that morning. some one came riding like mad
+over the bridge and up the road--farmer rouf's little lad
+bareback he rode; he had no hat; he hardly stopped to say
+
+he sweeps up all the horses--every horse that he can find
+morgan, morgan the raider, and morgan's terrible men
+with bowie knives and pistols, are galloping up the glen
+
+the lad rode down the valley, and i stood still at the door
+the baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor
+kentuck was out in the pasture; conrad, my man, was gone
+nearer, nearer, morgan's men were galloping, galloping on
+
+sudden i picked up baby, and ran to the pasture bar
+i led her down the gully that turns off there to the right
+and tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight
+
+as i ran back to the log house, at once there came a sound
+the ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground
+coming into the turnpike out from the white woman glen
+morgan, morgan the raider, and morgan's terrible men
+
+as near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm
+but still i stood in the doorway with baby on my arm
+they came, they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped along
+morgan, morgan the raider, and his band, six hundred strong
+
+weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through day
+pushing on east to the river, many long miles away
+to the border strip where virginia runs up into the west
+and fording the upper ohio before they could stop to rest
+
+on like the wind they hurried, and morgan rode in advance
+bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways glance
+and i was just breathing freely, after my choking pain
+when the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein
+
+frightened i was to death, sir; i scarce dared look in his face
+as he asked for a drink of water, and glanced around the place
+i gave him a cup, and he smiled--'twas only a boy, you see
+faint and worn, with dim blue eyes; and he'd sailed on the tennessee
+
+only sixteen he was, sir--a fond mother's only son
+off and away with morgan before his life had begun
+the damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish mouth
+and i thought me of the mother waiting down in the south
+
+oh! pluck was he to the backbone, and clear grit through and through
+boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't do
+the boy was dying, sir, dying as plain as plain could be
+worn out by his ride with morgan up from the tennessee
+
+but when i told the laddie that i too was from the south
+water came in his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth
+then swayed like a willow sapling, and fainted dead away
+
+i had him into the log house, and worked and brought him to
+i fed him, and i coaxed him, as i thought his mother'd do
+and when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone
+morgan's men--were miles; away, galloping, galloping on
+
+morgan--morgan is waiting for me; oh, what will morgan say
+but i heard a sound of tramping and kept him back from the door
+the ringing sound of horses' hoofs that i had heard before
+
+and on, on, came the soldiers--the michigan cavalry
+and fast they rode, and black they looked, galloping rapidly
+they had followed hard on morgan's track; they had followed day and night
+but of morgan and morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight
+
+and rich ohio sat startled through all those summer days
+for strange, wild men were galloping over her broad highways
+now here, now there, now seen, now gone, now north, now east, now west
+through river-valleys and cornland farms, sweeping away her best
+
+a bold ride and a long ride; but they were taken at last
+they almost reached the river by galloping hard and fast
+but the boys in blue were upon them ere ever they gained the ford
+and morgan, morgan the raider, laid down his terrible sword
+
+well, i kept the boy till evening--kept him against his will
+but he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still
+when it was cool and dusky--you'll wonder to hear me tell
+but i stole down to that gully, and brought up kentucky belle
+
+i kissed the star on her forehead--my pretty gentle lass
+but i knew that she'd be happy back in the old blue-grass
+a suit of clothes of conrad's, with all the money i had
+and kentuck, pretty kentuck, i gave to the worn-out lad
+
+i guided him to the southward as well as i know how
+the boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow
+and then the glow it faded, and my heart began to swell
+as down the glen away she went, my lost kentucky belle
+
+when conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high
+baby and i were both crying--i couldn't tell him why
+but a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall
+and a thin old horse, with drooping head, stood in kentucky's stall
+
+well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me
+he knew i couldn't help it--'twas all for the tennessee
+but, after the war was over, just think what came to pass
+a letter, sir; and the two were safe back in the old blue-grass
+
+the lad had got across the border, riding kentucky belle
+and kentuck, she was thriving, and fat, and hearty, and well
+he cared for her, and kept her, nor touched her with whip or spur
+ah! we've had many horses since, but never a horse like her
+
+
+
+i remember it all so very well, the first of my married life
+that i can't believe it was years ago--it doesn't seem true at all
+why, i just can see the little church where they made us man and wife
+and the merry glow of the first wood-fire that danced on our cottage
+
+to joe
+and then, he worked in the planing mill, and drew the best of pay
+and our cup was full when joey came,--our baby-boy, you know
+so, all went well till that mill burned down and the owner moved away
+
+it wasn't long till joe found work, but 'twas never quite the same
+never steady, with smaller pay; so to make the two ends meet
+he fell to inventin' some machine--i don't recall the name
+but he'd sit for hours in his little shop that opens toward the
+street
+
+sit for hours, bent over his work, his tools all strewn about
+i used to want to go in there to dust and sweep the floor
+but 'twas just as if 'twas the parson there, writing his sermon out
+even the baby--bless the child!--learned never to slam that door
+
+people called him a clever man, and folks from the city came
+to look at his new invention and wish my joe success
+and joe would say, "little woman,"--for that was my old pet-name
+dress
+
+i didn't want 'em, the grand new things, but it made the big tears start
+to see my joe with his restless eyes, his fingers worn away
+to the skin and bone, for he wouldn't eat; and it almost broke my heart
+when he tossed at night from side to side, till the dawning of the day
+
+of course, with it all he lost his place. i couldn't blame the man
+the foreman there at the factory, for losing faith in joe
+for his mind was never upon his work, but on some invention-plan
+as with folded arms and his head bent down he wandered to and fro
+
+yet, he kept on workin' at various things, till our little money went
+for wheels and screws and metal casts and things i had never seen
+and i ceased to ask, "any pay, my dear?" with the answer, "not a cent
+when his lock and his patent-saw had failed, he clung to that great
+machine
+
+i remember one special thing that year. he had bought some costly tool
+when we wanted our boy to learn to read--he was five years old, you
+he went to his class with cold, bare feet, till at last he came from
+school
+and gravely said, "don't send me back; the children tease me so
+
+i hadn't the heart to cross the child, so, while i sat and sewed
+he would rock his little sister in the cradle at my side
+and when the struggle was hardest and i felt keen hunger's goad
+driving me almost to despair--the little baby died
+
+her father came to the cradle-side, as she lay, so small and white
+i swear by heaven, i will give it up!" yet, like a thief, that night
+he stole to the shop and worked; his brow all wet with a clammy dew
+
+too proud to beg; too weak to work; and the weather cold and wild
+i can only think of one dark night when the rain poured from the sky
+and the wind went wailing round the house, like the ghost of my buried
+child
+
+joe still toiled in the little shop. somebody clicked the gate
+a neighbor-lad brought in the mail and laid it on the floor
+but i sat half-stunned by my heavy grief crouched over the empty grate
+till i heard--the crack of a pistol-shot; and i sprang to the workshop
+
+that door was locked and the bolt shut fast. i could not cry, nor speak
+but i snatched my boy from the corner there, sick with a sudden dread
+and carried him out through the garden plot, forgetting my arms were weak
+forgetting the rainy torrent that beat on my bare young head
+
+the front door yielded to my touch. i staggered faintly in
+fearing--_what_? he stood unharmed, though the wall showed a
+jagged hole
+in his trembling hand, his aim had failed, and the great and deadly sin
+of his own life's blood was not yet laid on the poor man's tortured soul
+
+but the pistol held another charge, i knew; and like something mad
+i shook my fist in my poor man's face, and shrieked at him, fierce and
+
+all of a sudden, he bowed his head, while from his nerveless hand
+that hung so limp, i almost feared to see the pistol fall
+a hopeless man. my plan has failed. that letter tells you all
+
+then for a moment the house was still as ever the house of death
+only the drip of the rain outside, for the storm was almost o'er
+but no;--there followed another sound, and i started, caught my breath
+as a stalwart man with a heavy step came in at the open door
+
+i shall always think him an angel sent from heaven in a human guise
+he must have guessed our awful state; he couldn't help but see
+there was something wrong; but never a word, never a look in his eyes
+told what he thought, as in kindly way he talked to joe and me
+
+he was come from a thriving city firm, and they'd sent him here to say
+that _one_ of joe's inventions was a great, successful thing
+and which do you think? his window-catch that he'd tinkered up one day
+and we were to have a good per cent on the sum that each would bring
+
+and then the pleasant stranger went, and we wakened as from a dream
+my man bent down his head and said, "little woman, you've saved my life
+the worn look gone from his dear gray eyes, and in its place, a gleam
+from the sun that has shone so brightly since, on joe and his happy
+
+
+
+there sat two glasses filled to the brim
+on a rich man's table, rim to rim
+one was ruddy and red as blood
+and one was clear as the crystal flood
+
+said the glass of wine to his paler brother
+i can tell of banquet and revel and mirth
+where i was king, for i ruled in might
+for the proudest and grandest souls of earth
+fell under my touch, as though struck with blight
+from the heads of kings i have torn the crown
+from the heights of fame i have hurled men down
+i have blasted many an honored name
+i have taken virtue and given shame
+i have tempted youth with a sip, a taste
+that has made his future a barren waste
+or than any army beneath the sky
+i have made the arm of the driver fail
+and sent the train from the iron rail
+i have made good ships go down at sea
+and the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me
+fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall
+and my might and power are over all
+ho, ho, pale brother," said the wine
+
+said the water glass: "i cannot boast
+of a king dethroned, or a murdered host
+but i can tell of hearts that were sad
+by my crystal drops made bright and glad
+of thirsts i have quenched and brows i have laved
+of hands i have cooled, and souls i have saved
+i have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain
+slipped from the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain
+i have burst my cloud-fetters, and dropped from the sky
+and everywhere gladdened the prospect and eye
+i have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain
+i have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain
+i can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill
+that ground out the flour, and turned at my will
+i can tell of manhood debased by you
+that i have uplifted and crowned anew
+i cheer, i help, i strengthen and aid
+i gladden the heart of man and maid
+i set the wine-chained captive free
+and all are better for knowing me
+
+these are the tales they told each other
+the glass of wine, and its paler brother
+as they sat together, filled to the brim
+on a rich man's table, rim to rim
+
+
+
+london "punch
+
+broad for the self-complacent british sneer
+his length of shambling limb, his furrowed face
+
+his gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair
+his garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease
+his lack of all we prize as debonair
+of power or will to shine, of art to please
+
+judging each step, as though the way were plain
+reckless, so it could point its paragraph
+of chief's perplexity, or people's pain
+
+beside this corpse, that bears for winding-sheet
+the stars and stripes he lived to rear anew
+between the mourners at his head and feet
+say, scurril jester, is there room for you
+
+yes, he had lived to shame me from my sneer
+to lame my pencil and confute my pen
+to make me own this hind, of princes peer
+this rail-splitter, a true-born king of men
+
+my shallow judgment i had learned to rue
+noting how to occasion's height he rose
+how his quaint wit made home-truth seem more true
+how, iron-like, his temper grew by blows
+
+how humble, yet how hopeful he could be
+how in good fortune and in ill the same
+nor bitter in success, nor boastful he
+thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame
+
+he went about his work--such work as few
+ever had laid on head, and heart, and hand
+as one who knows where there's a task to do
+man's honest will must heaven's good grace command
+
+who trusts the strength will with the burden grow
+that god makes instruments to work his will
+if but that will we can arrive to know
+nor tamper with the weights of good and ill
+
+so he went forth to battle, on the side
+that he felt clear was liberty's and right's
+as in his peasant boyhood he had plied
+his warfare with rude nature's thwarting mights
+
+the uncleared forest, the unbroken soil
+the iron bark that turns the lumberer's axe
+the rapid, that o'erbears the boatman's toil
+the prairie, hiding the mazed wanderer's tracks
+
+the ambushed indian and the prowling bear
+such were the needs that helped his youth to train
+rough culture--but such trees large fruit may bear
+if but their stocks be of right girth and grain
+
+so he grew up, a destined work to do
+and lived to do it: four long, suffering years
+ill-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report, lived through
+and then he heard the hisses change to cheers
+
+the taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise
+and took both with the same unwavering mood
+till, as he came on light, from darkling days
+and seemed to touch the goal from where he stood
+
+a felon hand, between the goal and him
+beached from behind his back, a trigger prest
+and those perplexed and patient eyes were dim
+those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to rest
+
+the words of mercy were upon his lips
+forgiveness in his heart and on his pen
+when this vile murderer brought swift eclipse
+to thoughts of peace on earth, goodwill to men
+
+the old world and the new, from sea to sea
+utter one voice of sympathy and shame
+sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high
+sad life, cut short as its triumph came
+
+
+somewhat back from the village street
+stands the old-fashioned country-seat
+across its antique portico
+tall poplar trees their shadows throw
+and, from its station in the hall
+an ancient timepiece says to all
+never--forever
+
+half-way up the stairs it stands
+and points and beckons with its hands
+from its case of massive oak
+like a monk who, under his cloak
+crosses himself, and sighs, alas
+with sorrowful voice to all who pass
+never--forever
+
+by day its voice is low and light
+but in the silent dead of night
+distinct as a passing footstep's fall
+it echoes along the vacant hall
+along the ceiling, along the floor
+and seems to say at each chamber door
+never--forever
+
+through days of sorrow and of mirth
+through days of death and days of birth
+through every swift vicissitude
+of changeful time, unchanged it has stood
+and as if, like god, it all things saw
+it calmly repeats those words of awe
+never--forever
+
+in that mansion used to be
+free-hearted hospitality
+his great fires up the chimney roared
+the stranger feasted at his board
+but, like the skeleton at the feast
+that warning timepiece never ceased
+never--forever
+
+there groups of merry children played
+there youths and maidens dreaming strayed
+oh, precious hours! oh, golden prime
+and affluence of love and time
+even as a miser counts his gold
+those hours the ancient timepiece told
+never--forever
+
+from that chamber, clothed in white
+the bride came forth on her wedding night
+there, in that silent room below
+the dead lay, in his shroud of snow
+and, in the hush that followed the prayer
+was heard the old clock on the stair
+never--forever
+
+all are scattered, now, and fled
+some are married, some are dead
+and when i ask, with throbs of pain
+as in the days long since gone by
+the ancient timepiece makes reply
+never-forever
+
+never here, forever there
+where all parting, pain, and care
+and death, and time, shall disappear
+forever there, but never here
+the horologe of eternity
+sayeth this incessantly
+never--forever
+
+
+
+we had forgotten you, or very nearly
+you did not seem to touch us very nearly
+of course we thought about you now and then
+especially in any time of trouble
+we knew that you were good in time of trouble
+but we were very ordinary men
+
+and there were always other things to think of
+there's lots of things a man has got to think of
+his work, his home, his pleasure, and his wife
+and so we only thought of you on sunday
+sometimes, perhaps, not even on a sunday
+because there's always lots to fill one's life
+
+and, all the while, in street or lane or byway
+in country lane, in city street, or byway
+you walked among us, and we did  not see
+your feet were bleeding as you walked our pavements
+how did we miss your footprints on our pavements
+can there be other folk as blind as we
+
+now we remember; over here in flanders
+this hideous warfare seems to make things clear
+we never thought about you much in england
+but now that we are far away from england
+we have no doubts, we know that you are here
+
+you helped us pass the jest along the trenches
+where, in cold blood, we waited in the trenches
+you touched its ribaldry and made it fine
+you stood beside us in our pain and weakness
+we're glad to think you understand our weakness
+somehow it seems to help us not to whine
+
+we think about you kneeling in the garden
+ah, god, the agony of that dread garden
+we know you prayed for us upon the cross
+if anything could make us glad to bear it
+pain--death--the uttermost of human loss
+
+though we forgot you--you will not forget us
+we feel so sure that you will not forget us
+but stay with us until this dream is past
+and so we ask for courage, strength, and pardon
+especially, i think, we ask for pardon
+and that you'll stand beside us to the last
+
+
+
+that lightly draws its breath
+and feels its life in every limb
+what should it know of death
+
+i met a little cottage girl
+she was eight years old, she said
+her hair was thick with many a curl
+that clustered round her head
+
+she had a rustic, woodland air
+and she was wildly clad
+her eyes were fair, and very fair
+
+how many may you be
+and wondering looked at me
+
+she answered, "seven are we
+and two of us at conway dwell
+and two are gone to sea
+
+my sister and my brother
+dwell near them with my mother
+
+and two are gone to sea
+yet ye are seven!--i pray you tell
+sweet maid, how this may be
+
+then did the little maid reply
+two of us in the church-yard lie
+beneath the church-yard tree
+
+your limbs they are alive
+if two are in the church-yard laid
+then ye are only five
+
+the little maid replied
+and they are side by side
+
+my kerchief there i hem
+and there upon the ground i sit
+and sing a song to them
+
+when it is light and fair
+i take my little porringer
+and eat my supper there
+
+in bed she moaning lay
+till god released her of her pain
+and then she went away
+
+and, when the grass was dry
+together round her grave we played
+
+and i could run and slide
+my brother john was forced to go
+and he lies by her side
+
+quick was the little maid's reply
+
+their spirits are in heaven
+the little maid would have her will
+and said, "nay, we are seven
+
+
+
+what to a novice she could say
+of courtship, love and matrimony
+quoth echo plainly,--'matter-o'-money
+
+a dashing damsel, gay and pert
+a pattern of inconstancy
+or selfish, mercenary flirt
+quoth echo, sharply,--'nary flirt
+
+that long has lured the dear deceiver
+she promise to amend her life
+and sin no more; can i believe her
+quoth echo, very promptly,--'leave her
+
+on me should venture to bestow it
+pray should i act the wiser part
+to take the treasure or forego it
+quoth echo, with decision,--'go it
+
+to bind her fate in hymen's fetter
+she vow she means to die a maid
+in answer to my loving letter
+quoth echo, rather coolly,-'let her
+
+i find my heart entwined about
+with cupid's dear, delicious chain
+so closely that i can't get out
+quoth echo, laughingly,--'get out
+
+as pure and fair as heaven can make her
+will share my labor and my rest
+till envious death shall overtake her
+quoth echo (sotto voce),--'take her
+
+
+
+it's noon when thirty-five is due
+an' she comes on time like a flash of light
+an' you hear her whistle "too-tee-too
+long 'fore the pilot swings in sight
+bill madden's drivin' her in to-day
+an' he's calling his sweetheart far away
+gertrude hurd lives down by the mill
+you might see her blushin'; she knows it's bill
+
+six-five, a.m. there's a local comes
+makes up at bristol, runnin' east
+an' the way her whistle sings and hums
+is a livin' caution to man and beast
+every one knows who jack white calls
+little lou woodbury, down by the falls
+summer or winter, always the same
+she hears her lover callin' her name
+
+but at one fifty-one, old sixty-four
+boston express, runs east, clear through
+drowns her rattle and rumble and roar
+with the softest whistle that ever blew
+an' away on the furthest edge of town
+sweet sue winthrop's eyes of brown
+shine like the starlight, bright and clear
+when she hears the whistle of abel gear
+
+along at midnight a freight comes in
+leaves berlin sometime--i don't know when
+but it rumbles along with a fearful din
+till it reaches the y-switch there and then
+the clearest notes of the softest bell
+that out of a brazen goblet fell
+wake nellie minton out of her dreams
+to her like a wedding-bell it seems
+
+tom willson rides on the right-hand side
+givin' her steam at every stride
+an' he touches the whistle, low an' clear
+for lulu gray on the hill, to hear
+
+so it goes all day an' all night
+till the old folks have voted the thing a bore
+old maids and bachelors say it ain't right
+for folks to do courtin' with such a roar
+but the engineers their kisses will blow
+from a whistle valve to the girls they know
+an' stokers the name of their sweethearts tell
+with the "too-too-too" and the swinging bell
+
+
+
+she stood at the bar of justice
+a creature wan and wild
+in form too small for a woman
+in features too old for a child
+for a look so worn and pathetic
+was stamped on her pale young face
+it seemed long years of suffering
+must have left that silent trace
+
+with kindly look yet keen
+and your age?"--"i am turned fifteen
+he slowly and gravely read
+with stealing three loaves of bread
+
+and i hope that you can show
+the charge to be false. now, tell me
+are you guilty of this, or no
+a passionate burst of weeping
+was at first her sole reply
+but she dried her eyes in a moment
+and looked in the judge's eye
+
+my father and mother are dead
+and my little brothers and sisters
+were hungry and asked me for bread
+at first i earned it for them
+by working hard all day
+but somehow, times were bad, sir
+and the work all fell away
+
+the weather was bitter cold
+the young ones cried and shivered
+so what was i to do, sir
+i am guilty, but do not condemn
+i _took_--oh, was it _stealing
+the bread to give to them
+
+every man in the court-room
+gray-beard and thoughtless youth
+knew, as he looked upon her
+that the prisoner spake the truth
+out from their pockets came kerchiefs
+out from their eyes sprung tears
+and out from their old faded wallets
+treasures hoarded for years
+
+the judge's face was a study
+the strangest you ever saw
+as he cleared his throat and murmured
+for one so learned in such matters
+so wise in dealing with men
+he seemed, on a simple question
+sorely puzzled, just then
+
+but no one blamed him or wondered
+when at last these words he heard
+is, for the present, deferred
+and no one blamed him or wondered
+when he went to her and smiled
+and tenderly led from the court-room
+himself, the "guilty" child
+
+
+where did you come from, baby dear
+
+where did you get your eyes so blue
+
+what makes the light in them sparkle and spin
+
+where did you get that little tear
+
+what makes your forehead so smooth and high
+
+what makes your cheek like a warm white rose
+
+whence that three-cornered smile of bliss
+
+where did you get that pearly ear
+
+where did you get those arms and hands
+
+feet, whence did you come, you darling things
+
+how did they all just come to be you
+
+but how did you come to us, you dear
+
+
+
+the sea! the sea! the open sea
+the blue, the fresh, the ever free
+without a mark, without a bound
+it runneth the earth's wide regions round
+it plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies
+or like a cradled creature lies
+
+i'm on the sea! i'm on the sea
+i am where i would ever be
+with the blue above and the blue below
+and silence wheresoe'er i go
+if a storm should come and awake the deep
+what matter? _i_ shall ride and sleep
+
+i love, oh, how i love to ride
+on the fierce, foaming, bursting tide
+when every mad wave drowns the moon
+or whistles aloud his tempest tune
+and tells how goeth the world below
+and why the southwest blasts do blow
+
+i never was on the dull, tame shore
+but i loved the great sea more and more
+and back i flew to her billowy breast
+like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest
+and a mother she _was_, and _is_, to me
+for i was born on the open sea
+
+i've lived, since then, in calm and strife
+full fifty summers a sailor's life
+with wealth to spend and a power to range
+but never have sought nor sighed for change
+and death, whenever he comes to me
+shall come on the wild, unbounded sea
+
+
+
+and here he paused a while
+to fringe his words the merest mite
+with something of a smile
+a smile that found its image
+in a face of beauteous mold
+whose liquid eyes were peeping
+from a broidery of gold
+
+if--" then he stopped again
+as if his heart had bubbled o'er
+and overflowed his brain
+his lips were twitching nervously
+o'er what they had to tell
+and timed the quavers with the eyes
+that gently rose and fell
+
+and held them in his own
+that on her cheeks had blown
+the throbbing of her heart
+that told how love had entered in
+and claimed its every part
+
+with just the faintest sigh
+but what's the reason why
+forbore its sweets to tell
+has any pigs to sell
+
+
+slowly england's sun was setting o'er the hilltops far away
+filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day
+and the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair
+he with footsteps slow and weary, she with sunny floating hair
+he with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she with lips all cold and white
+struggling to keep back the murmur, "curfew must not ring to-night
+
+with its turrets tall and gloomy, with its walls dark, damp and cold
+at the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh
+cromwell will not come till sunset," and her lips grew strangely white
+as she breathed the husky whisper: "curfew must not ring to-night
+
+like the piercing of an arrow, like a deadly poisoned dart
+every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour
+i have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right
+now i'm old i will not falter,--curfew, it must ring to-night
+
+wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow
+as within her secret bosom bessie made a solemn vow
+she had listened while the judges read without a tear or sigh
+and her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright
+in an undertone she murmured, "curfew must not ring to-night
+
+with quick step she bounded forward, sprung within the old church door
+left the old man treading slowly paths so oft he'd trod before
+not one moment paused the maiden, but with eye and cheek aglow
+mounted up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro
+as she climbed the dusty ladder on which fell no ray of light
+up and up,--her white lips saying: "curfew must not ring to-night
+
+she has reached the topmost ladder; o'er her hangs the great, dark bell
+awful is the gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell
+lo, the ponderous tongue is swinging--'tis the hour of curfew now
+and the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled her brow
+shall she let it ring? no, never! flash her eyes with sudden light
+as she springs and grasps it firmly--"curfew shall not ring to-night
+
+out she swung--far out; the city seemed a speck of light below
+there 'twixt heaven and earth suspended as the bell swung to and fro
+and the sexton at the bell-rope, old and deaf, heard not the bell
+sadly thought, "that twilight curfew rang young basil's funeral knell
+still the maiden clung more firmly, and with trembling lips so white
+said, to hush her heart's wild throbbing: "curfew shall not ring to-night
+
+it was o'er; the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more
+firmly on the dark old ladder where, for hundred years before
+human foot had not been planted. the brave deed that she had done
+should be told long ages after; as the rays of setting sun
+crimson all the sky with beauty, aged sires with heads of white
+tell the eager, listening children, "curfew did not ring that night
+
+o'er the distant hills came cromwell; bessie sees him, and her brow
+lately white with fear and anguish, has no anxious traces now
+at his feet she tells her story, shows her hands all bruised and torn
+and her face so sweet and pleading, yet with sorrow pale and worn
+touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light
+
+wide they flung the massive portal; led the prisoner forth to die
+all his bright young life before him. 'neath the darkening english sky
+bessie comes with flying footsteps, eyes aglow with love-light sweet
+kneeling on the turf beside him, lays his pardon at his feet
+in his brave, strong arms he clasped her, kissed the face upturned
+and white
+whispered, "darling, you have saved me--curfew will not ring to-night
+
+
+
+have you heard how a girl saved the lightning express
+of kate shelly, whose father was killed on the road
+were he living to-day, he'd be proud to possess
+such a daughter as kate. ah! 'twas grit that she showed
+on that terrible evening when donahue's train
+jumped the bridge and went down, in the darkness and rain
+
+she was only eighteen, but a woman in size
+with a figure as graceful and lithe as a doe
+with peach-blossom cheeks, and with violet eyes
+and teeth and complexion like new-fallen snow
+with a nature unspoiled and unblemished by art
+with a generous soul, and a warm, noble heart
+
+men linger at home by their bright-blazing fires
+the wind wildly howls with a horrible sound
+and shrieks through the vibrating telegraph wires
+the fierce lightning flashes along the dark sky
+the rain falls in torrents; the river rolls by
+
+the scream of a whistle; the rush of a train
+the sound of a bell! a mysterious light
+that flashes and flares through the fast falling rain
+a rumble! a roar! shrieks of human affright
+the falling of timbers! the space of a breath
+a splash in the river; then darkness and death
+
+kate shelly recoils at the terrible crash
+the sounds of destruction she happens to hear
+she springs to the window--she throws up the sash
+and listens and looks with a feeling of fear
+the tall tree-tops groan, and she hears the faint cry
+of a drowning man down in the river near by
+
+her heart feebly flutters, her features grow wan
+and then through her soul in a moment there flies
+a forethought that gives her the strength of a man
+she turns to her trembling old mother and cries
+then out through the door disappears in the shower
+
+she flies down the track through the pitiless rain
+she reaches the river--the water below
+whirls and seethes through the timbers. she shudders again
+then closely about her she gathers her gown
+and on the wet ties with a shiver sinks down
+
+then carefully over the timbers she creeps
+on her hands and knees, almost holding her breath
+the loud thunder peals and the wind wildly sweeps
+and struggles to hurry her downward to death
+but the thought of the train to destruction so near
+removes from her soul every feeling of fear
+
+with the blood dripping down from each torn, bleeding limb
+slowly over the timbers her dark way she feels
+her fingers grow numb and her head seems to swim
+her strength is fast failing--she staggers! she reels
+she falls--ah! the danger is over at last
+her feet touch the earth, and the long bridge is passed
+
+in an instant new life seems to come to her form
+she springs to her feet and forgets her despair
+on, on to moingona! she faces the storm
+she reaches the station--the keeper is there
+there's death on the bridge at the river to-night
+
+out flashes the signal-light, rosy and red
+then sounds the loud roar of the swift-coming train
+the hissing of steam, and there, brightly ahead
+the gleam of a headlight illumines the rain
+she heeds the red signal--she slackens, she's still
+
+ah! noble kate shelly, your mission is done
+your deed that dark night will not fade from our gaze
+an endless renown you have worthily won
+let the nation be just, and accord you its praise
+let your name, let your fame, and your courage declare
+what a _woman_ can do, and a _woman_ can dare
+
+
+
+an old wife sat by her bright fireside
+swaying thoughtfully to and fro
+in an easy chair, whose creaky craw
+told a tale of long ago
+while down by her side, on the kitchen floor
+stood a basket of worsted balls--a score
+
+the good man dozed o'er the latest news
+till the light in his pipe went out
+and, unheeded, the kitten with cunning paws
+rolled and tangled the balls about
+yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair
+swaying to and fro in the fire-light glare
+
+but anon, a misty teardrop came
+in her eyes of faded blue
+then trickled down in a furrow deep
+like a single drop of dew
+so deep was the channel--so silent the stream
+that the good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam
+
+yet marveled he much that the cheerful light
+of her eye had heavy grown
+and marveled he more at the tangled balls
+so he said in a gentle tone
+conceal not from me thy sorrows now
+
+then she spoke of the time when the basket there
+was filled to the very brim
+and now, there remained of the goodly pile
+but a single pair--for him
+there's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night
+
+whose wrappings were wont to lay
+in the basket, awaiting the needle's time
+now wandering so far away
+how the sprightly steps to a mother dear
+unheeded fell on the careless ear
+
+by the hearth there's a vacant seat
+and i miss the shadows from off the wall
+and the patter of many feet
+at the one pair of stockings to mend to-night
+
+and over the mountains bold
+was a land whose rivers and darkening caves
+were gemmed with the rarest gold
+then my first-born turned from the oaken door
+and i knew the shadows were only four
+
+and diminished the basket's store
+but his feet grew cold--so weary and cold
+they'll never be warm any more
+and this nook, in its emptiness, seemeth to me
+to give forth no voice but the moan of the sea
+
+and made them a home in its light
+and fairy fingers have taken their share
+to mend by the fireside bright
+some other baskets their garments will fill
+but mine, ah, mine is emptier still
+
+was taken by angels away
+and clad in a garment that waxeth not old
+in a land of continual day
+oh! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light
+when i mend the one pair of stockings to-night
+
+
+in the room below the young man sat
+with an anxious face and a white cravat
+a throbbing heart and a silken hat
+and various other things like that
+which he had accumulated
+and the maid of his heart was up above
+surrounded by hat and gown and glove
+and a thousand things which women love
+but no man knoweth the names thereof
+and the young man sat and--waited
+
+you will scarce believe the things i tell
+but the truth thereof i know full well
+though how may not be stated
+but i swear to you that the maiden took
+a sort of half-breed, thin stove-hook
+and heated it well in the gaslight there
+and thrust it into her head, or hair
+then she took something off the bed
+and hooked it onto her hair, or head
+and piled it high, and piled it higher
+and drove it home with staples of wire
+and the young man anxiously--waited
+
+then she took a thing she called a "puff
+and some very peculiar whitish stuff
+and using about a half a peck
+she spread it over her face and neck
+and she looked as fair as a lilied bower
+or a pound of lard or a sack of flour
+and the young man wearily--waited
+
+then she took a garment of awful shape
+and it wasn't a waist, nor yet a cape
+but it looked like a piece of ancient mail
+or an instrument from a russian jail
+and then with a fearful groan and gasp
+she squeezed herself in its deathly clasp
+so fair and yet so fated
+and then with a move like i don't know what
+she tied it on with a double knot
+and the young man wofully--waited
+
+then she put on a dozen different things
+a mixture of buttons and hooks and strings
+till she strongly resembled a notion store
+then, taking some seventeen pins or more
+she thrust them into her ruby lips
+then stuck them around from waist to hips
+and never once hesitated
+and the maiden didn't know, perhaps
+that the man below had had seven naps
+and that now he sleepily--waited
+
+and then she tried to put on her hat
+ah me, a trying ordeal was that
+she tipped it high and she tried it low
+but every way that the thing would go
+only made her more agitated
+it wouldn't go straight and it caught her hair
+and she wished she could hire a man to swear
+but alas, the only man lingering there
+was the one who wildly--waited
+
+and then before she could take her leave
+she had to puff up her monstrous sleeve
+then a little dab here and a wee pat there
+and a touch or two to her hindmost hair
+then around the room with the utmost care
+she thoughtfully circulated
+then she seized her gloves and a chamoiskin
+some breath perfume and a long stickpin
+a bonbon box and a cloak and some
+eau-de-cologne and chewing-gum
+her opera glass and sealskin muff
+a fan and a heap of other stuff
+then she hurried down, but ere she spoke
+something about the maiden broke
+so she scurried back to the winding stair
+and the young man looked in wild despair
+and then he--evaporated
+
+
+
+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
+
+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
+
+
+
+two brown heads with tossing curls
+red lips shutting over pearls
+bare feet, white and wet with dew
+two eyes black, and two eyes blue
+little girl and boy were they
+katie lee and willie grey
+
+they were standing where a brook
+bending like a shepherd's crook
+flashed its silver, and thick ranks
+of willow fringed its mossy banks
+half in thought, and half in play
+katie lee and willie grey
+
+they had cheeks like cherries red
+he was taller--'most a head
+she, with arms like wreaths of snow
+swung a basket to and fro
+as she loitered, half in play
+chattering to willie grey
+
+and there came a dash of red
+through the brownness of his cheek
+and i'll carry, so i will
+katie's basket up the hill
+
+katie answered with a laugh
+and then, tossing back her curls
+do you think that katie guessed
+half the wisdom she expressed
+
+men are only boys grown tall
+hearts don't change much, after all
+and when, long years from that day
+katie lee and willie grey
+stood again beside the brook
+bending like a shepherd's crook
+
+is it strange that willie said
+while again a dash of red
+crossed the brownness of his cheek
+life is but a slippery steep
+hung with shadows cold and deep
+
+walk beside me without fear
+may i carry, if i will
+all your burdens up the hill
+and she answered, with a laugh
+
+close beside the little brook
+bending like a shepherd's crook
+washing with its silver hands
+late and early at the sands
+is a cottage, where to-day
+katie lives with willie grey
+
+in a porch she sits, and lo
+swings a basket to and fro
+vastly different from the one
+that she swung in years agone
+and has--_rockers at the side
+
+
+abou ben adhem--may his tribe increase
+awoke one night from a deep dream of peace
+and saw, within the moonlight in his room
+making it rich, and like a lily in bloom
+an angel, writing in a book of gold
+exceeding peace had made ben adhem bold
+and to the presence in the room he said
+and, with a look made all of sweet accord
+answered, "the names of those who love the lord
+replied the angel.--abou spoke more low
+but cheerily still; and said, "i pray thee, then
+write me as one that loves his fellow-men
+
+the angel wrote, and vanished. the next night
+it came again, with a great wakening light
+and showed the names whom love of god had blessed
+and, lo! ben adhem's name led all the rest
+
+
+
+still sits the school-house by the road
+a ragged beggar sunning
+around it still the sumachs grow
+and blackberry vines are running
+
+within, the master's desk is seen
+deep scarred by raps official
+the warping floor, the battered seats
+the jack-knife's carved initial
+
+the charcoal frescoes on its wall
+its door's worn sill, betraying
+the feet that, creeping slow to school
+went storming out to playing
+
+long years ago a winter sun
+shone over it at setting
+lit up its western window-panes
+and low eaves' icy fretting
+
+it touched the tangled golden curls
+and brown eyes full of grieving
+of one who still her steps delayed
+when all the school were leaving
+
+for near her stood the little boy
+her childish favor singled
+his cap pulled low upon a face
+where pride and shame were mingled
+
+pushing with restless feet the snow
+to right and left, he lingered
+as restlessly her tiny hands
+the blue-checked apron fingered
+
+he saw her lift her eyes; he felt
+the soft hand's light caressing
+and heard the tremble of her voice
+as if a fault confessing
+
+i hate to go above you
+because,"--the brown eyes lower fell
+
+still memory to a gray-haired man
+that sweet child-face is showing
+dear girl: the grasses on her grave
+have forty years been growing
+
+he lives to learn, in life's hard school
+how few who pass above him
+lament their triumph and his loss
+like her,--because they love him
+
+
+
+they were never made to handle a hoe
+and at once to a college ought to go
+there's fred, he's little better than a fool
+but john and henry must go to school
+
+as he set his mug of cider down
+than both his brothers do in three
+book larnin' will never plant one's corn
+nor hoe potatoes, sure's you're born
+nor mend a rod of broken fence
+for my part, give me common sense
+
+but his wife was bound the roost to rule
+and john and henry were sent to school
+while fred, of course, was left behind
+because his mother said he had no mind
+
+five years at school the students spent
+then into business each one went
+john learned to play the flute and fiddle
+and parted his hair, of course, in the middle
+while his brother looked rather higher than he
+
+meanwhile, at home, their brother fred
+had taken a notion into his head
+but he quietly trimmed his apple trees
+and weeded onions and planted peas
+while somehow or other, by hook or crook
+he managed to read full many a book
+until at last his father said
+he was getting "book larnin'" into his head
+
+the war broke out, and captain fred
+a hundred men to battle led
+and when the rebel flag came down
+went marching home as general brown
+but he went to work on the farm again
+and planted corn and sowed his grain
+he shingled the barn and mended the fence
+till people declared he had common sense
+
+now common sense was very rare
+and the state house needed a portion there
+so the "family dunce" moved into town
+the people called him governor brown
+and the brothers who went to the city school
+came home to live with "mother's fool
+
+
+you wi'yam, cum 'ere, suh, dis instunce
+wu' dat you got under dat box
+i do' want no foolin'--you hear me
+wut you say? ain't nu'h'n but _rocks
+i'll des take a look at dem rocks. hi yi! der you think dat i's bline
+
+growed
+it come fum de jimmerson cawn fiel', dah on ter side er de road
+you stole it, you rascal--you stole it! i watched you fum down in de lot
+en time i gets th'ough wid you, nigger, you won't eb'n be a grease spot
+
+i'll fix you. mirandy! mir_an_dy! go cut me a hick'ry--make 'ase
+en cut me de toughes' en keenes' you c'n fine anywhah on de place
+i'll larn you, mr. wi'yam joe vetters, ter steal en ter lie, you young
+sinner
+disgracin' yo' ole christian mammy, en makin' her leave cookin' dinner
+
+now ain't you ashamed er yo'se'lf sur? i is, i's 'shamed you's my son
+en de holy accorjan angel he's 'shamed er wut you has done
+en he's tuk it down up yander in coal-black, blood-red letters
+
+en wut you s'posen brer bascom, yo' teacher at sunday school
+boy, whah's de raisin' i give you? is you boun' fuh ter be a black
+villiun
+i's s'prised dat a chile er yo mammy 'ud steal any man's water-million
+
+en i's now gwinter cut it right open, en you shain't have nary bite
+fuh a boy who'll steal water-millions--en dat in de day's broad light
+ain't--_lawdy!_ it's _green!_ mirandy
+mi-ran-dy! come on wi' dat switch
+well, stealin' a g-r-e-e-n water-million! who ever yeered tell er des
+
+cain't tell w'en dey's ripe? w'y you thump 'um, en w'en dey go pank dey
+is green
+but w'en dey go _punk_, now you mine me, dey's ripe--en dat's des wut
+i mean
+en nex' time you hook water-millions--_you_ heered me, you ign'ant, you
+ef you do' want a lickin' all over, be sho dat dey allers go "punk
+
+
+
+god give us men; a time like this demands
+strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands
+men whom the lust of office cannot kill
+men whom the spoils of office cannot buy
+men who possess opinions and a will
+men who have honor; men who will not lie
+men who can stand before a demagogue
+and brave his treacherous flatteries without winking
+tall men, sun-crowned, who live above the fog
+in public duty and in private thinking
+for while the rabble, with its thumb-worn creeds
+its large professions, and its little deeds
+mingle in selfish strife--lo! freedom weeps
+wrong rules the land, and waiting justice sleeps
+
+
+
+my good man is a clever man, which no one will gainsay
+he lies awake to plot and plan 'gainst lions in the way
+while i, without a thought of ill, sleep sound enough for three
+for i never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me
+
+a holiday we never fix but he is sure 'twill rain
+and when the sky is clear at six he knows it won't remain
+he is always prophesying ill to which i won't agree
+for i never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me
+
+the wheat will never show a top--but soon how green the field
+we will not harvest half a crop--yet have a famous yield
+it will not sell, it never will! but i will wait and see
+for i never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me
+
+we have a good share of worldly gear, and fortune seems secure
+yet my good man is full of fear--misfortune's coming sure
+he points me out the almshouse hill, but cannot make me see
+for i never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me
+
+he has a sort of second sights and when the fit is strong
+he sees beyond the good and right the evil and the wrong
+heaven's cop of joy he'll surely spill unless i with him be
+for i never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me
+
+
+
+order, said the law court
+knowledge, said the school
+truth, said the wise man
+pleasure, said the fool
+love, said the maiden
+beauty, said the page
+freedom, said the dreamer
+home, said the sage
+fame, said the soldier
+equity, the seer
+spake my heart full sadly
+then within my bosom
+softly this i heard
+kindness is the word
+
+
+
+there's a funny tale 'of a stingy man
+who was none too good but might have been worse
+who went to his church, on a sunday night
+and carried along his well-filled purse
+
+when the sexton came with the begging plate
+the church was but dim with the candle's light
+the stingy man fumbled all thro' his purse
+and chose a coin by touch and not by sight
+
+it's an odd thing now that guineas should be
+so like unto pennies in shape and size
+
+the penny fell down with a clatter and ring
+and back in his seat leaned the stingy man
+
+ha! ha! how the sexton smiled, to be sure
+to see the gold guinea fall in the plate
+ha! ha! how the stingy man's heart was wrung
+perceiving his blunder--but just too late
+
+that guinea of gold is set down to me
+they lend to him who give to the poor
+it will not so bad an investment be
+
+he knew it was only by accident
+that out o' thy fingers the guinea fell
+
+but in that account he'll set down to thee
+na mair o' that golden guinea, my mon
+than the one bare penny ye mean to gie
+
+there's comfort, too, in the little tale
+a serious side as well as a joke
+a comfort for all the generous poor
+in the comical words the sexton spoke
+
+a comfort to think that the good lord knows
+how generous we really desire to be
+and will give us credit in his account
+for all the pennies we long "to gie
+
+
+i haf von funny leedle poy
+vot gomes shust to my knee
+der queerest schap, der createst rogue
+as efer you dit see
+he runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings
+in all barts off der house
+but vot off dot? he vas mine son
+mine leedle yawcob strauss
+
+he gets der measels und der mumbs
+und eferyding dot's oudt
+he sbills mine glass off lager bier
+poots schnuff indo mine kraut
+he fills mine pipe mit limburg cheese
+dot vas der roughest chouse
+i'd dake dot vrom no oder poy
+but leedle yawcob strauss
+
+he dakes der milkban for a dhrum
+und cuts mine cane in dwo
+to make der schticks to beat it mit
+mine cracious, dot vas drue
+i dinks mine hed vas schplit abart
+he kicks oup sooch a touse
+but nefer mind der poys vas few
+like dot young yawcob strauss
+
+he asks me questions sooch as dese
+who baints mine nose so red
+who vos it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt
+vrom der hair ubon mine hed
+und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp
+vene'er der glim i douse
+how gan i all dese dings eggsblain
+to dot schmall yawcob strauss
+
+i somedimes dink i schall go vild
+mit sooch a grazy poy
+und vish vonce more i gould haf rest
+und beaceful dimes enshoy
+but ven he vas asleep in ped
+so quiet as a mouse
+i prays der lord, "dake any dings
+but leaf dot yawcob strauss
+
+
+
+we shall do so much in the years to come
+but what have we done to-day
+we shall give out gold in princely sum
+but what did we give to-day
+we shall lift the heart and dry the tear
+we shall plant a hope in the place of fear
+we shall speak with words of love and cheer
+but what have we done to-day
+we shall be so kind in the after while
+but what have we been to-day
+we shall bring to each lonely life a smile
+but what have we brought to-day
+we shall give to truth a grander birth
+and to steadfast faith a deeper worth
+we shall feed the hungering souls of earth
+but whom have we fed to-day
+
+
+
+my name is tommy, an' i hates
+that feller of my sister kate's
+he's bigger'n i am an' you see
+he's sorter lookin' down on me
+an' i resents it with a vim
+i think i am just as good as him
+he's older, an' he's mighty fly
+
+one time he came,--down by the gate
+i guess it must have been awful late
+an' katie, she was there, an' they
+was feelin' very nice and gay
+an' he was talkin' all the while
+about her sweet an' lovin' smile
+an' everythin' was as nice as pie
+
+they didn't see me, 'cause i slid
+down underneath a bush, an' hid
+an' he was sayin' that his love
+was greater'n all the stars above
+up in the glorious heavens placed
+an' then his arms got 'round her waist
+an' clouds were floatin' in the sky
+
+i didn't hear just all they said
+but by an' by my sister's head
+was droopin' on his shoulder, an
+i seen him holdin' katie's hand
+an' then he hugged her closer, some
+an' then i heerd a kiss--yum, yum
+an' katie blushed an' drew a sigh
+
+an' then that feller looked around
+an' seed me there, down on the ground
+an'--was he mad? well, betcher boots
+i gets right out of there an' scoots
+an' he just left my sister kate
+a-standin' right there by the gate
+an' i seen blood was in his eye
+
+i runned the very best i could
+but he cotched up--i's 'fraid he would
+an' then he said he'd teach me how
+to know my manners, he'd allow
+an' then he shaked me awful. gee
+he jest--he frashed the ground with me
+an' then he stopped it by and by
+
+an' then he went back to the gate
+an' couldn't find my sister kate
+was runnin' 'round an' thumpin' me
+i got round in a shadder dim
+an' made a face, an' guffed at him
+an' then the moon larfed, in the sky
+
+
+
+is it worth while that we jostle a brother
+bearing his load on the rough road of life
+is it worth while that we jeer at each other
+in blackness of heart that we war to the knife
+god pity us all in our pitiful strife
+
+god pity as all as we jostle each other
+god pardon us all for the triumph we feel
+when a fellow goes down 'neath his load on the heather
+pierced to the heart: words are keener than steel
+and mightier far for woe than for weal
+
+were it not well, in this brief little journey
+on over the isthmus, down into the tide
+we give him a fish instead of a serpent
+ere folding the hands to be and abide
+forever and aye in dust at his side
+
+look at the roses saluting each other
+look at the herds all at peace on the plain
+man, and man only, makes war on his brother
+and laughs in his heart at his peril and pain
+shamed by the beasts that go down on the plain
+
+is it worth while that we battle to humble
+some poor fellow down into the dust
+god pity us all! time too soon will tumble
+all of us together, like leaves in a gust
+humbled, indeed, down into the dust
+
+
+
+there are loyal hearts, there are spirits brave
+there are souls that are pure and true
+then give to the world the best you have
+and the best will come back to you
+
+give love, and love to your life will flow
+a strength in your utmost need
+have faith, and a score of hearts will show
+their faith in your work and deed
+
+give truth, and your gift will be paid in kind
+and honor will honor meet
+and the smile which is sweet will surely find
+a smile that is just as sweet
+
+give pity and sorrow to those who mourn
+you will gather in flowers again
+the scattered seeds from your thought outborne
+though the sowing seemed in vain
+
+for life is the mirror of king and slave
+then give to the world the best you have
+and the best will come back to you
+
+
+
+a boy drove into the city, his wagon loaded down
+with food to feed the people of the british-governed town
+and the little black-eyed rebel, so cunning and so sly
+was watching for his coming from the corner of her eye
+
+his face was broad and honest, his hands were brown and tough
+the clothes he wore upon him were homespun, coarse, and rough
+but one there was who watched him, who long time lingered nigh
+and cast at him sweet glances from the corner of her eye
+
+he drove up to the market, he waited in the line
+his apples and potatoes were fresh and fair and fine
+but long and long he waited, and no one came to buy
+save the black-eyed rebel, watching from the corner of her eye
+
+and, "who wants my potatoes?" he repeated to the crowd
+but from all the people round him came no word of reply
+save the black-eyed rebel, answering from the corner of her eye
+
+for she knew that 'neath the lining of the coat he wore that day
+were long letters from the husbands and the fathers far away
+who were fighting for the freedom that they meant to gain, or die
+and a tear like silver glistened in the corner of her eye
+
+but the treasures--how to get them? crept the question through her mind
+since keen enemies were watching for what prizes they might find
+and she paused a while and pondered, with a pretty little sigh
+then resolve crept through her features, and a shrewdness fired her eye
+
+so she resolutely walked up to the wagon old and red
+and the brown face flushed to scarlet, for the boy was somewhat shy
+and he saw her laughing at him from the corner of her eye
+
+and she clambered on the wagon, minding not who all were by
+with a laugh of reckless romping in the corner of her eye
+
+clinging round his brawny neck, she clasped her fingers white and small
+and then whispered, "quick! the letters! thrust them underneath my shawl
+carry back again _this_ package, and be sure that you are spry
+and she sweetly smiled upon him from the corner of her eye
+
+loud the motley crowd was laughing at the strange, ungirlish freak
+and the boy was scared and panting, and so dashed he could not speak
+and "miss, i have good apples," a bolder lad did cry
+but she answered, "no, i thank you," from the corner of her eye
+
+with the news from loved ones absent to the dear friends they would greet
+searching them who hungered for them, swift she glided through the street
+thought the little black-eyed rebel with a twinkle in her eye
+
+
+
+if you sit down at set of sun
+and count the deeds that you have done
+and, counting, find
+one self-denying act, one word that eased the heart of him that heard
+one glance most kind, which felt like sunshine where it went
+then you may count that day well spent
+
+but if through, all the livelong day
+you've eased no heart by yea or nay
+if through it all you've nothing done that you can trace
+that brought the sunshine to one face
+no act most small that helped some soul and nothing cost
+then count that day as worse than lost
+
+
+say not the struggle nought availeth
+the labor and the wounds are vain
+the enemy faints not, nor faileth
+and as things have been they remain
+
+if hopes were dupes, fears may be liars
+it may be, in yon smoke concealed
+your comrades chase e'en now the fliers
+and, but for you, possess the field
+
+for while the tired waves, vainly breaking
+seem here no painful inch to gain
+far back, through creeks and inlets making
+comes silent, flooding in, the main
+
+and not by eastern windows only
+when daylight comes, comes in the light
+in front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly
+but westward, look, the land is bright
+
+
+
+there dwelt a miller, hale and bold
+beside the river dee
+he worked and sang from morn till night
+no lark more blithe than he
+and this the burden of his song
+forever used to be
+and nobody envies me
+
+for could my heart be light as thine
+i'd gladly change with thee
+and tell me now, what makes thee sing
+with voice so loud and free
+while i am sad, though i'm a king
+beside the river dee
+
+the miller smiled and doffed his cap
+i love my children three
+i owe no penny i cannot pay
+i thank the river dee
+that turns the mill that grinds the corn
+that feeds my babes and me
+
+but say no more, if thou'dst be true
+that no one envies thee
+thy mealy cap is worth my crown
+thy mill my kingdom's fee
+such men as thou art england's boast
+o miller of the dee
+
+
+
+take me back to the days when the old red cradle rocked
+in the sunshine of the years that are gone
+to the good old trusty days, when the door was never locked
+and we slumbered unmolested till the dawn
+
+i remember of my years i had numbered almost seven
+and the old cradle stood against the wall
+i was youngest of the five, and two were gone to heaven
+but the old red cradle rocked us all
+
+and if ever came a day when my cheeks were flushed and hot
+when i did not mind my porridge or my play
+i would clamber up its side and the pain would be forgot
+when the old red cradle rocked away
+
+it has been a hallowed spot where i've turned through all the years
+which have brought me the evil with the good
+and i turn again to-night, aye, and see it through my tears
+the place where the dear old cradle stood
+
+by its side my father paused with a little time to spare
+and the care-lines would soften on his brow
+ah! 't was but a little while that i knew a father's care
+but i fancy in my dreams i see him now
+
+by my mother it was rocked when the evening meal was laid
+and again i seem to see her as she smiled
+when the rest were all in bed, 'twas there she knelt and prayed
+by the old red cradle and her child
+
+aye, it cradled one and all, brothers, sisters in it lay
+and it gave me the sweetest rest i've known
+but to-night the tears will flow, and i let them have their way
+for the passing years are leaving me alone
+
+and it seems of those to come, i would gladly give them all
+for a slumber as free from care as then
+just to wake to-morrow morn where the rising sun would fall
+round the old red cradle once again
+
+but the cradle long has gone and the burdens that it bore
+one by one, have been gathered to the fold
+still the flock is incomplete, for it numbers only four
+with one left out straying in the cold
+
+heaven grant again we may in each other's arms be locked
+where no sad tears of parting ever fall
+god forbid that one be lost that the old red cradle rocked
+and the dear old cradle rocked us all
+
+
+
+my papa held me up to the moo cow moo
+so close i could almost touch
+and i fed him a couple of times or so
+and i wasn't a fraid-cat, much
+
+but if my papa goes in the house
+and my mamma she goes in too
+i keep still like a little mouse
+for the moo cow moo might moo
+
+the moo cow's tail is a piece of rope
+all raveled out where it grows
+and it's just like feeling a piece of soap
+all over the moo cow's nose
+
+and the moo cow moo has lots of fun
+just switching his tail about
+but if he opens his mouth, why then i run
+for that's where the moo comes out
+
+the moo cow moo has deers on his head
+and his eyes stick out of their place
+and the nose of the moo cow moo is spread
+all over the moo cow's face
+
+and his feet are nothing but fingernails
+and his mamma don't keep them cut
+and he gives folks milk in water pails
+when he don't keep his handles shut
+
+but if you or i pull his handles, why
+the moo cow moo says it hurts
+but the hired man sits down close by
+and squirts, and squirts, and squirts
+
+
+
+all things bright and beautiful
+all creatures great and small
+all things wise and wonderful
+the lord god made them all
+
+each little flower that opens
+each little bird that sings
+he made their glowing colors
+he made their tiny wings
+
+the rich man in his castle
+the poor man at his gate
+god made them, high or lowly
+and ordered their estate
+
+the purple-headed mountain
+the river running by
+the morning, and the sunset
+that lighteth up the sky
+
+the cold wind in the winter
+the pleasant summer sun
+the ripe fruits in the garden
+he made them, every one
+
+the tall trees in the greenwood
+the meadows where we play
+the rushes by the water
+we gather every day
+
+he gave us eyes to see them
+and lips that we might tell
+how great is god almighty
+who hath made all things well
+
+
+
+oh, good painter, tell me true
+has your hand the cunning to draw
+shapes of things that you never saw
+aye? well, here is an order for you
+
+woods and cornfields, a little brown
+the picture must not be over-bright
+yet all in the golden and gracious light
+of a cloud, when the summer sun is down
+alway and alway, night and morn
+woods upon woods, with fields of corn
+lying between them, not quite sere
+and not in the full, thick, leafy bloom
+when the wind can hardly find breathing-room
+under their tassels,--cattle near
+biting shorter the short green grass
+and a hedge of sumach and sassafras
+with bluebirds twittering all around
+these, and the little house where i was born
+low and little, and black and old
+with children, many as it can hold
+all at the windows, open wide
+heads and shoulders clear outside
+and fair young faces all ablush
+perhaps you have seen, some day
+roses crowding the self-same way
+out of a wilding, wayside bush
+
+listen closer. when you have done
+with woods and cornfields and grazing herds
+a lady, the loveliest ever the sun
+looked down upon you must paint for me
+oh, if i could only make you see
+the clear blue eyes, the tender smile
+the sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace
+the woman's soul, and the angel's face
+that are beaming on me all the while
+i need not speak these foolish words
+yet one word tells you all i would say
+she is my mother: you will agree
+that all the rest may be thrown away
+
+two little urchins at her knee
+you must paint, sir: one like me
+the other with a clearer brow
+and the light of his adventurous eyes
+flashing with boldest enterprise
+at ten years old he went to sea
+god knoweth if he be living now
+he sailed in the good ship "commodore
+nobody ever crossed her track
+to bring us news, and she never came back
+ah, it is twenty long years and more
+since that old ship went out of the bay
+with my great-hearted brother on her deck
+i watched him till he shrank to a speck
+and his face was toward me all the way
+bright his hair was, a golden brown
+the time we stood at our mother's knee
+that beauteous head, if it did go down
+carried sunshine into the sea
+
+out in the fields one summer night
+we were together, half afraid
+of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the shade
+of the high hills, stretching so still and far
+loitering till after the low little light
+of the candle shone through the open door
+and over the hay-stack's pointed top
+all of a tremble and ready to drop
+the first half-hoar, the great yellow star
+that we, with staring, ignorant eyes
+had often and often watched to see
+propped and held in its place in the skies
+by the fork of a tall red mulberry-tree
+which close in the edge of our flax-field grew
+dead at the top, just one branch full
+of leaves, notched round, and lined with wool
+from which it tenderly shook the dew
+over our heads, when we came to play
+in its hand-breadth of shadow, day after day
+afraid to go home, sir; for one of us bore
+a nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs
+the other, a bird, held fast by the legs
+not so big as a straw of wheat
+the berries we gave her she wouldn't eat
+but cried and cried, till we held her bill
+so slim and shining, to keep her still
+
+at last we stood at our mother's knee
+do you think, sir, if you try
+you can paint the look of a lie
+if you can, pray have the grace
+to put it solely in the face
+of the urchin that is likest me
+i think 'twas solely mine, indeed
+but that's no matter,--paint it so
+the eyes of our mother--(take good heed
+looking not on the nestful of eggs
+nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs
+but straight through our faces down to our lies
+and, oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise
+i felt my heart bleed where that glance went, as though
+a sharp blade struck through it
+
+you, sir, know
+that you on the canvas are to repeat
+things that are fairest, things most sweet
+woods and cornfields and mulberry-tree
+the mother,--the lads, with their bird at her knee
+but, oh, that look of reproachful woe
+high as the heavens your name i'll shout
+if you paint me the picture, and leave that out
+
+
+
+who won the war
+of ruthless hordes who thought to ride
+her borders through and prostrate france
+ere yet she'd time to raise her lance
+
+who won the war
+italia broke the galling chain
+which bound her to the guilty twain
+then fought 'gainst odds till one of these
+lay prone and shattered at her knees
+
+who won the war
+old england's watch dogs of the main
+their vigil kept, and not in vain
+for not a ship their wrath dared brave
+save those which skulked beneath the wave
+
+who won the war
+the grandest words on history's page
+and he could never pass verdun
+
+who won the war
+in darkest hour there rose a cry
+thank god! they came across the sea
+two million men and victory
+
+who won the war
+no one of these; not one, but all
+who answered freedom's clarion call
+each humble man who did his bit
+in god's own book of fame is writ
+these won the war
+
+
+
+the bravest battle that ever was fought
+shall i tell you where and when
+on the map of the world you will find it not
+
+nay, not with cannon or battle shot
+with sword or nobler pen
+nay, not with eloquent words or thought
+from mouths of wonderful men
+
+but deep in the walled-up woman's heart
+of woman that would not yield
+but bravely, silently, bore her part
+lo, there is the battle field
+
+no marshaling troup, no bivouac song
+no banner to gleam or wave
+but oh, these battles, they last so long
+from babyhood to the grave
+
+yet, faithful as a bridge of stars
+she fights in her walled-up town
+fights on and on in the endless wars
+then, silent, unseen, goes down
+
+oh, ye with banner and battle shot
+and soldiers to shout and praises
+i tell you the kingliest victories fought
+were fought in those silent ways
+
+oh, spotless in a world of shame
+with splendid and silent scorn
+go back to god as white as you came
+the kingliest warrior born
+
+
+
+bob went lookin' for a job
+didn't want a situation; didn't ask a lofty station
+didn't have a special mission for a topnotcher's position
+didn't have such fine credentials--but he had the real essentials
+had a head that kept on workin' and two hands that were not shirkin
+wasn't either shirk or snob
+wasn't mister--just plain bob
+who was lookin' for a job
+
+bob went lookin' for a job
+and he wasn't scared or daunted when he saw a sign--"men wanted
+walked right in with manner fittin' up to where the boss was sittin
+and he said: "my name is bob, and i'm lookin' for a job
+and if you're the boss that hires 'em, starts 'em working and that
+fires 'em
+put my name right down here, neighbor, as a candidate for labor
+for my name is just plain 'bob
+and my pulses sort o' throb
+for that thing they call a job
+bob kept askin' for a job
+and the boss, he says: "what kind?" and bob answered:  "never mind
+for i am not a bit partic'ler and i never was a stickler
+for proprieties in workin'--if you got some labor lurkin
+anywhere around about kindly go and trot it out
+it's, a job i want, you see
+any kind that there may be
+will be good enough for me
+
+well, sir, bob he got a job
+but the boss went 'round all day in a dreamy sort of way
+and he says to me: "by thunder, we have got the world's eighth wonder
+got a feller name of bob who just asked me for a job
+never asks when he engages about overtime in wages
+never asked if he'd get pay by the hour or by the day
+never asked me if it's airy work and light and sanitary
+never asked me for my notion of the chances of promotion
+never asked for the duration of his annual vacation
+never asked for saturday half-a-holiday with pay
+never took me on probation till he tried the situation
+never asked me if it's sittin' work or standin', or befittin
+of his birth and inclination--he just filed his application
+hung his coat up on a knob
+said his name was just plain bob
+and went workin' at a job
+
+
+
+whatever i do and whatever i say
+aunt tabitha tells me it isn't the way
+when _she_ was a girl (forty summers ago
+aunt tabitha tells me they never did so
+
+dear aunt! if i only would take her advice
+but i like my own way, and i find it _so_ nice
+and besides, i forget half the things i am told
+but they all will come back to me--when i am old
+
+if a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt
+he may chance to look in as i chance to look out
+it is _horrid_, she says, and i mustn't sit there
+
+a walk in the moonlight has pleasures, i own
+but it isn't quite safe to be walking alone
+so i take a lad's arm--just for safety you know
+but aunt tabitha tells me _they_ didn't do so
+
+how wicked we are, and how good they were then
+they kept at arm's length those detestable men
+what an era of virtue she lived in!--but stay
+were the _men_ all such rogues in aunt tabitha's day
+
+if the men _were_ so wicked, i'll ask my papa
+how he dared to propose to my darling mamma
+was he like the rest of them? goodness! who knows
+and what shall _i_ say, if a wretch should propose
+
+i am thinking if aunt knew so little of sin
+what a wonder aunt tabitha's aunt must have been
+and her grand-aunt--it scares me--how shockingly sad
+that we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad
+
+a martyr will save us, and nothing else can
+let _me perish_--to rescue some wretched young man
+though when to the altar a victim i go
+aunt tabitha'll tell me _she_ never did so
+
+
+hats off
+along the street there comes
+a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums
+a flash of color beneath the sky
+hats off
+the flag is passing by
+
+blue and crimson and white it shines
+over the steel-tipped, ordered lines
+hats off
+the colors before us fly
+but more than the flag is passing by
+
+sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great
+fought to make and to save the state
+weary marches and sinking ships
+cheers of victory on dying lips
+
+days of plenty and years of peace
+march of a strong land's swift increase
+equal justice, right and law
+stately honor and reverent awe
+
+sign of a nation, great and strong
+to ward her people from foreign wrong
+pride and glory and honor, all
+live in the colors to stand or fall
+
+hats off
+along the street there comes
+a blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums
+and loyal hearts are beating high
+hats off
+the flag is passing by
+
+
+
+the rivers of france are ten score and twain
+but five are the names that we know
+the marne, the vesle, the oureq and the aisne
+and the somme of the swampy flow
+
+the rivers of france, from source to sea
+are nourished by many a rill
+but these five, if ever a drouth there be
+the fountains of sorrow would fill
+
+the rivers of france shine silver white
+but the waters of five are red
+with the richest blood, in the fiercest fight
+for freedom that ever was shed
+
+the rivers of france sing soft as they run
+but five have a song of their own
+that hymns the fall of the arrogant one
+and the proud cast down from his throne
+
+the rivers of france all quietly take
+to sleep in the house of their birth
+but the carnadined wave of five shall break
+on the uttermost strands of earth
+
+five rivers of france--see! their names are writ
+on a banner of crimson and gold
+and the glory of those who fashioned it
+shall nevermore cease to be told
+
+
+
+there's no dew left on the daisies and clover
+there's no rain left in heaven
+i've said my "seven times" over and over
+seven times one are seven
+
+i am old, so old i can write a letter
+my birthday lessons are done
+the lambs play always, they know no better
+they are only one times one
+
+o moon! in the night i have seen you sailing
+and shining so round and low
+you were bright! but your light is failing
+you are nothing now but a bow
+
+you moon, have you done something wrong in heaven
+that god has hidden your face
+i hope if you have, you'll soon be forgiven
+and shine again in your place
+
+o velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow
+you've powdered your legs with gold
+o brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow
+give me your money to hold
+
+o columbine, open your folded wrapper
+where two twin turtle-doves dwell
+o cuckoo-pint, toll me the purple clapper
+that hangs in your clear green bell
+
+and show me your nest, with the young ones in it
+i will not steal them away
+i am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet
+i am seven times one to-day
+
+
+
+you bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes
+how many soever they be
+and let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges
+come over, come over to me
+
+yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling
+no magical sense conveys
+and bells have forgotten their old art of telling
+the fortune of future days
+
+while a boy listened alone
+made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily
+all by himself on a stone
+
+poor bells! i forgive you; your good days are over
+and mine, they are yet to be
+no listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover
+you leave the story to me
+
+the foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather
+preparing her hoods of snow
+she was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather
+oh, children take long to grow
+
+i wish and i wish that the spring would go faster
+nor long summer bide so late
+and i could grow on like the foxglove and aster
+for some things are ill to wait
+
+i wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover
+while dear hands are laid on my head
+for all the lessons are said
+
+i wait for my story--the birds cannot sing it
+not one, as he sits on the tree
+the bells cannot ring it, but long years, oh bring it
+such as i wish it to be
+
+
+
+
+i leaned out of window, i smelt the white clover
+dark, dark was the garden, i saw not the gate
+hush, nightingale, hush! o sweet nightingale, wait
+till i listen and hear
+if a step draweth near
+for my love he is late
+
+a cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree
+the fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer
+to what art thou listening, and what dost thou see
+let the star-clusters grow
+let the sweet waters flow
+and cross quickly to me
+
+from sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep
+you glowworms, shine out, and the pathway discover
+to him that comes darkling along the rough steep
+ah, my sailor, make haste
+for the time runs to waste
+and my love lieth deep
+
+i've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night
+by the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover
+then all the sweet speech i had fashioned took flight
+but i'll love him more, more
+than e'er wife loved before
+be the days dark or bright
+
+
+
+
+heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups
+fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall
+when the wind wakes, how they rock in the grasses
+and dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small
+here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses
+eager to gather them all
+
+heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups
+mother shall thread them a daisy chain
+sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow
+that loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain
+sing, "heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow
+sing once, and sing it again
+
+heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups
+sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and they bow
+a ship sails afar over warm ocean waters
+and haply one musing doth stand at her prow
+o bonny brown son, and o sweet little daughters
+maybe he thinks on you now
+
+heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups
+fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall
+a sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure
+and fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall
+send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure
+god that is over us all
+
+
+
+ere, in the northern gale
+the summer tresses of the trees are gone
+the woods of autumn, all around our vale
+have put their glory on
+
+the mountains that infold
+in their wide sweep, the colored landscape round
+seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold
+that guard the enchanted ground
+
+i roam the woods that crown
+the upland, where the mingled splendors glow
+where the gay company of trees look down
+on the green fields below
+
+my steps are not alone
+in these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play
+flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown
+along the winding way
+
+and far in heaven, the while
+the sun, that sends that gale to wander here
+pours out on the fair earth his quiet smile
+the sweetest of the year
+
+where now the solemn shade
+verdure and gloom where many branches meet
+so grateful, when the noon of summer made
+the valleys sick with heat
+
+let in through all the trees
+come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright
+their sunny-colored foliage, in the breeze
+twinkles, like beams of light
+
+the rivulet, late unseen
+where bickering through the shrubs its waters run
+shines with the image of its golden screen
+and glimmerings of the sun
+
+but 'neath yon crimson tree
+lover to listening maid might breathe his flame
+nor mark, within its roseate canopy
+her blush of maiden shame
+
+oh, autumn! why so soon
+depart the hues that make thy forests glad
+thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon
+and leave thee wild and sad
+
+ah! 'twere a lot too blessed
+forever in thy colored shades to stray
+amid the kisses of the soft southwest
+to rove and dream for aye
+
+and leave the vain low strife
+that makes men mad--the tug for wealth and power
+the passions and the cares that wither life
+and waste its little hour
+
+
+
+did you ever hear of the drummer boy of mission ridge, who lay
+with his face to the foe, 'neath the enemy's guns, in the charge of
+that terrible day
+they were firing above him and firing below, and the tempest of shot
+and shell
+was raging like death, as he moaned in his pain, by the breastworks
+where he fell
+
+moment when
+he might follow the ranks and shoulder a gun with the best of us
+bearded men
+and so when the signals from old fort wood set an army of veterans wild
+he flung down his drum, which spun down the hill like the ball of a
+wayward child
+
+as we charged by the flank, with our colors ahead, and our columns
+in the long, swinging lines of that splendid advance, when the flags
+of our corps floated out
+like the ribbons that dance in the jubilant lines of the march of a
+gala day rout
+
+he charged with the ranks, though he carried no gun, for the colonel
+had said him nay
+and he breasted the blast of the bristling guns, and the shock of the
+sickening fray
+and when by his side they were falling like hail he sprang to a comrade
+slain
+and shouldered his musket and bore it as true as the hand that was dead
+in pain
+
+black eye
+that flashed forth a spirit too great for his form--he only was just so
+as tall, perhaps, as your little lad who scarcely reaches your shoulder
+though his heart was the heart of a veteran then, a trifle, it may be
+bolder
+
+he pressed to the front, our lad so leal, and the works were almost won
+a moment more and our flags had swung o'er the muzzle of murderous gun
+but a raking fire swept the van, and he fell 'mid the wounded and slain
+with his wee wan face turned up to him who feeleth his children's pain
+
+again and again our lines fell back, and again with shivering shocks
+they flung themselves on the rebels' works as ships are tossed on rocks
+to be crushed and broken and scattered amain, as the wrecks of the
+surging storm
+where none may rue and none may reck of aught that has human form
+
+so under the ridge we were lying for the order to charge again
+and we counted our comrades missing, and we counted our comrades slain
+and one said, "johnny, our drummer boy, is grievously shot and lies
+just under the enemy's breastwork; if left on the field he dies
+
+then all the blood that was in me  surged up to my aching brow
+and my heart leaped up like a ball in my throat--i can feel it even now
+and i said i would bring that boy from the field, if god would spare my
+breath
+if all the guns in mission ridge should thunder the threat of death
+
+i crept and crept up the ghastly ridge, by the wounded and the dead
+with the moans of my comrades right and left, behind me and yet ahead
+till i came to the form of our drummer boy, in his blouse of dusty blue
+with his face to the foe, 'neath the enemy's guns, where the blast of
+the battle blew
+
+and his gaze as he met my own just there would have melted a heart of
+stone
+as he tried like a wounded bird to rise, and placed his hand in my own
+and he said in a voice half smothered, though its whispering thrills
+me yet
+
+the men go up those breastworks there, just stop and waken me
+for though i cannot make the charge  and join the cheers that rise
+i may forget my pain to see the old flag kiss the skies
+
+well, it was hard to treat him so, his poor limb shattered sore
+but i raised him on my shoulder and to the surgeon bore
+and the boys who saw us coming each gave a shout of joy
+and uttered fervent prayers for him, our valiant drummer boy
+
+when sped the news that "fighting joe" had saved the union right
+with his legions fresh from lookout; and that thomas massed his might
+and forced the rebel center; and our cheering ran like wild
+and sherman's heart was happy as the heart of a little child
+
+when grant from his lofty outlook saw our flags by the hundred fly
+along the slopes of mission ridge, where'er he cast his eye
+and when we heard the thrilling news of the mighty battle done
+the fearful contest ended, and the glorious victory won
+
+then his bright black eyes so yearning grew strangely rapt and wide
+and in that hour of conquest our little hero died
+but ever in our hearts he dwells, with a grace that ne'er is old
+for him the heart to duty wed can nevermore grow cold
+
+and when they tell of heroes, and the laurels they have won
+of the scars they are doomed to carry, of the deeds that they have done
+of the horror to be biding among the ghastly dead
+the gory sod beneath them, the bursting shell o'erhead
+
+my heart goes back to mission ridge and the drummer boy who lay
+with his face to the foe, 'neath the enemy's guns, in the charge of
+that terrible day
+and i say that the land that bears such sons is crowned and dowered
+with all
+the dear god giveth nations to stay them lest they fall
+
+oh, glory of mission ridge, stream on, like the roseate light of morn
+on the sons that now are living, on the sons that are yet unborn
+and cheers for our comrades living, and tears as they pass away
+and three times three for the drummer boy who fought at the front that
+
+
+if you can keep your head when all about you
+are losing theirs and blaming it on you
+if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
+but make allowance for their doubting too
+if you can wait and not be tired by waiting
+or being lied about don't deal in lies
+or being hated don't give way to hating
+and yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise
+
+if you can dream and not make dreams your master
+if you can think and not make thoughts your aim
+if you can meet with triumph and disaster
+and treat those two impostors just the same
+if you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
+twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools
+or watch the things you gave your life to broken
+and stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools
+
+if you can make one heap of all your winnings
+and risk it on one turn of pitch and toss
+and lose, and start again at your beginnings
+and never breathe a word about your loss
+if you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
+to serve your turn long after they are gone
+and so hold on when there is nothing in you
+except the will which says to them: "hold on
+
+if you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue
+or walk with kings nor lose the common touch
+if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you
+if all men count with you, but none too much
+if you can fill the unforgiving minute
+with sixty seconds' worth of distance run
+yours is the earth and everything that's in it
+and--which is more--you'll be a man, my son
+
+
+
+some boys are mad when comp'ny comes to stay for meals. they hate
+to have the other people eat while boys must wait and wait
+but i've about made up my mind i'm different from the rest
+for as for me, i b'lieve i like the second table best
+
+to eat along with comp'ny is so trying, for it's tough
+to sit and watch the victuals when you dassent touch the stuff
+you see your father serving out the dark meat and the light
+until a boy is sure he'll starve before he gets a bite
+
+and when, he asks you what you'll have,--you've heard it all before
+you know you'll get just what you get and won't get nothing more
+for, when you want another piece, your mother winks her eye
+and so you say, "i've plenty, thanks!" and tell a whopping lie
+
+when comp'ny is a-watching you, you've got to be polite
+and eat your victuals with a fork and take a little bite
+you can't have nothing till you're asked and, 'cause a boy is small
+folks think he isn't hungry, and he's never asked at all
+
+since i can first remember i've been told that when the cake
+is passed around, the proper thing is for a boy to take
+the piece that's nearest to him, and so all i ever got
+when comp'ny's been to our house, was the smallest in the lot
+
+it worries boys like everything to have the comp'ny stay
+a-setting round the table, like they couldn't get away
+but when they've gone, and left the whole big shooting match to me
+say! ain't it fun to just wade in and help myself? oh, gee
+
+with no one round to notice what you're doing--bet your life
+boys don't use forks to eat with when they'd rather use a knife
+nor take such little bites as when they're eating with the rest
+and so, for lots of things, i like the second table best
+
+
+
+when the lessons and tasks are all ended
+and the school for the day is dismissed
+and the little ones gather around me
+to bid me good night and be kissed
+oh, the little white arms that encircle
+my neck in their tender embrace
+oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven
+shedding sunshine of love on my face
+
+and when they are gone, i sit dreaming
+of my childhood, too lovely to last
+of love that my heart will remember
+when it wakes to the pulse of the past
+ere the world and its wickedness made me
+a partner of sorrow and sin
+when the glory of god was about me
+and the glory of gladness within
+
+all my heart grows weak as a woman's
+and the fountains of feeling will flow
+when i think of the paths steep and stony
+where the feet of the dear ones must go
+of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them
+of the tempest of fate blowing wild
+oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy
+as the innocent heart of a child
+
+they are idols of hearts and of households
+they are angels of god in disguise
+his sunlight still sleeps in their tresses
+his glory still gleams in their eyes
+oh, these truants from home and from heaven
+they have made me more manly and mild
+and i know now how jesus could liken
+the kingdom of god to a child
+
+i ask not a life for the dear ones
+all radiant, as others have done
+but that life may have just enough shadow
+to temper the glare of the sun
+i would pray god to guard them from evil
+but my prayer would bound back to myself
+ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner
+but a sinner must pray for himself
+
+the twig is so easily bended
+i have banished the rule and the rod
+i have taught them the goodness of knowledge
+they have taught me the goodness of god
+my heart is the dungeon of darkness
+where i shut them for breaking a rule
+my frown is sufficient correction
+my love is the law of the school
+
+i shall leave the old house in the autumn
+to traverse its threshold no more
+ah! how shall i sigh for the dear ones
+that meet me each morn at the door
+i shall miss the "good nights" and the kisses
+and the gush of their innocent glee
+the group on its green, and the flowers
+that are brought every morning to me
+
+i shall miss them at morn and at even
+their song in the school and the street
+i shall miss the low hum of their voices
+and the tread of their delicate feet
+when the lessons of life are all ended
+and death says, "the school is dismissed
+may the little ones gather around me
+to bid me good night and be kissed
+
+
+
+not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse
+the stockings were hung by the chimney with care
+in hopes that st. nicholas soon would be there
+the children were nestled all snug in their beds
+while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads
+and mamma in her kerchief, and i in my cap
+had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap
+when out on the lawn there arose such a clatter
+i sprang from my bed to see what was the matter
+away to the window i flew like a flash
+tore open the shutters and threw up the sash
+the moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow
+gave a luster of midday to objects below
+when what to my wondering eyes should appear
+but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer
+with a little old driver, so lively and quick
+i knew in a moment it must be st. nick
+more rapid than eagles his coursers they came
+and he whistled and shouted, and called them by name
+on, comet, on, cupid! on, donder and blitzen
+to the top of the porch, to the top of the wall
+now, dash away, dash sway, dash away all
+as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly
+when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
+so, up to the house-top the coursers they flew
+with the sleigh full of toys, and st. nicholas too
+and then in a twinkling i heard on the roof
+the prancing and pawing of each little hoof
+as i drew in my head, and was turning around
+down the chimney st. nicholas came with a bound
+he was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot
+and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot
+a bundle of toys he had flung on his back
+and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack
+his eyes how they twinkled; his dimples how merry
+his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry
+his droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
+and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow
+the stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth
+and the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath
+he had a broad face and a little round belly
+that shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly
+he was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf
+and i laughed when i saw him, in spite of myself
+a wink of his eye, and a twist of his head
+soon gave me to know i had nothing to dread
+he spake not a word, but went straight to his work
+and filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk
+and laying his finger aside of his nose
+and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose
+he sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle
+and away they all flew like the down of a thistle
+but i heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight
+
+
+
+if you cannot on the ocean
+sail among the swiftest fleet
+rocking on the highest billows
+laughing at the storms you meet
+you can stand among the sailors
+anchored yet within the bay
+you can lend a hand to help them
+as they launch their boats away
+
+if you are too weak to journey
+up the mountain steep and high
+you can stand within the valley
+while the multitudes go by
+you can chant in happy measure
+as they slowly pass along
+though they may forget the singer
+they will not forget the song
+
+if you have not gold and silver
+ever ready to command
+if you cannot towards the needy
+reach an ever-open hand
+you can visit the afflicted
+o'er the erring you can weep
+you can be a true disciple
+sitting at the savior's feet
+
+if you cannot in the conflict
+prove yourself a soldier true
+if where fire and smoke are thickest
+there's no work for you to do
+when the battle-field is silent
+you can go with careful tread
+you can bear away the wounded
+you can cover up the dead
+
+do not then stand idly waiting
+for some greater work to do
+fortune is a lazy goddess
+she will never come to you
+go and toil in any vineyard
+do not fear to do or dare
+if you want a field of labor
+you can find it anywhere
+
+
+
+there are hermit souls that live withdrawn
+in the peace of their self-content
+there are souls, like stars, that dwell apart
+in a fellowless firmament
+there are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
+where highways never ran
+but let me live by the side of the road
+and be a friend to man
+
+let me live in a house by the side of the road
+where the race of men go by
+the men who are good and the men who are bad
+i would not sit in the scorner's seat
+or hurl the cynic's ban
+let me live in a house by the side of the road
+and be a friend to man
+
+i see from my house by the side of the road
+by the side of the highway of life
+the men who press with the ardor of hope
+the men who are faint with the strife
+but i turn not away from their smiles nor their tears
+both parts of an infinite plan
+let me live in my house by the side of the road
+and be a friend to man
+
+i know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead
+and mountains of wearisome height
+that the road passes on through the long afternoon
+and stretches away to the night
+but still i rejoice when the travelers rejoice
+and weep with the strangers that moan
+nor live in my house by the side of the road
+like a man who dwells alone
+
+let me live in my house by the side of the road
+where the race of men go by
+they are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong
+then why should i sit in the scorner's seat
+or hurl the cynic's ban
+let me live in my house by the side of the road
+and be a friend to man
+
+
+
+the first thing that i remember was carlo tugging away
+with the sleeve of my coat fast in his teeth, pulling, as much as to
+think of the souls in the coming train, and the graves you are sending
+them to
+think of the mother and the babe at her breast, think of the father and
+think of the lover and the loved one too, think of them doomed every one
+to fall (as it were by your very hand) into yon fathomless ditch
+murdered by one who should guard them from harm, who now lies asleep at
+the switch
+
+i sprang up amazed--scarce knew where i stood, sleep had o'ermastered
+me so
+i could hear the wind hollowly howling, and the deep river dashing below
+i could hear the forest leaves rustling, as the trees by the tempest were
+fanned
+but what was that noise in the distance? that, i could not understand
+i heard it at first indistinctly, like the rolling of some muffled drum
+then nearer and nearer it came to me, till it made my very ears hum
+what is this light that surrounds me and seems to set fire to my brain
+what whistle's that, yelling so shrill? ah! i know now; it's the train
+
+we often stand facing some danger, and seem to take root to the place
+so i stood--with this demon before me, its heated breath scorching my
+its headlight made day of the darkness, and glared like the eyes of
+some witch
+the train was almost upon me before i remembered the switch
+i sprang to it, seizing it wildly, the train dashing fast down the track
+the switch resisted my efforts, some devil seemed holding it back
+on, on came the fiery-eyed monster, and shot by my face like a flash
+i swooned to the earth the next moment, and knew nothing after the crash
+
+how long i lay there unconscious 'twas impossible for me to tell
+my stupor was almost a heaven, my waking almost a hell
+for then i heard the piteous moaning and shrieking of husbands and wives
+and i thought of the day we all shrink from, when i must account for
+their lives
+mothers rushed by me like maniacs, their eyes glaring madly and wild
+fathers, losing their courage, gave way to their grief like a child
+children searching for parents, i noticed, as by me they sped
+and lips, that could form naught but "mamma," were calling for one
+perhaps dead
+
+my mind was made up in a moment, the river should hide me away
+when, under the still burning rafters i suddenly noticed there lay
+a little white hand; she who owned it was doubtless an object of love
+to one whom her loss would drive frantic, though she guarded him now
+from above
+i tenderly lifted the rafters and quietly laid them one side
+how little she thought of her journey when she left for this dark, fatal
+i lifted the last log from off her, and while searching for some spark
+of life
+turned her little face up in the starlight, and recognized--maggie, my
+
+o lord! my scourge is a hard one, at a blow thou hast shattered my pride
+my life will be one endless nightmare, with maggie away from my side
+how often i'd sat down and pictured the scenes in our long, happy life
+how i'd strive through all my lifetime, to build up a home for my wife
+how people would envy us always in our cozy and neat little nest
+how i should do all the labor, and maggie should all the day rest
+how one of god's blessings might cheer us, how some day i perhaps should
+be rich
+but all of my dreams had been shattered, while i lay there asleep at the
+switch
+
+i fancied i stood on my trial, the jury and judge i could see
+and every eye in the court room was steadily fixed upon me
+and fingers were pointed in scorn, till i felt my face blushing blood-red
+and the next thing i heard were the words, "hanged by the neck until
+then i felt myself pulled once again, and my hand caught tight hold of a
+dress
+guess
+and there stood maggie, my wife, with never a scar from the ditch
+i'd been taking a nap in my bed, and had not been "asleep at the switch
+
+
+
+a fire-mist and a planet
+a crystal and a cell
+a jellyfish and a saurian
+and caves where the cavemen dwell
+then a sense of law and beauty
+and a face turned from the clod
+some call it evolution
+and others call it god
+
+a haze in the far horizon
+the infinite, tender sky
+the ripe, rich tints of the cornfields
+and the wild geese sailing high
+and all over upland and lowland
+the charm of the goldenrod
+some of us call it nature
+and others call it god
+
+like tides on a crescent sea-beach
+when the moon is new and thin
+into our hearts high yearnings
+come welling and surging in
+come from the mystic ocean
+whose rim no foot has trod
+some of us call it longing
+and others call it god
+
+a picket frozen on duty
+a mother starved for her brood
+socrates drinking the hemlock
+and jesus on the rood
+the millions who, humble and nameless
+the straight, hard pathway trod
+some call it consecration
+and others call it god
+
+
+
+come, listen all unto my song
+it is no silly fable
+they call the atlantic cable
+
+bold cyrus field he said, says he
+i have a pretty notion
+that i can run the telegraph
+across the atlantic ocean
+
+then all the people laughed, and said
+they'd like to see him do it
+he might get half-seas over, but
+he never could go through it
+
+to carry out his foolish plan
+he never would be able
+he might as well go hang himself
+with his atlantic cable
+
+but cyrus was a valiant man
+a fellow of decision
+and heeded not their mocking words
+their laughter and derision
+
+twice did his bravest efforts fail
+and yet his mind was stable
+he wa'n't the man to break his heart
+because he broke his cable
+
+
+once more they tried--hurrah! hurrah
+what means this great commotion
+the lord be praised! the cable's laid
+across the atlantic ocean
+
+loud ring the bells,--for, flashing through
+six hundred leagues of water
+old mother england's benison
+salutes her eldest daughter
+
+o'er all the land the tidings speed
+and soon, in every nation
+they'll hear about the cable with
+profoundest admiration
+
+the manly, bold, and stable
+and tell our sons, to make them brave
+how cyrus laid the cable
+
+
+
+jane jones keeps talkin' to me all the time
+an' says you must make it a rule
+to study your lessons 'nd work hard 'nd learn
+an' never be absent from school
+remember the story of elihu burritt
+an' how he clum up to the top
+got all the knowledge 'at he ever had
+down in a blacksmithing shop
+jane jones she honestly said it was so
+mebbe he did
+i dunno
+o' course what's a-keepin' me 'way from the top
+is not never havin' no blacksmithing shop
+
+she said 'at ben franklin was awfully poor
+but full of ambition an' brains
+an' studied philosophy all his hull life
+an' see what he got for his pains
+he brought electricity out of the sky
+with a kite an' a bottle an' key
+an' we're owing him more'n any one else
+for all the bright lights 'at we see
+jane jones she honestly said it was so
+mebbe he did
+i dunno
+o' course what's allers been hinderin' me
+is not havin' any kite, lightning er key
+
+jane jones said abe lincoln had no books at all
+an' used to split rails when a boy
+an' general grant was a tanner by trade
+an' lived 'way out in illinois
+so when the great war in the south first broke out
+he stood on the side o' the right
+an' when lincoln called him to take charge o' things
+he won nearly every blamed fight
+jane jones she honestly said it was so
+mebbe he did
+i dunno
+still i ain't to blame, not by a big sight
+for i ain't never had any battles to fight
+
+she said 'at columbus was out at the knees
+when he first thought up his big scheme
+an' told all the spaniards 'nd italians, too
+an' all of 'em said 'twas a dream
+but queen isabella jest listened to him
+mebbe he did
+i dunno
+o' course that may be, but then you must allow
+they ain't no land to discover jest now
+
+
+
+mounted on kyrat strong and fleet
+his chestnut steed with four white feet
+roushan beg, called kurroglou
+son of the road and bandit chief
+seeking refuge and relief
+up the mountain pathway flew
+
+such was kyrat's wondrous speed
+never yet could any steed
+reach the dust-cloud in his course
+more than maiden, more than wife
+more than gold and next to life
+roushan the robber loved his horse
+
+in the land that lies beyond
+erzeroum and trebizond
+garden-girt his fortress stood
+plundered khan, or caravan
+journeying north from koordistan
+gave him wealth and wine and food
+
+seven hundred and fourscore
+men at arms his livery wore
+did his bidding night and day
+now, through regions all unknown
+he was wandering, lost, alone
+seeking without guide his way
+
+suddenly the pathway ends
+sheer the precipice descends
+loud the torrent roars unseen
+thirty feet from side to side
+yawns the chasm; on air must ride
+he who crosses this ravine
+
+following close in his pursuit
+at the precipice's foot
+reyhan the arab of orfah
+halted with his hundred men
+shouting upward from the glen
+
+gently roushan beg caressed
+kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast
+kissed him upon both his eyes
+sang to him in his wild way
+as upon the topmost spray
+sings a bird before it flies
+
+round and slender as a reed
+carry me this peril through
+satin housings shall be thine
+shoes of gold, o kyrat mine
+o thou soul of kurroglou
+
+soft as woman's hair thy mane
+tender are thine eyes and true
+all thy hoofs like ivory shine
+polished bright; o life of mine
+leap, and rescue kurroglou
+
+kyrat, then, the strong and fleet
+drew together his four white feet
+paused a moment on the verge
+measured with his eye the space
+and into the air's embrace
+leaped, as leaps the ocean surge
+
+as the ocean surge o'er sand
+bears a swimmer safe to land
+kyrat safe his rider bore
+rattling down the deep abyss
+fragments of the precipice
+rolled like pebbles on a shore
+
+roushan's tasseled cap of red
+trembled not upon his head
+careless sat he and upright
+neither hand nor bridle shook
+nor his head he turned to look
+as he galloped out of sight
+
+flash of harness in the air
+seen a moment like the glare
+of a sword drawn from its sheath
+thus the phantom horseman passed
+and the shadow that he cast
+leaped the cataract underneath
+
+reyhan the arab held his breath
+while this vision of life and death
+passed above him. "allahu
+cried he. "in all koordistan
+lives there not so brave a man
+as this robber kurroglou
+
+
+
+ay, tear her tattered ensign down
+long has it waved on high
+and many an eye has danced to see
+that banner in the sky
+beneath it rung the battle shout
+and burst the cannon's roar
+the meteor of the ocean air
+shall sweep the clouds no more
+
+her deck, once red with heroes' blood
+where knelt the vanquished foe
+when winds were hurrying o'er the flood
+and waves were white below
+no more shall feel the victor's tread
+or know the conquered knee
+the harpies of the shore shall pluck
+the eagle of the sea
+
+oh, better that her shattered hulk
+should sink beneath the wave
+her thunders shook the mighty deep
+and there should be her grave
+nail to the mast her holy flag
+set every threadbare sail
+and give her to the god of storms
+the lightning and the gale
+
+
+
+tell me not, in mournful numbers
+for the soul is dead that slumbers
+and things are not what they seem
+
+life is real! life is earnest
+and the grave is not its goal
+was not spoken of the soul
+
+not enjoyment, and not sorrow
+is our destined end or way
+but to act that each to-morrow
+finds us farther than to-day
+
+art is long, and time is fleeting
+and our hearts, though stout and brave
+still, like muffled drums, are beating
+funeral marches to the grave
+
+in the world's broad field of battle
+in the bivouac of life
+be not like dumb, driven cattle
+be a hero in the strife
+
+trust no future, howe'er pleasant
+let the dead past bury its dead
+act, act in the living present
+heart within, and god o'erhead
+
+lives of great men all remind us
+we can make our lives sublime
+and, departing, leave behind us
+footprints on the sands of time
+
+footprints, that perhaps another
+sailing o'er life's solemn main
+a forlorn and shipwrecked brother
+seeing, shall take heart again
+
+let us, then, be up and doing
+with a heart for any fate
+still achieving, still pursuing
+learn to labor and to wait
+
+
+
+i think, of all the things at school
+a boy has got to do
+that studyin' hist'ry, as a rule
+is worst of all, don't you
+of dates there are an awful sight
+an' though i study day an' night
+there's only one i've got just right
+that's fourteen ninety-two
+
+columbus crossed the delaware
+in fourteen ninety-two
+we whipped the british, fair an' square
+in fourteen ninety-two
+at concord an' at lexington
+we kept the redcoats on the run
+while the band played johnny get your gun
+in fourteen ninety-two
+
+pat henry, with his dyin' breath
+in fourteen ninety-two
+said, "gimme liberty or death
+in fourteen ninety-two
+an' barbara frietchie, so 'tis said
+cried, "shoot if you must this old, gray head
+but i'd rather 'twould be your own instead
+in fourteen ninety-two
+
+the pilgrims came to plymouth rock
+in fourteen ninety-two
+an' the indians standin' on the dock
+asked, "what are you goin' to do
+an' they said, "we seek your harbor drear
+that our children's children's children dear
+may boast that their forefathers landed here
+in fourteen ninety-two
+
+miss pocahontas saved the life
+in fourteen ninety-two
+of john smith, an' became his wife
+in fourteen ninety-two
+an' the smith tribe started then an' there
+an' now there are john smiths ev'rywhere
+but they didn't have any smiths to spare
+in fourteen ninety-two
+
+kentucky was settled by daniel boone
+in fourteen ninety-two
+an' i think the cow jumped over the moon
+in fourteen ninety-two
+ben franklin flew his kite so high
+he drew the lightnin' from the sky
+an' washington couldn't tell a lie
+in fourteen ninety-two
+
+
+
+singing through the forests, rattling over ridges
+shooting under arches, rumbling over bridges
+whizzing through the mountains, buzzing o'er the vale
+bless me! this is pleasant, riding on the rail
+
+men of different stations in the eye of fame
+here are very quickly coming to the same
+high and lowly people, birds of every feather
+on a common level, traveling together
+
+gentlemen in shorts, blooming very tall
+gentlemen at large, talking very small
+gentlemen in tights, with a loosish mien
+gentlemen in gray, looking very green
+
+gentlemen quite old, asking for the news
+gentlemen in black, with a fit of blues
+gentlemen in claret, sober as a vicar
+gentlemen in tweed, dreadfully in liquor
+
+stranger on the right looking very sunny
+obviously reading something very funny
+now the smiles are thicker--wonder what they mean
+faith, he's got the knickerbocker magazine
+
+stranger on the left, closing up his peepers
+now he snores again, like the seven sleepers
+at his feet a volume gives the explanation
+how the man grew stupid from "association
+
+ancient maiden lady anxiously remarks
+that there must be peril 'mong so many sparks
+roguish-looking fellow, turning to the stranger
+says 'tis his opinion _she_ is out of danger
+
+woman with her baby, sitting _vis a vis
+baby keeps a-squalling, woman looks at me
+asks about the distance--says 'tis tiresome talking
+noises of the cars are so very shocking
+
+market woman, careful of the precious casket
+knowing eggs are eggs, tightly holds her basket
+feeling that a smash, if it came, would surely
+send her eggs to pot rather prematurely
+
+singing through the forests, rattling over ridges
+shooting under arches, rumbling over bridges
+whizzing through the mountains, buzzing o'er the vale
+bless me! this is pleasant, riding on the rail
+
+
+
+
+thou, too, sail on, o ship of state
+sail on, o union, strong and great
+humanity with all its fears
+with all the hopes of future years
+is hanging breathless on thy fate
+we know what master laid thy keel
+what workmen wrought thy ribs of steel
+who made each mast, and sail, and rope
+what anvils rang, what hammers beat
+in what a forge and what a heat
+were shaped the anchors of thy hope
+fear not each sudden sound and shock
+and not a rent made by the gale
+in spite of rock and tempest's roar
+in spite of false lights on the shore
+sail on, nor fear to breast the sea
+our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee
+our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears
+our faith truiumphant o'er our fears
+are all with thee,--are all with thee
+
+
+
+you's as stiff an' as cold as a stone
+little cat
+dey's done frowed you out an' left you alone
+little cat
+i's a-strokin' you's fur
+but you don't never purr
+nor hump up anywhere
+little cat
+w'y is dat
+is you's purrin' an' humpin'-up done
+
+an' w'y fer is you's little foot tied
+little cat
+did dey pisen you's tummick inside
+little cat
+did dey pound you wif bricks
+or wif big nasty sticks
+or abuse you wif kicks
+little cat
+tell me dat
+did dey holler at all when you cwied
+
+did it hurt werry bad w'en you died
+little cat
+oh, w'y didn't yo wun off and hide
+little cat
+i is wet in my eyes
+w'en a pussy cat dies
+little cat
+tink of dat
+an' i's awfully solly besides
+
+dest lay still dere in de sof gwown
+little cat
+w'ile i tucks de gween gwass all awoun
+little cat
+dey can't hurt you no more
+w'en you's tired an' so sore
+dest sleep twiet, you pore
+little cat
+wif a pat
+an' fordet all de kicks of de town
+
+
+
+the barber was busy, and he couldn't stop
+the customers, waiting their turns, were all reading
+the _daily_, the _herald_, the _post_, little heeding
+the young man who blurted out such a blunt question
+not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion
+and the barber kept on shaving
+
+cried the youth, with a frown
+how preposterous each wing is
+how flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is
+in short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis
+i make no apology; i've learned owleology
+i've passed days and nights in a hundred collections
+and cannot be blinded to any deflections
+arising from unskilful fingers that fail
+to stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail
+mister brown! mister brown! do take that bird down
+or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town
+and the barber kept on shaving
+
+and other night fowls
+and i tell you
+what i know to be true
+an owl cannot roost
+with his limbs so unloosed
+no owl in this world
+ever had his claws curled
+ever had his legs slanted
+ever had his bill canted
+ever had his neck screwed
+into that attitude
+he can't _do_ it, because
+anatomy teaches
+ornithology preaches
+an owl has a toe
+that _can't_ turn out so
+i've made the white owl my study for years
+and to see such a job almost moves me to tears
+mister brown, i'm amazed
+you should be so gone crazed
+as to put up a bird
+in that posture absurd
+to _look_ at that owl really brings on a dizziness
+the man who stuffed him don't half know his business
+and the barber kept on shaving
+
+i'm filled with surprise
+taxidermists should pass
+off on you such poor glass
+so unnatural they seem
+they'd make audubon scream
+and john burroughs laugh
+to encounter such chaff
+do take that bird down
+have him stuffed again, brown
+and the barber kept on shaving
+
+i could stuff in the dark
+an owl better than that
+i could make an old hat
+look more like an owl
+than that horrid fowl
+stuck up here so stiff like a side of coarse leather
+in fact, about _him _there's not one natural feather
+just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch
+the owl, very gravely, got down from his perch
+walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic
+and then fairly hooted, as if he should say
+don't waste it again on a live bird, i pray
+i'm an owl; you're another. sir critic, good-day
+and the barber kept on shaving
+
+
+
+the end has come, as come it must
+to all things; in these sweet june days
+the teacher and the scholar trust
+their parting feet to separate ways
+
+they part: but in the years to be
+shall pleasant memories cling to each
+as shells bear inland from the sea
+the murmur of the rhythmic beach
+
+one knew the joys the sculptor knows
+when, plastic to his lightest touch
+his clay-wrought model slowly grows
+to that fine grace desired so much
+
+so daily grew before her eyes
+the living shapes whereon she wrought
+strong, tender, innocently wise
+the child's heart with the woman's thought
+
+and one shall never quite forget
+the voice that called from dream and play
+the firm but kindly hand that set
+her feet in learning's pleasant way
+
+the joy of undine soul-possessed
+the wakening sense, the strange delight
+that swelled the fabled statue's breast
+and filled its clouded eyes with sight
+
+o youth and beauty, loved of all
+ye pass from girlhood's gate of dreams
+in broader ways your footsteps fall
+ye test the truth of all that seems
+
+her little realm the teacher leaves
+she breaks her wand of power apart
+while, for your love and trust, she gives
+the warm thanks of a grateful heart
+
+hers is the sober summer noon
+contrasted with your morn of spring
+the waning with the waxing moon
+the folded with the outspread wing
+
+across the distance of the years
+she sends her god-speed back to you
+she has no thought of doubts or fears
+be but yourselves, be pure, be true
+
+and prompt in duty; heed the deep
+low voice of conscience; through the ill
+and discord round about you, keep
+your faith in human nature still
+
+be gentle: unto griefs and needs
+be pitiful as woman should
+and, spite of all the lies of creeds
+hold fast the truth that god is good
+
+give and receive; go forth and bless
+the world that needs the hand and heart
+of martha's helpful carefulness
+no less than mary's better part
+
+so shall the stream of time flow by
+and leave each year a richer good
+and matron loveliness outvie
+the nameless charm of maidenhood
+
+and, when the world shall link your names
+with gracious lives and manners fine
+the teacher shall assert her claims
+and proudly whisper, "these were mine
+
+
+
+oh, that i might have my request, and that god would grant me the thing
+that i long for.--_job 6:8
+
+it was peeping through the brambles, that little wild white rose
+where the hawthorn hedge was planted, my garden to enclose
+all beyond was fern and heather, on the breezy, open moor
+all within was sun and shelter, and the wealth of beauty's store
+but i did not heed the fragrance of flow'ret or of tree
+for my eyes were on that rosebud, and it grew too high for me
+in vain i strove to reach it through the tangled mass of green
+it only smiled and nodded behind its thorny screen
+yet through that summer morning i lingered near the spot
+oh, why do things seem sweeter if we possess them not
+my garden buds were blooming, but all that i could see
+was that little mocking wild rose, hanging just too high for me
+
+so in life's wider garden there are buds of promise, too
+beyond our reach to gather, but not beyond our view
+and like the little charmer that tempted me astray
+they steal out half the brightness of many a summer's day
+oh, hearts that fail with longing for some forbidden tree
+look up and learn a lesson from my white rose and me
+than ever to be sighing for just one bud more sweet
+my sunbeams and my shadows fall from a pierced hand
+i can surely trust his wisdom since his heart i understand
+and maybe in the morning, when his blessed face i see
+he will tell me why my white rose grew just too high for me
+
+
+
+when earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried
+when the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died
+we shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it--lie down for an aeon or two
+till the master of all good workmen shall set us to work anew
+
+and those who were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair
+they shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comet's hair
+they shall find real saints to draw from--magdalene, peter and paul
+they shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all
+
+and only the master shall praise us, and only the master shall blame
+and no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame
+but each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star
+shall draw the thing as he sees it for the god of things as they are
+
+
+
+you're surprised that i ever should say so
+just wait till the reason i've given
+why i say i sha'n't care for the music
+unless there is whistling in heaven
+then you'll think it no very great wonder
+nor so strange, nor so bold a conceit
+that unless there's a boy there a-whistling
+its music will not be complete
+
+it was late in the autumn of '40
+we had come from our far eastern home
+just in season to build us a cabin
+ere the cold of the winter should come
+and we lived all the while in our wagon
+that husband was clearing the place
+where the house was to stand; and the clearing
+and building it took many days
+
+so that our heads were scarce sheltered
+in under its roof when our store
+of provisions was almost exhausted
+and husband must journey for more
+and the nearest place where he could get them
+was yet such a distance away
+that it forced him from home to be absent
+at least a whole night and a day
+
+you see, we'd but two or three neighbors
+and the nearest was more than a mile
+and we hadn't found time yet to know them
+for we had been busy the while
+and the man who had helped at the raising
+just staid till the job was well done
+and as soon as his money was paid him
+had shouldered his axe and had gone
+
+well, husband just kissed me and started
+i could scarcely suppress a deep groan
+at the thought of remaining with baby
+so long in the house alone
+for, my dear, i was childish and timid
+and braver ones might well have feared
+for the wild wolf was often heard howling
+and savages sometimes appeared
+
+but i smothered my grief and my terror
+till husband was off on his ride
+and then in my arms i took josey
+and all the day long sat and cried
+as i thought of the long, dreary hours
+when the darkness of night should fall
+and i was so utterly helpless
+with no one in reach of my call
+
+and when the night came with its terrors
+to hide ev'ry ray of light
+i hung up a quilt by the window
+and, almost dead with affright
+i kneeled by the side of the cradle
+scarce daring to draw a full breath
+lest the baby should wake, and its crying
+should bring us a horrible death
+
+there i knelt until late in the evening
+and scarcely an inch had i stirred
+when suddenly, far in the distance
+a sound as of whistling i heard
+i started up dreadfully frightened
+for fear 'twas an indian's call
+and then very soon i remembered
+the red man ne'er whistles at all
+
+and when i was sure 'twas a white man
+i thought, were he coming for ill
+he'd surely approach with more caution
+would come without warning, and still
+then the sound, coming nearer and nearer
+took the form of a tune light and gay
+and i knew i needn't fear evil
+from one who could whistle that way
+
+very soon i heard footsteps approaching
+then came a peculiar dull thump
+as if some one was heavily striking
+an ax in the top of a stump
+and then, in another brief moment
+there came a light tap on the door
+when quickly i undid the fast'ning
+and in stepped a boy, and before
+
+there was either a question or answer
+or either had time to speak
+i just threw my glad arms around him
+and gave him a kiss on the cheek
+then i started back, scared at my boldness
+but he only smiled at my fright
+as he said, "i'm your neighbor's boy, ellick
+come to tarry with you through the night
+
+and made up our minds where he'd gone
+and i said to the rest of our people
+and i venture she's awfully lonesome
+and though she may have no great fear
+i think she would feel a bit safer
+if only a boy were but near
+
+for fear that a savage might stray
+across my path and need scalping
+i started right down this way
+and coming in sight of the cabin
+and thinking to save you alarm
+i whistled a tune, just to show you
+i didn't intend any harm
+
+but if you don't want me to stay
+why, all you need do is to say so
+and should'ring my axe, i'll away
+i dropped in a chair and near fainted
+just at thought of his leaving me then
+and his eye gave a knowing bright twinkle
+as he said, "i guess i'll remain
+
+and then i just sat there and told him
+how terribly frightened i'd been
+how his face was to me the most welcome
+of any i ever had seen
+and then i lay down with the baby
+and slept all the blessed night through
+for i felt i was safe from all danger
+near so brave a young fellow, and true
+
+so now, my dear friend, do you wonder
+since such a good reason i've given
+why i say i sha'n't care for the music
+unless there is whistling in heaven
+yes, often i've said so in earnest
+and now what i've said i repeat
+that unless there's a boy there a-whistling
+its music will not be complete
+
+
+sleep, baby, sleep
+thy father's watching the sheep
+thy mother's shaking the dreamland tree
+and down drops a little dream for thee
+sleep, baby, sleep
+
+sleep, baby, sleep
+the large stars are the sheep
+the little stars are the lambs, i guess
+the bright moon is the shepherdess
+sleep, baby, sleep
+
+sleep, baby, sleep
+thy savior loves his sheep
+he is the lamb of god on high
+who for our sakes came down to die
+sleep, baby, sleep
+
+
+
+seated one day at the organ
+i was weary and ill at ease
+and my fingers wandered idly
+over the noisy keys
+
+i do not know what i was playing
+or what i was dreaming then
+but i struck one chord of music
+like the sound of a great amen
+
+it flooded the crimson twilight
+like the close of an angel's psalm
+and it lay on my fevered spirit
+with a touch of infinite calm
+
+it quieted pain and sorrow
+like love overcoming strife
+it seemed the harmonious echo
+from our discordant life
+
+it linked all perplexing meanings
+into one perfect peace
+and trembled away into silence
+as if it were loth to cease
+
+i have sought, but i seek it vainly
+that one lost chord divine
+that came from the soul of the organ
+and entered into mine
+
+it may be that death's bright angel
+will speak in that chord again
+it may be that only in heaven
+i shall hear that grand amen
+
+
+
+between the dark and the daylight
+when the night is beginning to lower
+comes a pause in the day's occupations
+that is known as the children's hour
+
+i hear in the chamber above me
+the patter of little feet
+the sound of a door that is opened
+and voices soft and sweet
+
+from my study i see in the lamplight
+descending the broad hall stair
+grave alice, and laughing allegra
+and edith with golden hair
+
+a whisper, and then a silence
+yet i know by their merry eyes
+they are plotting and planning together
+to take me by surprise
+
+a sudden rush from the stairway
+a sudden raid from the hall
+by three doors left unguarded
+they enter my castle wall
+
+they climb up into my turret
+o'er the arms and back of my chair
+if i try to escape, they surround me
+they seem to be everywhere
+
+they almost devour me with kisses
+their arms about me entwine
+till i think of the bishop of bingen
+in his mouse-tower on the rhine
+
+do you think, o blue-eyed banditti
+because you have scaled the wall
+such an old mustache as i am
+is not a match for you all
+
+i have you fast in my fortress
+and will not let you depart
+but put you down into the dungeon
+in the round-tower of my heart
+
+and there will i keep you forever
+yes, forever and a day
+till the walls shall crumble to ruin
+and moulder in dust away
+
+
+
+woodman, spare that tree
+touch not a single bough
+in youth it sheltered me
+and i'll protect it now
+that placed it near his cot
+there, woodman, let it stand
+thy ax shall harm it not
+
+that old familiar tree
+whose glory and renown
+are spread o'er land and sea
+and wouldst thou hew it down
+woodman, forbear thy stroke
+cut not its earth-bound ties
+oh, spare that aged oak
+now towering to the skies
+
+when but an idle boy
+i sought its grateful shade
+in all their gushing joy
+here, too, my sisters played
+my mother kissed me here
+my father pressed my hand
+forgive this foolish tear
+but let that old oak stand
+
+my heart-strings round thee cling
+close as thy bark, old friend
+here shall the wild-bird sing
+and still thy branches bend
+old tree! the storm still brave
+and, woodman, leave the spot
+while i've a hand to save
+thy ax shall harm it not
+
+
+
+they drive home the cows from the pasture
+up through the long shady lane
+where the quail whistles loud in the wheat-fields
+that are yellow with ripening grain
+they find, in the thick waving grasses
+where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows
+they gather the earliest snowdrops
+and the first crimson buds of the rose
+
+they toss the new hay in the meadow
+they gather the elder-bloom white
+they find where the dusky grapes purple
+in the soft-tinted october light
+they know where the apples hang ripest
+and are sweeter than italy's wines
+they know where the fruit hangs the thickest
+on the long, thorny blackberry vines
+
+they gather the delicate sea-weeds
+and build tiny castles of sand
+they pick up the beautiful sea shells
+fairy barks that have drifted to land
+they wave from the tall, rocking tree-tops
+where the oriole's hammock-nest swings
+and at night time are folded in slumber
+by a song that a fond mother sings
+
+those who toil bravely are strongest
+the humble and poor become great
+and so from these brown-handed children
+shall grow mighty rulers of state
+the pen of the author and statesman
+the noble and wise of the land
+the sword, and the chisel, and palette
+shall be held in the little brown hand
+
+
+
+up from the meadows rich with corn
+clear in the cool september morn
+
+the clustered spires of frederick stand
+green-walled by the hills of maryland
+
+round about them orchards sweep
+apple and peach tree fruited deep
+
+fair as the garden of the lord
+to the eyes of the famished rebel horde
+
+on that pleasant morn of the early fall
+when lee marched over the mountain-wall
+
+over the mountains winding down
+horse and foot, into frederick town
+
+forty flags with their silver stars
+forty flags with their crimson bars
+
+flapped in the morning wind; the sun
+of noon looked down, and saw not one
+
+up rose old barbara frietchie then
+bowed with her fourscore years and ten
+
+bravest of all in frederick town
+she took up the flag the men hauled down
+
+in her attic window the staff she set
+to show that one heart was loyal yet
+
+up the street came the rebel tread
+stonewall jackson riding ahead
+
+under his slouched hat left and right
+he glanced; the old flag met his sight
+
+
+it shivered the window, pane and sash
+it rent the banner with seam and gash
+
+quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
+dame barbara snatched the silken scarf
+
+she leaned far out on the window-sill
+and shook it forth with a royal will
+
+but spare your country's flag," she said
+
+a shade of sadness, a blush of shame
+over the face of the leader came
+
+the nobler nature within him stirred
+to life at that woman's deed and word
+
+dies like a dog; march on!" he said
+
+all day long through frederick street
+sounded the tread of marching feet
+
+all day long that free flag tost
+over the heads of the rebel host
+
+ever its torn folds rose and fell
+on the loyal winds that loved it well
+
+and through the hill-gaps sunset light
+shone over it a warm good night
+
+barbara frietchie's work is o'er
+and the rebel rides on his raids no more
+
+honor to her! and let a tear
+fall, for her sake, on stonewall's bier
+
+over barbara frietchie's grave
+flag of freedom and union wave
+
+peace and order and beauty draw
+round thy symbol of light and law
+
+and ever the stars above look down
+on thy stars below in frederick town
+
+
+
+i started on a journey just about a week ago
+for the little town of morrow, in the state of ohio
+i never was a traveler, and really didn't know
+that morrow had been ridiculed a century or so
+i went down to the depot for my ticket and applied
+for the tips regarding morrow, not expecting to be guyed
+said i, "my friend, i want to go to morrow and return
+not later than to-morrow, for i haven't time to burn
+
+said he to me, "now let me see if i have heard you right
+you want to go to morrow and come back to-morrow night
+you should have gone to morrow yesterday and back to-day
+for if you started yesterday to morrow, don't you see
+you could have got to morrow and returned to-day at three
+the train that started yesterday--now understand me right
+to-day it gets to morrow, and returns to-morrow night
+
+said i, "my boy, it seems to me you're talking through your hat
+is there a town named morrow on your line? now tell me that
+to go from here to morrow is a fourteen-hour trip
+the train that goes to morrow leaves to-day eight-thirty-five
+half after ten to-morrow is the time it should arrive
+now if from here to morrow is a fourteen-hour jump
+can you go to-day to morrow and come back to-day, you chump
+
+said i, "i want to go to morrow; can i go to-day
+and get to morrow by to-night, if there is no delay
+can you go anywhere to-morrow and come back from there to-day
+for if to-day you'd get to morrow, surely you'll agree
+you should have started not to-day, but yesterday, you see
+so if you start to morrow, leaving here to-day, you're flat
+you won't get to morrow till the day that follows that
+
+to-morrow into morrow, not to-day, you understand
+for the train to-day to morrow, if the schedule is right
+will get you into morrow by about to-morrow night
+said i, "i guess you know it all, but kindly let me say
+how can i go to morrow, if i leave the town to-day
+said he, "you cannot go to morrow any more to-day
+for the train that goes to morrow is a mile upon its way
+
+
+i was so disappointed i was mad enough to swear
+the train had gone to morrow and had left me standing there
+the man was right in telling me i was a howling jay
+i didn't go to morrow, so i guess i'll go to-day
+
+
+the little cares that fretted me
+i lost them yesterday
+among the fields above the seas
+among the winds at play
+among the lowing of the herds
+the rustling of the trees
+among the singing of the birds
+the humming of the bees
+
+the foolish fears of what might happen
+i cast them all away
+among the clover-scented grass
+among the new-mown hay
+among the husking of the corn
+where drowsy poppies nod
+where ill thoughts die and good are born
+out in the fields with god
+
+
+
+i know the song that the bluebird is singing
+out in the apple tree where he is swinging
+brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary
+nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery
+
+hark! how the music leaps out from his throat
+hark! was there ever so merry a note
+listen a while, and you'll hear what he's saying
+up in the apple tree swinging and swaying
+
+you must be weary of winter i know
+listen, i'll sing you a message of cheer
+summer is coming! and springtime is here
+
+bright yellow crocus! please open your eyes
+sweet little violets, hid from the cold
+put on your mantles of purple and gold
+daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear
+summer is coming, and springtime is here
+
+
+
+old ironsides at anchor lay
+in the harbor of mahon
+a dead calm rested on the bay
+the waves to sleep had gone
+when little hal, the captain's son
+a lad both brave and good
+in sport, up shroud and rigging ran
+and on the main truck stood
+
+a shudder shot through every vein
+all eyes were turned on high
+there stood the boy, with dizzy brain
+between the sea and sky
+no hold had he above, below
+alone he stood in air
+to that far height none dared to go
+no aid could reach him there
+
+we gazed, but not a man could speak
+with horror all aghast
+in groups, with pallid brow and cheek
+we watched the quivering mast
+the atmosphere grew thick and hot
+and of a lurid hue
+as riveted unto the spot
+stood officers and crew
+
+the father came on deck:--he gasped
+then suddenly a rifle grasped
+and aimed it at his son
+jump, or i fire," he said
+jump, jump, boy!" he obeyed
+
+he sunk,--he rose,--he lived,--he moved
+and for the ship struck out
+on board we hailed the lad beloved
+with many a manly shout
+his father drew, in silent joy
+those wet arms round his neck
+and folded to his heart his boy
+then fainted on the deck
+
+
+
+i shot an arrow into the air
+it fell to earth, i knew not where
+for, so swiftly it flew, the sight
+could not follow it in its flight
+
+i breathed a song into the air
+it fell to earth, i knew not where
+for who has sight so keen and strong
+that it can follow the flight of song
+
+long, long afterward, in an oak
+i found the arrow, still unbroke
+and the song, from beginning to end
+i found again in the heart of a friend
+
+
+
+the justice, laughing, said, "oh no
+i only meant the loads of snow
+upon the roofs. the barn is weak
+i greatly fear the roof will break
+so hand me up the spade, my dear
+i'll mount the barn, the roof to clear
+and if you slip, and fall, and die
+how will my living be secured
+stephen, your life is not insured
+but tie a rope your waist around
+and it will hold you safe and sound
+all snugly tied, and danger-proof
+excelsior! excel--but no
+the rope is not secured below
+said rachel, "climb, the end to throw
+across the top, and i will go
+and tie that end around my waist
+you always would be tightly laced
+rachel, when you became my bride
+i thought the knot securely tied
+but lest the bond should break in twain
+i'll have it fastened once again
+below the arm-pits tied around
+she takes her station on the ground
+while on the roof, beyond the ridge
+he shovels clear the lower edge
+but, sad mischance! the loosened snow
+comes sliding down, to plunge below
+and as he tumbles with the slide
+up rachel goes on t'other side
+just half-way down the justice hung
+just half-way up the woman swung
+
+the couple, dangling in the breeze
+like turkeys hung outside to freeze
+at their rope's end and wits' end, too
+shout back and forth what best to do
+cried stephen, "take it coolly, wife
+all have their ups and downs in life
+quoth rachel, "what a pity 'tis
+to joke at such a thing as this
+a man whose wife is being hung
+should know enough to hold his tongue
+i see a tempting heap of snow
+suppose, my dear, i take my knife
+and cut the rope to save my life
+she shouted, "don't! 'twould be my death
+i see some pointed stones beneath
+a better way would be to call
+with all our might, for phebe hall
+gave tongue; "o phebe! phebe! _phe-e-be_ hall!" in tones both fine
+and coarse
+enough to make a drover hoarse
+
+now phebe, over at the farm
+was sitting, sewing, snug and warm
+but hearing, as she thought, her name
+sprang up, and to the rescue came
+beheld the scene, and thus she thought
+and i could reach the lady's foot
+i'd draw her downward by the boot
+then cut the rope, and let him go
+he cannot miss the pile of snow
+he sees her moving toward his wife
+armed with a chair and carving-knife
+and, ere he is aware, perceives
+his head ascending to the eaves
+and, guessing what the two are at
+screams from beneath the roof, "stop that
+you make me fall too far, by half
+but phebe answers, with a laugh
+you've brought your wife to such a plight
+and then, with well-directed blows
+she cuts the rope and down he goes
+the wife untied, they walk around
+when lo! no stephen can be found
+they call in vain, run to and fro
+they look around, above, below
+no trace or token can they see
+and deeper grows the mystery
+then rachel's heart within her sank
+but, glancing at the snowy bank
+she caught a little gleam of hope
+a gentle movement of the rope
+they scrape away a little snow
+what's this? a hat! ah! he's below
+then upward heaves the snowy pile
+and forth he stalks in tragic style
+unhurt, and with a roguish smile
+and rachel sees, with glad surprise
+the missing found, the fallen rise
+
+
+
+about the time of christmas
+when the sky was black
+with wrath and rack
+and the earth was white with snow
+when loudly rang the tumult
+of winds and waves of strife
+in her home by the sea
+with her babe on her knee
+sat harry conquest's wife
+
+and he was on the ocean
+although she knew not where
+for never a lip
+could tell of the ship
+to lighten her heart's despair
+and her babe was fading and dying
+the pulse in the tiny wrist
+was all but still
+and the brow was chill
+and pale as the white sea mist
+
+jane conquest's heart was hopeless
+she could only weep and pray
+that the shepherd mild
+would take her child
+without a pain away
+the night was dark and darker
+and the storm grew stronger still
+and buried in deep
+and dreamless sleep
+lay the hamlet under the hill
+
+the fire was dead on the hearthstone
+within jane conquest's room
+and still sat she
+with her babe on her knee
+at prayer amid the gloom
+when, borne above the tempest
+a sound fell on her ear
+thrilling her through
+for well she knew
+
+and a light leaped in at the lattice
+sudden and swift and red
+crimsoning all
+the whited wall
+and the floor, and the roof o'erhead
+for one brief moment, heedless
+of the babe upon her knee
+with the frenzied start
+of a frightened heart
+upon her feet rose she
+
+and through the quaint old casement
+she looks upon the sea
+thank god that the sight
+she saw that night
+so rare a sight should be
+hemmed in by many a billow
+with mad and foaming lip
+a mile from shore
+or hardly more
+she saw a gallant ship
+
+and to her horror she beheld it
+aflame from stem to stern
+for there seemed no speck
+on all that wreck
+where the fierce fire did not burn
+till the night was like a sunset
+and the sea like a sea of blood
+and the rocks and shore
+were bathed all o'er
+and drenched with the gory flood
+
+she looked and looked, till the terror
+went creeping through every limb
+and her breath came quick
+and her heart grew sick
+and her sight grew dizzy and dim
+and her lips had lost their utterance
+for she tried but could not speak
+and her feelings found
+no channel of sound
+in prayer, or sob, or shriek
+
+once more that cry of anguish
+thrilled through the tempest's strife
+and it stirred again
+in heart and brain
+the active thinking life
+and the light of an inspiration
+leaped to her brightened eye
+and on lip and brow
+was written now
+a purpose pure and high
+
+swiftly she turns, and softly
+she crosses the chamber floor
+and faltering not
+in his tiny cot
+she laid the babe she bore
+and then with a holy impulse
+she sank to her knees, and made
+a lowly prayer
+in the silence there
+and this was the prayer she prayed
+
+and who now dost wear the crown
+i at thy feet
+o true and sweet
+would lay my burden down
+thou bad'st me love and cherish
+the babe thou gavest me
+and i have kept
+thy word, nor stept
+aside from following thee
+
+and vain is all my care
+and my burden's weight
+is very great
+yea, greater than i can bear
+o lord, thou know'st what peril
+doth threat these poor men's lives
+and i, a woman
+most weak and human
+do plead for their waiting wives
+
+up, lord, in thy strength, and save
+from the scorching breath
+of this terrible death
+on this cruel winter wave
+take thou my babe and watch it
+no care is like to thine
+and let thy power
+in this perilous hour
+supply what lack is mine
+
+and so her prayer she ended
+and rising to her feet
+gave one long look
+at the cradle nook
+where the child's faint pulses beat
+and then with softest footsteps
+retrod the chamber floor
+and noiselessly groped
+for the latch, and oped
+and crossed the cottage door
+
+and through the tempest bravely
+jane conquest fought her way
+by snowy deep
+and slippery steep
+to where her duty lay
+and she journeyed onward, breathless
+and weary and sore and faint
+yet forward pressed
+with the strength, and the zest
+and the ardor of a saint
+
+solemn, and weird, and lonely
+amid its countless graves
+stood the old gray church
+on its tall rock perch
+secure from the sea and its waves
+and beneath its sacred shadow
+lay the hamlet safe and still
+for however the sea
+and the wind might be
+there was quiet under the hill
+
+jane conquest reached the churchyard
+and stood by the old church door
+but the oak was tough
+and had bolts enough
+and her strength was frail and poor
+so she crept through a narrow window
+and climbed the belfry stair
+and grasped the rope
+sole cord of hope
+for the mariners in despair
+
+and the wild wind helped her bravely
+and she wrought with an earnest will
+and the clamorous bell
+spoke out right well
+to the hamlet under the hill
+and it roused the slumbering fishers
+nor its warning task gave o'er
+till a hundred fleet
+and eager feet
+were hurrying to the shore
+
+and then it ceased its ringing
+for the woman's work was done
+and many a boat
+that was now afloat
+showed man's work had begun
+but the ringer in the belfry
+lay motionless and cold
+with the cord of hope
+the church-bell rope
+still in her frozen hold
+
+how long she lay it boots not
+but she woke from her swoon at last
+in her own bright room
+to find the gloom
+and the grief, and the peril past
+with the sense of joy within her
+and the christ's sweet presence near
+and friends around
+and the cooing sound
+of her babe's voice in her ear
+
+and they told her all the story
+how a brave and gallant few
+o'ercame each check
+and reached the wreck
+and saved the hopeless crew
+and how the curious sexton
+had climbed the belfry stair
+and of his fright
+when, cold and white
+he found her lying there
+
+and how, when they had borne her
+back to her home again
+the child she left
+with a heart bereft
+of hope, and weary with pain
+was found within his cradle
+in a quiet slumber laid
+with a peaceful smile
+on his lips the while
+and the wasting sickness stayed
+
+and she said "twas the christ who watched it
+and brought it safely through
+and she praised his truth
+and his tender ruth
+who had saved her darling too
+
+
+to drum beat and heart beat
+a soldier marches by
+there is color in his cheek
+there is courage in his eye
+yet to drum beat and heart beat
+in a moment he must die
+
+by starlight and moonlight
+he seeks the britons' camp
+he hears the rustling flag
+and the armed sentry's tramp
+and the starlight and moonlight
+his silent wanderings lamp
+
+with a slow tread and still tread
+he scans the tented line
+and he counts the battery guns
+by the gaunt and shadowy pine
+and his slow tread and still tread
+gives no warning sign
+
+the dark wave, the plumed wave
+it meets his eager glance
+and it sparkles 'neath the stars
+like the glimmer of a lance
+a dark wave, a plumed wave
+on an emerald expanse
+
+a sharp clang, a steel clang
+and terror in the sound
+for the sentry, falcon-eyed
+in the camp a spy has found
+with a sharp clang, a steel clang
+the patriot is bound
+
+with calm brow, steady brow
+he listens to his doom
+in his look there is no fear
+nor a shadow trace of gloom
+but with calm brow, steady brow
+he robes him for the tomb
+
+in the long night, the still night
+he kneels upon the sod
+and the brutal guards withhold
+e'en the solemn word of god
+in the long night, the still night
+he walks where christ hath trod
+
+he dies upon the tree
+and he mourns that he can give
+but one life for liberty
+and in the blue morn, the sunny morn
+his spent wings are free
+
+but his last words, his message words
+they burn, lest friendly eye
+should read how proud and calm
+a patriot could die
+with his last words, his dying words
+a soldier's battle cry
+
+from fame-leaf and angel-leaf
+from monument and urn
+the sad of earth, the glad of heaven
+his tragic fate shall learn
+and on fame-leaf and angel-leaf
+the name of hale shall burn
+
+
+
+you are coming to woo me, but not as of yore
+when i hastened to welcome your ring at the door
+for i trusted that he who stood waiting me then
+was the brightest, the truest, the noblest of men
+your lips on my own when they printed "farewell
+had never been soiled by "the beverage of hell
+but they come to me now with the bacchanal sign
+and the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine
+
+i think of that night in the garden alone
+when in whispers you told me your heart was my own
+that your love in the future should faithfully be
+unshared by another, kept only for me
+oh, sweet to my soul is the memory still
+of the lips which met mine, when they murmured "i will
+but now to their pressure no more they incline
+for the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine
+
+o john! how it crushed me, when first in your face
+the pen of the "rum fiend" had written "disgrace
+and turned me in silence and tears from that breath
+all poisoned and foul from the chalice of death
+it scattered the hopes i had treasured to last
+it darkened the future and clouded the past
+it shattered my idol, and ruined the shrine
+for the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine
+
+i loved you--oh, dearer than language can tell
+and you saw it, you proved it, you knew it too well
+but the man of my love was far other than he
+who now from the "tap-room" comes reeling to me
+in manhood and honor so noble and right
+his heart was so true, and his genius so bright
+and his soul was unstained, unpolluted by wine
+but the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine
+
+you promised reform, but i trusted in vain
+your pledge was but made to be broken again
+and the lover so false to his promises now
+will not, as a husband, be true to his vow
+the word must be spoken that bids you depart
+though the effort to speak it should shatter my heart
+though in silence, with blighted affection, i pine
+yet the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine
+
+if one spark in your bosom of virtue remain
+go fan it with prayer till it kindle again
+resolved, with "god helping," in future to be
+from wine and its follies unshackled and free
+and when you have conquered this foe of your soul
+in manhood and honor beyond his control
+this heart will again beat responsive to thine
+and the lips free from liquor be welcome to mine
+
+
+
+when you come to the end of a perfect day
+and you sit alone with your thought
+while the chimes ring out with a carol gay
+for the joy that the day has brought
+do you think what the end of a perfect day
+can mean to a tired heart
+when the sun goes down with a flaming ray
+and the dear friends have to part
+
+well, this is the end of a perfect day
+near the end of a journey, too
+but it leaves a thought that is big and strong
+with a wish that is kind and true
+for mem'ry has painted this perfect day
+with colors that never fade
+and we find, at the end of a perfect day
+the soul of a friend we've made
+
+
+
+kate ketchem on a winter's night
+went to a party dressed in white
+her chignon in a net of gold
+was about as large as they ever sold
+gayly she went, because her "pap
+was supposed to be a rich old chap
+
+but when by chance her glances fell
+on a friend who had lately married well
+her spirits sunk, and a vague unrest
+and a nameless longing filled her breast
+a wish she wouldn't have had made known
+to have an establishment of her own
+
+tom fudge came slowly through the throng
+with chestnut hair, worn pretty long
+he saw kate ketchem in the crowd
+and knowing her slightly, stopped and bowed
+then asked her to give him a single flower
+saying he'd think it a priceless dower
+
+out from those with which she was decked
+she took the poorest she could select
+and blushed as she gave it, looking down
+to call attention to her gown
+flowers must be at that time of year
+
+then several charming remarks he made
+asked if she sang, or danced, or played
+and being exhausted, inquired whether
+she thought it was going to be pleasant weather
+and kate displayed her "jewelry
+and dropped her lashes becomingly
+and listened, with no attempt to disguise
+the admiration in her eyes
+at last, like one who has nothing to say
+he turned around and walked away
+
+kate ketchem smiled, and said, "you bet
+i'll catch that fudge and his money yet
+he's rich enough to keep me in clothes
+and i think i could manage him as i chose
+he could aid my father as well as not
+and buy my brother a splendid yacht
+my mother for money should never fret
+and all it cried for the baby should get
+and after that, with what he could spare
+i'd make a show at a charity fair
+
+tom fudge looked back as he crossed the sill
+and saw kate ketchem standing still
+it isn't an easy thing to find
+and every thing that she has to wear
+proves her as rich as she is fair
+would she were mine, and i to-day
+had the old man's cash my debts to pay
+no creditors with a long account
+no tradesmen wanting 'that little amount
+but all my scores paid up when due
+by a father-in-law as rich as a jew
+
+but he thought of her brother, not worth a straw
+and her mother, that would be his, in law
+so, undecided, he walked along
+and kate was left alone in the throng
+but a lawyer smiled, whom he sought by stealth
+to ascertain old ketchem's wealth
+and as for kate, she schemed and planned
+till one of the dancers claimed her hand
+
+he married her for her father's cash
+she married him to cut a dash
+but as to paying his debts, do you know
+the father couldn't see it so
+and at hints for help, kate's hazel eyes
+looked out in their innocent surprise
+and when tom thought of the way he had wed
+he longed for a single life instead
+and closed his eyes in a sulky mood
+regretting the days of his bachelorhood
+and said, in a sort of reckless vein
+if i were free, as on that night
+when i saw kate ketchem dressed in white
+
+she wedded him to be rich and gay
+but husband and children didn't pay
+he wasn't the prize she hoped to draw
+and wouldn't live with his mother-in-law
+and oft when she had to coax and pout
+in order to get him to take her out
+she thought how very attentive and bright
+he seemed at the party that winter's night
+of his laugh, as soft as a breeze of the south
+how he praised her dress and gems in his talk
+as he took a careful account of stock
+
+sometimes she hated the very walls
+hated her friends, her dinners, and calls
+till her weak affection, to hatred turned
+like a dying tallow-candle burned
+and for him who sat there, her peace to mar
+smoking his everlasting cigar
+he wasn't the man she thought she saw
+and grief was duty, and hate was law
+so she took up her burden with a groan
+saying only, "i might have known
+
+alas for kate! and alas for fudge
+though i do not owe them any grudge
+and alas for any who find to their shame
+that two can play at their little game
+for of all hard things to bear and grin
+the hardest is knowing you're taken in
+ah, well! as a general thing, we fret
+about the one we didn't get
+but i think we needn't make a fuss
+if the one we don't want didn't get us
+
+
+
+by the old moulmein pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea
+there's a burma girl a-settin', an' i know she thinks o' me
+for the wind is in the palm-trees, an' the temple-bells they say
+come you back to mandalay
+where the old flotilla lay
+can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from rangoon to mandalay
+on the road to mandalay
+where the flyin'-fishes play
+an' the dawn comes up like thunder outer china 'crost the bay
+
+an' 'er name was supi-yaw-lat--jes' the same as theebaw's queen
+an' i seed her fust a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot
+an' a-wastin' christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot
+bloomin' idol made o' mud
+wot they called the great gawd budd
+plucky lot she cared for idols when i kissed 'er where she stud
+on the road to mandalay
+
+when the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' low
+she'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "_kul-la-lo-lo
+with 'er arm upon my shoulder an' her cheek agin my cheek
+we useter watch the steamers and the _hathis_ pilin' teak
+elephints a-pilin' teak
+in the sludgy, squdgy creek
+where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was arf afraid to speak
+on the road to mandalay
+
+but that's all shove be'ind me--long ago an' fur away
+an' there ain't no 'buses runnin' from the benk to mandalay
+an' i'm learnin' 'ere in london what the ten-year sodger tells
+no! you won't 'eed nothin' else
+but them spicy garlic smells
+an' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells
+on the road to mandalay
+
+i am sick o' wastin' leather on these gutty pavin'-stones
+an' the blasted henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones
+tho' i walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer chelsea to the strand
+an' they talk a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand
+beefy face an' grubby 'and
+law! wot _do_ they understand
+i've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land
+on the road to mandalay
+
+ship me somewheres east of suez where the best is like the worst
+where there aren't no ten commandments, an' a man can raise a thirst
+for the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that i would be
+by the old moulmein pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea
+on the road to mandalay
+where the old flotilla lay
+with our sick beneath the awnings when we went to mandalay
+on the road to mandalay
+where the flyin'-fishes play
+an' the dawn comes up like thunder outer china 'crost the bay
+
+
+
+behind him lay the gray azores
+behind the gates of hercules
+before him not the ghost of shores
+before him only shoreless seas
+the good mate said: "now must we pray
+for lo! the very stars are gone
+brave adm'r'l, speak; what shall i say
+
+my men grow ghastly wan and weak
+the stout mate thought of home; a spray
+of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek
+if we sight naught but seas at dawn
+
+they sailed and sailed, as winds might blow
+until at last the blanched mate said
+should i and all my men fall dead
+these very winds forget their way
+for god from these dread seas is gone
+now speak, brave adm'r'l, speak and say
+he said: "sail on! sail on! and on
+
+they sailed. they sailed. then spake the mate
+he curls his lips, he lies in wait
+with lifted teeth, as if to bite
+brave adm'r'l, say but one good word
+what shall we do when hope is gone
+the words leapt like a leaping sword
+
+then, pale and worn, he kept his deck
+and peered through darkness. ah, that night
+of all dark nights! and then a speck
+a light! a light! a light! a light
+it grew, a starlit flag unfurled
+it grew to be time's burst of dawn
+he gained a world; he gave that world
+its grandest lesson; "on! sail on
+
+
+
+my sister's best feller is 'most six-foot-three
+and handsome and strong as a feller can be
+and sis, she's so little, and slender, and small
+you never would think she could boss him at all
+but, my jing
+she don't do a thing
+but make him jump 'round, like he worked with a string
+it jest made me 'shamed of him sometimes, you know
+to think that he'll let a girl bully him so
+
+he goes to walk with her and carries her muff
+and coat and umbrella, and that kind of stuff
+she loads him with things that must weigh 'most a ton
+and, honest, he _likes_ it,--as if it was fun
+and, oh, say
+when they go to a play
+he'll sit in the parlor and fidget away
+and she won't come down till it's quarter past eight
+and then she'll scold _him_ 'cause they get there so late
+
+he spends heaps of money a-buyin' her things
+like candy, and flowers, and presents, and rings
+and all he's got for 'em's a handkerchief case
+a fussed-up concern, made of ribbons and lace
+but, my land! he thinks it's just grand
+he calls her "an angel"--i heard him--and "saint
+and "beautif'lest bein' on earth"--but she ain't
+
+i just make her coax me, and give me a dime
+but that great big silly--why, honest and true
+he'd run forty miles if she wanted him to
+oh, gee whiz
+i tell you what 'tis
+i jest think it's _awful_--those actions of his
+i won't fall in love, when i'm grown--no sir-ee
+my sister's best feller's a warnin' to me
+
+
+
+out where the handclasp's a little stronger
+out where a smile dwells a little longer
+that's where the west begins
+out where the sun's a little brighter
+where the snow that falls is a trifle whiter
+where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter
+that's where the west begins
+
+out where the skies are a trifle bluer
+out where friendship's a little truer
+that's where the west begins
+out where a fresher breeze is blowing
+where there is laughter in every streamlet flowing
+where there's more of reaping and less of sowing
+that's where the west begins
+
+out where the world is in the making
+where fewer hearts with despair are aching
+that's where the west begins
+where there is more of singing and less of sighing
+where there is more of giving and less of buying
+and a man makes friends without half trying
+that's where the west begins
+
+
+
+let us take to our hearts a lesson--no lesson can braver be
+from the ways of the tapestry weavers on the other side of the sea
+above their heads the pattern hangs, they study it with care
+the while their fingers deftly move, their eyes are fastened there
+
+they tell this curious thing, besides, of the patient, plodding weaver
+he works on the wrong side evermore, but works for the right side ever
+it is only when the weaving stops, and the web is loosed and turned
+that he sees his real handiwork--that his marvelous skill is learned
+
+ah, the sight of its delicate beauty, how it pays him for all his cost
+no rarer, daintier work than his was ever done by the frost
+then the master bringeth him golden hire, and giveth him praise as well
+and how happy the heart of the weaver is, no tongue but his can tell
+
+the years of man are the looms of god, let down from the place of the sun
+wherein we are weaving ever, till the mystic web is done
+weaving blindly but weaving surely each for himself his fate
+we may not see how the right side looks, we can only weave and wait
+
+but, looking above for the pattern, no weaver hath to fear
+only let him look clear into heaven, the perfect pattern is there
+if he keeps the face of the savior forever and always in sight
+his toil shall be sweeter than honey, his weaving sure to be right
+
+and when the work is ended, and the web is turned and shown
+he shall hear the voice of the master, it shall say unto him, "well done
+and the white-winged angels of heaven, to bear him shall come down
+and god shall give him gold for his hire--not a coin--but a glowing crown
+
+
+when the teacher gets cross, and her blue eyes gets black
+and the pencil comes down on the desk with a whack
+we chillen all sit up straight in a line
+as if we had rulers instead of a spine
+and it's scary to cough, and it a'n't safe to grin
+when the teacher gets cross, and the dimples goes in
+
+when the teacher gets cross, the tables get mixed
+the ones and the twos begins to play tricks
+the pluses and minuses is just little smears
+when the cry babies cry their slates full of tears
+and the figgers won't add,--but just act up like sin
+when the teacher gets cross, and the dimples goes in
+
+when the teacher gets cross, the reading gets bad
+the lines jingle round till the' chillen is sad
+and billy boy puffs and gets red in the face
+as if he and the lesson were running a race
+until she hollers out, "next!" as sharp as a pin
+when the teacher gets cross, and the dimples goes in
+
+when the teacher gets good, her smile is so bright
+that the tables gets straight, and the reading gets right
+the pluses and minuses comes trooping along
+and the figgers add up and stop being wrong
+and we chillen would like, but we dassent, to shout
+when the teacher gets good, and the dimples comes out
+
+
+god of our fathers, known of old
+lord of our far-flung battle line
+beneath whose awful hand we hold
+dominion over palm and pine
+lord god of hosts, be with us yet
+lest we forget--lest we forget
+
+the tumult and the shouting dies
+the captains and the kings depart
+still stands thine ancient sacrifice
+an humble and a contrite heart
+lord god of hosts, be with us yet
+lest we forget--lest we forget
+
+far-called, our navies melt away
+on dune and headland sinks the fire
+lo, all our pomp of yesterday
+is one with nineveh and tyre
+judge of the nations, spare us yet
+lest we forget--lest we forget
+
+if, drunk with sight of power, we loose
+wild tongues that have not thee in awe
+such boasting as the gentiles use
+or lesser breeds without the law
+lord god of hosts, be with us yet
+lest we forget--lest we forget
+
+for heathen heart that puts her trust
+in reeking tube and iron shard
+all valiant dust that builds on dust
+and guarding, calls not thee to guard
+for frantic boast and foolish word
+thy mercy on thy people, lord
+
+
+
+
+o friends! with whom my feet have trod
+the quiet aisles of prayer
+glad witness to your zeal for god
+and love of man i bear
+
+i trace your lines of argument
+your logic linked and strong
+i weigh as one who dreads dissent
+and fears a doubt as wrong
+
+but still my human hands are weak
+to hold your iron creeds
+against the words ye bid me speak
+my heart within me pleads
+
+who fathoms the eternal thought
+who talks of scheme and plan
+the lord is god! he needeth not
+the poor device of man
+
+i walk with bare, hushed feet the ground
+ye tread with boldness shod
+i dare not fix with mete and bound
+the love and power of god
+
+ye praise his justice; even such
+his pitying love i deem
+ye seek a king; i fain would touch
+the robe that hath no seam
+
+ye see the curse which overbroods
+a world of pain and loss
+i hear our lord's beatitudes
+and prayer upon the cross
+
+more than your schoolmen teach, within
+myself, alas! i know
+too dark ye cannot paint the sin
+too small the merit show
+
+i bow my forehead to the dust
+i veil mine eyes for shame
+and urge, in trembling self-distrust
+a prayer without a claim
+
+i see the wrong that round me lies
+i feel the guilt within
+i hear, with groan and travail-cries
+the world confess its sin
+
+yet, in the maddening maze of things
+and tossed by storm and flood
+to one fixed stake my spirit clings
+i know that god is good
+
+not mine to look where cherubim
+and seraphs may not see
+but nothing can be good in him
+which evil is in me
+
+the wrong that pains my soul below
+i dare not throne above
+i know not of his hate,--i know
+his goodness and his love
+
+i dimly guess from blessings known
+of greater out of sight
+and, with the chastened psalmist, own
+his judgments too are right
+
+i long for household voices gone
+for vanished smiles i long
+but god hath led my dear ones on
+and he can do no wrong
+
+i know not what the future hath
+of marvel or surprise
+assured alone that life and death
+his mercy underlies
+
+and if my heart and flesh are weak
+to bear an untried pain
+the bruised reed he will not break
+but strengthen and sustain
+
+no offering of my own i have
+nor works my faith to prove
+i can but give the gifts he gave
+and plead his love for love
+
+and so beside the silent sea
+i wait the muffled oar
+no harm from him can come to me
+on ocean or on shore
+
+i know not where his islands lift
+their fronded palms in air
+i only know i cannot drift
+beyond his love and care
+
+o brothers! if my faith is vain
+if hopes like these betray
+pray for me that my feet may gain
+the sure and safer way
+
+and thou, o lord! by whom are seen
+thy creatures as they be
+forgive me if too close i lean
+my human heart on thee
+
+
+
+out of the clover and blue-eyed grass
+he turned them into the river-lane
+one after another he let them pass
+then fastened the meadow-bars again
+
+under the willows and over the hill
+he patiently followed their sober pace
+the merry whistle for once was still
+and something shadowed the sunny face
+
+only a boy! and his father had said
+he never could let his youngest go
+two already were lying dead
+under the feet of the trampling foe
+
+but after the evening work was done
+and the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp
+over his shoulder he slung his gun
+and stealthily followed the footpath damp
+
+across the clover and through the wheat
+with resolute heart and purpose grim
+though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet
+and the blind bat's flitting startled him
+
+thrice since then had the lanes been white
+and the orchards sweet with apple bloom
+and now, when the cows came back at night
+the feeble father drove them home
+
+for news had come to the lonely farm
+that three were lying where two had lain
+and the old man's tremulous, palsied arm
+could never lean on a son's again
+
+the summer day grew cool and late
+he went for the cows when the work was done
+but down the lane, as he opened the gate
+he saw them coming, one by one
+
+brindle, ebony, speckle, and bess
+shaking their horns in the evening wind
+cropping the buttercups out of the grass
+but who was it following close behind
+
+loosely swung in the idle air
+the empty sleeve of army blue
+and worn and pale, from the crisping hair
+looked out a face that the father knew
+
+for southern prisons will sometimes yawn
+and yield their dead unto life again
+and the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
+in golden glory at last may wane
+
+the great tears sprang to their meeting eyes
+for the heart must speak when the lips are dumb
+and under the silent evening skies
+together they followed the cattle home
+
+
+
+your flag and my flag
+and, oh, how much it holds
+your land and my land
+secure within its folds
+your heart and my heart
+beat quicker at the sight
+sun-kissed and wind-tossed
+red and blue and white
+the one flag--the great flag--the flag for me and you
+glorified all else beside--the red and white and blue
+
+your flag and my flag
+to every star and stripe
+the drums beat as hearts beat
+and fifers shrilly pipe
+your flag and my flag
+a blessing in the sky
+your hope and my hope
+it never hid a lie
+home land and far land and half the world around
+old glory hears our glad salute and ripples to the sound
+
+
+
+oh! they've swept the parlor carpet, and they've dusted every chair
+and they've got the tidies hangin' jest exactly on the square
+and the what-not's fixed up lovely, and the mats have all been beat
+and the pantry's brimmin' over with the bully things ter eat
+sis has got her sunday dress on, and she's frizzin' up her bangs
+ma's got on her best alpacky, and she's askin' how it hangs
+and it's all because we're goin' ter have the minister ter tea
+oh! the table's fixed up gaudy, with the gilt-edged chiny set
+and we'll use the silver tea-pot and the comp'ny spoons, you bet
+and we're goin' ter have some fruitcake and some thimbleberry jam
+and "riz biscuits," and some doughnuts, and some chicken, and some ham
+ma, she'll 'polergize like fury and say everything is bad
+and "sich awful luck with cookin'," she is sure she never had
+but, er course, she's only bluffin,' for it's as prime as it can be
+and she's only talkin' that way 'cause the minister's ter tea
+everybody'll be a-smilin' and as good as ever was
+pa  won't growl about the vittles, like he generally does
+and he'll ask me would i like another piece er pie; but, sho
+that, er course, is only manners, and i'm s'posed ter answer "no
+sis'll talk about the church-work and about the sunday-school
+ma'll tell how she liked that sermon that was on the golden rule
+and if i upset my tumbler they won't say a word ter me
+yes, a boy can eat in comfort with the minister ter tea
+say! a minister, you'd reckon, never'd say what wasn't true
+but that isn't so with ours, and i jest can prove it, too
+why, he sets and says it's lovely; and that, seems ter me,'s a lie
+but i like him all the samey, and i only wish he'd stay
+at our house fer good and always, and eat with us every day
+only think of havin' goodies _every_ evenin'! jimmin_ee
+and i'd _never_ git a scoldin' with the minister ter tea
+
+
+
+when klingle, klangle, klingle
+far down the dusty dingle
+the cows are coming home
+
+now sweet and clear, now faint and low
+the airy tinklings come and go
+like chimings from the far-off tower
+or patterings of an april shower
+that makes the daisies grow
+ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle
+far down the darkening dingle
+the cows come slowly home
+
+and old-time friends, and twilight plays
+and starry nights and sunny days
+come trooping up the misty ways
+when the cows come home
+with jingle, jangle, jingle
+soft tones that sweetly mingle
+the cows are coming home
+
+malvine, and pearl, and florimel
+dekamp, red rose, and gretchen schell
+queen bess and sylph, and spangled sue
+across the fields i hear her "loo-oo
+and clang her silver bell
+go-ling, go-lang, golingledingle
+with faint, far sounds that mingle
+the cows come slowly home
+
+and mother-songs of long-gone years
+and baby-joys and childish fears
+and youthful hopes and youthful tears
+when the cows come home
+with ringle, rangle, ringle
+by twos and threes and single
+the cows are coming home
+
+through violet air we see the town
+and the summer sun a-sliding down
+and the maple in the hazel glade
+throws down the path a longer shade
+and the hills are growing brown
+to-ring, to-rang, toringleringle
+by threes and fours and single
+the cows come slowly home
+
+the same sweet sound of wordless psalm
+the same sweet june-day rest and calm
+the same sweet smell of buds and balm
+when the cows come home
+with tinkle, tankle, tinkle
+through fern and periwinkle
+the cows are coming home
+
+a-loitering in the checkered stream
+where the sun-rays glance and gleam
+clarine, peach-bloom and phebe phillis
+stand knee-deep in the creamy lilies
+in a drowsy dream
+to-link, to-lank, tolinklelinkle
+o'er banks with buttercups a-twinkle
+the cows come slowly home
+
+and up through memory's deep ravine
+come the brook's old song and its old-time sheen
+and the crescent of the silver queen
+when the cows come home
+with klingle, klangle, klingle
+with loo-oo, and moo-oo and jingle
+the cows are coming home
+
+and over there on merlin hill
+sounds the plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will
+and the dew-drops lie on the tangled vines
+and over the poplars venus shines
+and over the silent mill
+ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle
+with ting-a-ling and jingle
+the cows come slowly home
+
+let down the bars; let in the train
+of long-gone songs, and flowers, and rain
+for dear old times come back again
+when the cows come home
+
+
+
+dead! is it possible? he, the bold rider
+custer, our hero, the first in the fight
+charming the bullets of yore to fly wider
+shunning our battle-king's ringlets of light
+dead! our young chieftain, and dead all forsaken
+no one to tell us the way of his fall
+slain in the desert, and never to waken
+never, not even to victory's call
+
+comrades, he's gone! but ye need not be grieving
+no, may my death be like his when i die
+no regrets wasted on words i am leaving
+falling with brave men, and face to the sky
+death's but a journey, the greatest must take it
+fame is eternal, and better than all
+gold though the bowl be, 'tis fate that must break it
+glory can hallow the fragments that fall
+
+proud for his fame that last day that he met them
+all the night long he had been on their track
+scorning their traps and the men that had set them
+wild for a charge that should never give back
+there, on the hilltop he halted and saw them
+lodges all loosened and ready to fly
+hurrying scouts with the tidings to awe them
+told of his coming before he was nigh
+
+all the wide valley was full of their forces
+gathered to cover the lodges' retreat
+warriors running in haste to their horses
+thousands of enemies close to his feet
+down in the valleys the ages had hollowed
+there lay the sitting bull's camp for a prey
+numbers! what recked he? what recked those who followed
+men who had fought ten to one ere that day
+
+out swept the squadrons, the fated three hundred
+into the battle-line steady and full
+then down the hillside exultingly thundered
+into the hordes of the old sitting bull
+wild ogalallah, arapahoe, cheyenne
+wild horse's braves, and the rest of their crew
+shrank from that charge like a herd from a lion
+then closed around the great hell of wild sioux
+
+right to their center he charged, and then, facing
+hark to those yells and around them, oh, see
+over the hilltops the devils come racing
+coming as fast as the waves of the sea
+red was the circle of fire about them
+no hope of victory, no ray of light
+shot through that terrible black cloud about them
+brooding in death over custer's last fight
+
+then did he blench? did he die like a craven
+begging those torturing fiends for his life
+was there a soldier who carried the seven
+flinched like a coward or fled from the strife
+no, by the blood of our custer, no quailing
+there in the midst of the devils they close
+hemmed in by thousands, but ever assailing
+fighting like tigers, all bayed amid foes
+
+thicker and thicker the bullets came singing
+down go the horses and riders and all
+swiftly the warriors round them were ringing
+circling like buzzards awaiting their fall
+see the wild steeds of the mountain and prairie
+savage eyes gleaming from forests of mane
+quivering lances with pennons so airy
+war-painted warriors charging amain
+
+backward again and again they were driven
+shrinking to close with the lost little band
+never a cap that had worn the bright seven
+bowed till its wearer was dead on the strand
+closer and closer the death-circle growing
+even the leader's voice, clarion clear
+rang out his words of encouragement glowing
+
+dearly they sold them, like berserkers raging
+facing the death that encircled them round
+death's bitter pangs by their vengeance assuaging
+marking their tracks by their dead on the ground
+comrades, our children shall yet tell their story
+custer's last charge on the old sitting bull
+and ages shall swear that the cup of his glory
+needed but that death to render it full
+
+
+
+what's the matter, stummick? ain't i always been your friend
+ain't i always been a pardner to you? all my pennies don't i spend
+in getting nice things for you? don't i give you lots of cake
+say, stummick, what's the matter, you had to go an' ache
+
+why, i loaded you with good things yesterday
+i gave you more corn an' chicken than you'd ever had before
+i gave you fruit an' candy, apple pie an' chocolate cake
+an' last night when i got to bed you had to go an' ache
+
+say, what's the matter with you? ain't you satisfied at all
+i gave you all you wanted; you was hard jes' like a ball
+an' you couldn't hold another bit of puddin'; yet last night
+you ached most awful, stummick! that ain't treatin' me jest right
+
+i've been a friend to you, i have! why ain't you a friend o' mine
+they gave me castor oil becoz you made me whine
+i'm feelin' fine this mornin'; yes it's true
+but i tell you, stummick, you better appreciate things i do for you
+
+
+in the sunshine bright and strong
+for this world is fading, pompey
+massa won't be with you long
+and i fain would hear the south wind
+bring once more the sound to me
+of the wavelets softly breaking
+on the shores of tennessee
+
+as they still the story tell
+how no vessels float the banner
+that i've loved so long and well
+i shall listen to their music
+dreaming that again i see
+stars and stripes on sloop and shallop
+sailing up the tennessee
+
+for death's last dispatch to come
+if that exiled starry banner
+should come proudly sailing home
+you shall greet it, slave no longer
+voice and hand shall both be free
+that shout and point to union colors
+on the waves of tennessee
+
+but old darkey's happy here
+where he's tended corn and cotton
+for dese many a long-gone year
+ober yonder, missis' sleeping
+no one tends her grave like me
+mebbe she would miss the flowers
+she used to love in tennessee
+
+if pompey should beside him stay
+mebbe she'd remember better
+how for him she used to pray
+telling him that way up yonder
+white as snow his soul would be
+if he served the lord of heaven
+while he lived in tennessee
+
+silently the tears were rolling
+down the poor old dusky face
+as he stepped behind his master
+in his long-accustomed place
+then a silence fell around them
+as they gazed on rock and tree
+pictured in the placid waters
+of the rolling tennessee
+
+master, dreaming of the battle
+where he fought by marion's side
+where he bid the haughty tarleton
+stoop his lordly crest of pride
+man, remembering how yon sleeper
+once he held upon his knee
+ere she loved the gallant soldier
+ralph vervair of tennessee
+
+still the south wind fondly lingers
+still the bondman, close beside him
+stands behind the old arm-chair
+with his dark-hued hand uplifted
+shading eyes, he bends to see
+where the woodland, boldly jutting
+turns aside the tennessee
+
+thus he watches cloud-born shadows
+glide from tree to mountain-crest
+softly creeping, aye and ever
+to the river's yielding breast
+ha! above the foliage yonder
+something flutters wild and free
+the flag's come back to tennessee
+
+help me stand on foot once more
+that i may salute the colors
+as they pass my cabin door
+here's the paper signed that frees you
+give a freeman's shout with me
+evermore in tennessee
+
+then the trembling voice grew fainter
+and the limbs refused to stand
+one prayer to jesus--and the soldier
+glided to the better land
+when the flag went down the river
+man and master both were free
+while the ring-dove's note was mingled
+with the rippling tennessee
+
+
+
+it was a hundred years ago
+when, by the woodland ways
+the traveler saw the wild deer drink
+or crop the birchen sprays
+
+beneath a hill, whose rocky side
+o'er-browed a grassy mead
+and fenced a cottage from the wind
+a deer was wont to feed
+
+she only came when on the cliffs
+the evening moonlight lay
+and no man knew the secret haunts
+in which she walked by day
+
+white were her feet, her forehead showed
+a spot of silvery white
+that seemed to glimmer like a star
+in autumn's hazy night
+
+and here, when sang the whippoorwill
+she cropped the sprouting leaves
+and here her rustling steps were heard
+on still october eves
+
+but when the broad midsummer moon
+rose o'er the grassy lawn
+beside the silver-footed deer
+there grazed a spotted fawn
+
+the cottage dame forbade her son
+to aim the rifle here
+or fright that friendly deer
+
+ten peaceful years and more
+and ever, when the moonlight shines
+she feeds before our door
+
+a thousand moons ago
+they never raise the war whoop here
+and never twang the bow
+
+and think that all is well
+while such a gentle creature haunts
+the place in which we dwell
+
+the youth obeyed, and sought for game
+in forests far away
+where, deep in silence and in moss
+the ancient woodland lay
+
+but once, in autumn's golden time
+he ranged the wild in vain
+nor roused the pheasant nor the deer
+and wandered home again
+
+the crescent moon and crimson eve
+shone with a mingling light
+the deer, upon the grassy mead
+was feeding full in sight
+
+he raised the rifle to his eye
+and from the cliffs around
+a sudden echo, shrill and sharp
+gave back its deadly sound
+
+away, into the neighboring wood
+the startled creature flew
+and crimson drops at morning lay
+amid the glimmering dew
+
+next evening shone the waxing moon
+as sweetly as before
+the deer upon the grassy mead
+was seen again no more
+
+but ere that crescent moon was old
+by night the red men came
+and burnt the cottage to the ground
+and slew the youth and dame
+
+now woods have overgrown the mead
+and hid the cliffs from sight
+there shrieks the hovering hawk at noon
+and prowls the fox at night
+
+
+
+where potomac's stream is flowing
+virginia's border through
+where the white-sailed ships are going
+sailing to the ocean blue
+
+hushed the sound of mirth and singing
+silent every one
+while the solemn bells are ringing
+by the tomb of washington
+
+tolling and knelling
+with a sad, sweet sound
+o'er the waves the tones are swelling
+by mount vernon's sacred ground
+
+long ago the warrior slumbered
+our country's father slept
+long among the angels numbered
+they the hero soul have kept
+
+but the children's children love him
+and his name revere
+so where willows wave above him
+sweetly still his knell you hear
+
+sail, oh ships, across the billows
+and bear the story far
+how he sleeps beneath the willows
+
+tell while sweet adieus are swelling
+till you come again
+he within the hearts is dwelling
+of his loving countrymen
+
+
+
+heaven is not reached at a single bound
+but we build the ladder by which we rise
+from the lowly earth to the vaulted skies
+and we mount to the summit round by round
+
+i count this thing to be grandly true
+that a noble deed is a step toward god
+lifting a soul from the common sod
+to a purer air and a broader view
+
+we rise by things that are under our feet
+by what we have mastered of good and gain
+by the pride deposed and the passion slain
+and the vanquished ills that we hourly meet
+
+we hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust
+when the morning calls us to life and light
+but our hearts grow weary, and ere he night
+our lives are trailing the sordid dust
+
+we hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray
+and we think that we mount the air on wings
+beyond the recall of sensual things
+while our feet still cling to the heavy clay
+
+only in dreams is a ladder thrown
+from the weary earth to the sapphire walls
+but the dreams depart, and the vision falls
+and the sleeper awakes on his pillow of stone
+
+heaven is not reached at a single bound
+but we build the ladder by which we rise
+from the lowly earth to the vaulted skies
+and we mount to the summit round by round
+
+
+
+mr. finney had a turnip
+and it grew behind the barn
+it grew there, and it grew there
+and the turnip did no harm
+
+it grew and it grew
+till it could get no taller
+mr. finney pulled it up
+and put it in his cellar
+
+it lay there and it lay there
+till it began to rot
+his daughter sallie took it up
+and put it in the pot
+
+she boiled it, and she boiled it
+as long as she was able
+his daughter peggy fished it out
+and put it on the table
+
+mr. finney and his wife
+they sat down to sup
+and they ate, and they ate
+until they ate the turnip up
+
+
+under a spreading chestnut tree
+the village smithy stands
+the smith, a mighty man is he
+with large and sinewy hands
+and the muscles of his brawny arms
+are strong as iron bands
+
+his hair is crisp, and black and long
+his face is like the tan
+his brow is wet with honest sweat
+he earns whate'er he can
+and looks the whole world in the face
+for he owes not any man
+
+week in, week out, from morn till night
+you can hear his bellows blow
+you can hear him swing his heavy sledge
+with measured beat and slow
+like a sexton ringing the village bell
+when the evening sun is low
+
+and children coming home from school
+look in at the open door
+they love to see the flaming forge
+and hear the bellows roar
+and catch the burning sparks that fly
+like chaff from a threshing floor
+
+he goes on sunday to the church
+and sits among his boys
+he hears the parson pray and preach
+he hears his daughter's voice
+singing in the village choir
+and it makes his heart rejoice
+
+it sounds to him like her mother's voice
+singing in paradise
+he needs must think of her once more
+how in the grave she lies
+and with his hard, rough hand he wipes
+a tear out of his eyes
+
+toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing
+onward through life he goes
+each morning sees some task begun
+each evening sees it close
+something attempted, something done
+has earned a night's repose
+
+thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
+for the lesson thou hast taught
+thus at the flaming forge of life
+our fortunes must be wrought
+thus on its sounding anvil shaped
+each burning deed and thought
+
+
+
+
+every one of you won the war
+you and you and you
+each one knowing what it was for
+and what was his job to do
+
+every one of you won the war
+obedient, unwearied, unknown
+dung in the trenches, drift on the shore
+dust to the world's end blown
+every one of you, steady and true
+you and you and you
+down in the pit or up in the blue
+whether you crawled or sailed or flew
+whether your closest comrade knew
+or you bore the brunt alone
+
+all of you, all of you, name after name
+jones and robinson, smith and brown
+you from the piping prairie town
+you from the fundy fogs that came
+you from the city's roaring blocks
+you from the bleak new england rocks
+with the shingled roof in the apple boughs
+you from the brown adobe house
+you from the rockies, you from the coast
+you from the burning frontier-post
+and you from the klondyke's frozen flanks
+you from the cedar-swamps, you from the pine
+you from the cotton and you from the vine
+you from the rice and the sugar-brakes
+you from the rivers and you from the lakes
+you from the creeks and you from the licks
+and you from the brown bayou
+you and you and you
+you from the pulpit, you from the mine
+you from the factories, you from the banks
+closer and closer, ranks on ranks
+airplanes and cannon, and rifles and tanks
+smith and robinson, brown and jones
+ruddy faces or bleaching bones
+after the turmoil and blood and pain
+swinging home to the folks again
+or sleeping alone in the fine french rain
+every one of you won the war
+
+every one of you won the war
+you and you and you
+pressing and pouring forth, more and more
+toiling and straining from shore to shore
+to reach the flaming edge of the dark
+where man in his millions went up like a spark
+you, in your thousands and millions coming
+all the sea ploughed with you, all the air humming
+all the land loud with you
+all our hearts proud with you
+all our souls bowed with the awe of your coming
+
+where's the arch high enough
+lads, to receive you
+where's the eye dry enough
+dears, to perceive you
+when at last and at last in your glory you come
+tramping home
+
+every one of you won the war
+you and you and you
+you that carry an unscathed head
+you that halt with a broken tread
+and oh, most of all, you dead, you dead
+lift up the gates for these that are last
+that are last in the great procession
+let the living pour in, take possession
+flood back to the city, the ranch, the farm
+the church and the college and mill
+back to the office, the store, the exchange
+back to the wife with the babe on her arm
+back to the mother that waits on the sill
+and the supper that's hot on the range
+
+and now, when the last of them all are by
+be the gates lifted up on high
+to let those others in
+those others, their brothers, that softly tread
+that come so thick, yet take no ground
+that are so many, yet make no sound
+our dead, our dead, our dead
+
+o silent and secretly-moving throng
+in your fifty thousand strong
+coming at dusk when the wreaths have dropt
+and streets are empty, and music stopt
+silently coming to hearts that wait
+dumb in the door and dumb at the gate
+and hear your step and fly to your call
+every one of you won the war
+but you, you dead, most of all
+
+
+
+the snow had begun in the gloaming
+and busily all the night
+had been heaping field and highway
+with a silence deep and white
+
+every pine and fir and hemlock
+wore ermine too dear for an earl
+and the poorest twig on the elm tree
+was ridged inch-deep with pearl
+
+from sheds new-roofed with carrara
+came chanticleer's muffled crow
+the stiff rails were softened to swan's-down
+and still fluttered down the snow
+
+i stood and watched by the window
+the noiseless work of the sky
+and the sudden flurries of snow-birds
+like brown leaves whirling by
+
+i thought of a mound in sweet auburn
+where a little headstone stood
+how the flakes were folding it gently
+as did robins the babes in the wood
+
+up spoke our own little mabel
+saying, "father, who makes it snow
+and i told of the good all-father
+who cares for us here below
+
+again i looked at the snow-fall
+and thought of the leaden sky
+that arched o'er our first great sorrow
+when that mound was heaped so high
+
+i remembered the gradual patience
+that fell from that cloud like snow
+flake by flake, healing and hiding
+the scar of our deep-plunged woe
+
+and again to the child i whispered
+darling, the merciful father
+alone can make it fall
+
+then, with eyes that saw not, i kissed her
+and she, kissing back, could not know
+that _my_ kiss was given to her sister
+folded close under deepening snow
+
+
+
+
+by the rude bridge that arched the flood
+their flag to april's breeze unfurled
+here once the embattled farmers stood
+and fired the shot heard round the world
+
+the foe long since in silence slept
+alike the conqueror silent sleeps
+and time the ruined bridge has swept
+down the dark stream which seaward creeps
+
+on this green bank, by this soft stream
+we set to-day a votive stone
+that memory may their deed redeem
+when, like our sires, our sons are gone
+
+spirit, that made these heroes dare
+to die, to leave their children free
+bid time and nature gently spare
+the shaft we raise to them and thee
+
+
+
+it looked extremely rocky for the mudville nine that day
+the score stood two to four with but an inning left to play
+so, when cooney died at second, and burrows did the same
+a pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game
+
+a straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest
+with that hope which springs eternal within the human breast
+for they thought: "if only casey could get a whack at that
+they'd put up even money now, with casey at the bat
+
+but flynn preceded casey, and likewise so did blake
+and the former was a puddin', and the latter was a fake
+so on that stricken multitude a deathlike silence sat
+for there seemed but little chance of casey's getting to the bat
+
+but flynn let drive a "single," to the wonderment of all
+and the much-despised blakey "tore the cover off the ball
+and when the dust had lifted and they saw what had occurred
+there was blakey safe at second, and flynn a-huggin' third
+
+then, from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell
+it rumbled in the mountain-tops, it rattled in the dell
+it struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat
+for casey, mighty casey, was advancing to the bat
+
+there was ease in casey's manner as he stepped into his place
+there was pride in casey's bearing, and a smile on casey's face
+and when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat
+no stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas casey at the bat
+
+ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt
+five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt
+then while the new york pitcher ground the ball into his hip
+defiance gleamed in casey's eye, a sneer curled casey's lip
+
+and now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air
+and casey stood a-watching it in  haughty grandeur there
+close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped
+
+from the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar
+like the beating of great storm waves on a stern and distant shore
+and it's likely they'd have killed him had not casey raised a hand
+
+with a smile of christian charity great casey's visage shone
+he stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on
+he signaled to sir timothy, once more the spheroid flew
+but casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "strike two
+
+but one scornful look from casey and the audience was awed
+they saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain
+and they knew that casey wouldn't let that ball go by again
+
+the sneer is gone from casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate
+he pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate
+and now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go
+and now the air is shattered by the force of casey's blow
+
+oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright
+the band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light
+and somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout
+but there is no joy in mudville--mighty casey has struck out
+
+
+
+
+there were saddened hearts in mudville for a week or even more
+there were muttered oaths and curses--every fan in town was sore
+and then to think he'd go and spring a bush league trick like that
+
+all his past fame was forgotten; he was now a hopeless "shine
+they called him "strike-out casey" from the mayor down the line
+and as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh
+while a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty casey's eye
+
+the lane is long, someone has said, that never turns again
+and fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men
+and casey smiled--his rugged face no longer wore a frown
+the pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town
+
+all mudville has assembled; ten thousand fans had come
+to see the twirler who had put big casey on the bum
+and when he stepped into the box the multitude went wild
+he doffed his cap in proud disdain--but casey only smiled
+
+but in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan
+who thought that mudville had a chance; and with the setting sun
+their hopes sank low--the rival team was leading "four to one
+
+the last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score
+but when the first man up hit safe the crowd began to roar
+the din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard
+when the pitcher hit the second and gave "four balls" to the third
+
+three men on base--nobody out--three runs to tie the game
+a triple meant the highest niche in mudville's hall of fame
+but here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night
+when the fourth one "fouled to catcher," and the fifth "flew out to right
+
+a dismal groan in chorus came--a scowl was on each face
+when casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place
+his bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed; his teeth were clinched in hate
+he gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate
+
+but fame is fleeting as the wind, and glory fades away
+there were no wild and woolly cheers, no glad acclaim this day
+they hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored, "strike him out
+but casey gave no outward sign that he had heard the shout
+
+the pitcher smiled and cut one loose; across the plate it spread
+another hiss, another groan--"strike one!" the umpire said
+zip! like a shot, the second curve broke just below his knee
+
+no roasting for the umpire now--his was an easy lot
+but here the pitcher twirled again--was that a rifle shot
+a whack; a crack; and out through space the leather pellet flew
+a blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue
+
+above the fence in center field, in rapid whirling flight
+the sphere sailed on; the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight
+ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit
+but no one ever found the ball that mighty casey hit
+
+oh, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun
+and somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun
+and somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall
+but mudville hearts are happy now--for casey hit the ball
+
+
+
+backward, turn backward, o time, in your flight
+make me a child again just for tonight
+mother, come back from the echoless shore
+take me again to your heart as of yore
+kiss from my forehead the furrows of care
+smooth the few silver threads out of my hair
+over my slumbers your loving watch keep
+rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep
+
+backward, flow backward, o tide of the years
+i am so weary of toil and of tears
+toil without recompense, tears all in vain
+take them, and give me my childhood again
+i have grown weary of dust and decay
+weary of flinging my soul-wealth away
+weary of sowing for others to reap
+rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep
+
+tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue
+mother, o mother, my heart calls for you
+many a summer the grass has grown green
+blossomed and faded, our faces between
+yet with strong yearning and passionate pain
+long i to-night for your presence again
+come from the silence so long and so deep
+rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep
+
+over my heart, in the days that are flown
+no love like mother-love ever has shone
+no other worship abides and endures
+faithful, unselfish and patient, like yours
+none like a mother can charm away pain
+from the sick soul and the world-weary brain
+slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep
+rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep
+
+come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold
+fall on your shoulders again as of old
+let it drop over my forehead to-night
+shading my faint eyes away from the light
+for with its sunny-edged shadows once more
+haply will throng the sweet visions of yore
+lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep
+rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep
+
+mother, dear mother, the years have been long
+since i last listened your lullaby song
+sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem
+womanhood's years have been only a dream
+clasped to your breast in a loving embrace
+with your light lashes just sweeping my face
+never hereafter to wake or to weep
+rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep
+
+
+
+my child, ah, my child; thou art weary to-night
+thy spirit is sad, and dim is the light
+thou wouldst call me back from the echoless shore
+to the trials of life, to thy heart as of yore
+thou longest again for my fond loving care
+for my kiss on thy cheek, for my hand on thy hair
+but angels around thee their loving watch keep
+and angels, my darling, will rock thee to sleep
+
+gird on thy armor, keep back thy tears
+count not thy trials nor efforts in vain
+they'll bring thee the light of thy childhood again
+thou shouldst not weary, my child, by the way
+but watch for the light of that brighter day
+not tired of "sowing for others to reap
+for angels, my darling, will rock thee to sleep
+
+tired, my child, of the "base, the untrue
+i have tasted the cup they have given to you
+i've felt the deep sorrow in the living green
+of a low mossy grave by the silvery stream
+but the dear mother i then sought for in vain
+is an angel presence and with me again
+and in the still night, from the silence deep
+come the bright angels to rock me to sleep
+
+nearer thee now than in days that are flown
+purer the love-light encircling thy home
+far more enduring the watch for tonight
+than ever earth worship away from the light
+soon the dark shadows will linger no more
+nor come to thy call from the opening door
+but know thou, my child, that the angels watch keep
+and soon, very soon, they'll rock thee to sleep
+
+they'll sing thee to sleep with a soothing song
+and, waking, thou'lt be with a heavenly throng
+and thy life, with its toil and its tears and pain
+thou wilt then see has not been in vain
+thou wilt meet those in bliss whom on earth thou didst love
+and whom thou hast taught of the "mansions above
+the angels, my darling, will rock thee to sleep
+
+
+
+perhaps the day you reck
+our boys, the twenty-second maine
+kept early's men in check
+just where wade hampton boomed away
+the fight went neck and neck
+
+all day the weaker wing we held
+and held it with a will
+five several stubborn times we charged
+the battery on the hill
+and five times beaten back, re-formed
+and kept our column still
+
+at last from out the center fight
+spurred up a general's aide
+he cried, as past he sped
+our colonel simply touched his cap
+and then, with measured tread
+
+to lead the crouching line once more
+the grand old fellow came
+no wounded man but raised his head
+and strove to gasp his name
+and those who could not speak nor stir
+
+for he was all the world to us
+that hero gray and grim
+right well we knew that fearful slope
+we'd climb with none but him
+though while his white head led the way
+we'd charge hell's portals in
+
+this time we were not half way up
+when, midst the storm of shell
+our leader, with his sword upraised
+beneath our bayonets fell
+and as we bore him back, the foe
+set up a joyous yell
+
+our hearts went with him. back we swept
+and when the bugle said
+but hung his dogged head
+the sullen soldiers said
+
+just then before the laggard line
+the colonel's horse we spied
+bay billy, with his trappings on
+his nostrils swelling wide
+as though still on his gallant back
+the master sat astride
+
+right royally he took the place
+that was of old his wont
+and with a neigh that seemed to say
+above the battle's brunt
+if i am not in front
+
+like statues rooted there we stood
+and gazed a little space
+above that floating mane we missed
+the dear familiar face
+but we saw bay billy's eye of fire
+and it gave us heart of grace
+
+no bugle-call could rouse us all
+as that brave sight had done
+down all the battered line we felt
+a lightning impulse run
+up, up the hill we followed bill
+and we captured every gun
+
+and when upon the conquered height
+died out the battle's hum
+vainly 'mid living and the dead
+we sought our leader dumb
+it seemed as if a spectre steed
+to win that day had come
+
+and then the dusk and dew of night
+fell softly o'er the plain
+as though o'er man's dread work of death
+the angels wept again
+and drew night's curtain gently round
+a thousand beds of pain
+
+all night the surgeons' torches went
+the ghastly rows between
+all night with solemn step i paced
+the torn and bloody green
+but who that fought in the big war
+such dread sights have not seen
+
+at last the morning broke. the lark
+sang in the merry skies
+as if to e'en the sleepers there
+it said "awake, arise
+though naught but that last trump of all
+could ope their heavy eyes
+
+and then once more, with banners gay
+stretched out the long brigade
+trimly upon the furrowed field
+the troops stood on parade
+and bravely 'mid the ranks were closed
+the gaps the fight had made
+
+not half the twenty-second's men
+were in their place that morn
+and corporal dick, who yester-noon
+stood six brave fellows on
+now touched my elbow in the ranks
+for all between were gone
+
+ah! who forgets that weary hour
+when, as with misty eyes
+to call the old familiar roll
+the solemn sergeant tries
+one feels that thumping of the heart
+as no prompt voice replies
+
+and as in faltering tone and slow
+the last few names were said
+across the field some missing horse
+toiled up with weary tread
+it caught the sergeant's eye, and quick
+bay billy's name he read
+
+yes! there the old bay hero stood
+all safe from battle's harms
+and ere an order could be heard
+or the bugle's quick alarms
+down all the front, from end to end
+the troops presented arms
+
+not all the shoulder-straps on earth
+could still our mighty cheer
+and ever from that famous day
+when rang the roll-call clear
+bay billy's name was read, and then
+the whole line answered, "here
+
+
+
+day by day the organ-builder in his lonely chamber wrought
+day by day the soft air trembled to the music of his thought
+till at last the work was ended; and no organ voice so grand
+ever yet had soared responsive to the master's magic hand
+
+ay, so rarely was it builded that whenever groom and bride
+who, in god's sight were well-pleasing, in the church stood side by side
+without touch or breath the organ of itself began to play
+and the very airs of heaven through the soft gloom seemed to stray
+
+he was young, the organ-builder, and o'er all the land his fame
+ran with fleet and eager footsteps, like a swiftly rushing flame
+all the maidens heard the story; all the maidens blushed and smiled
+by his youth and wondrous beauty and his great renown beguiled
+
+so he sought and won the fairest, and the wedding-day was set
+happy day--the brightest jewel in the glad year's coronet
+but when they the portal entered, he forgot his lovely bride
+forgot his love, forgot his god, and his heart swelled high with pride
+
+how the vast cathedral-arches will re-echo with my praise
+up the aisle the gay procession moved. the altar shone afar
+with every candle gleaming through soft shadows like a star
+
+but he listened, listened, listened, with no thought of love or prayer
+for the swelling notes of triumph from his organ standing there
+all was silent. nothing heard he save the priest's low monotone
+and the bride's robe trailing softly o'er the floor of fretted stone
+
+then his lips grew white with anger. surely god was pleased with him
+who had built the wondrous organ for his temple vast and dim
+whose the fault then? hers--the maiden standing meekly at his side
+flamed his jealous rage, maintaining she was false to him--his bride
+
+vain were all her protestations, vain her innocence and truth
+on that very night he left her to her anguish and her ruth
+far he wandered to a country wherein no man knew his name
+for ten weary years he dwelt there, nursing still his wrath and shame
+
+then his haughty heart grew softer, and he thought by night and day
+of the bride he had deserted, till he hardly dared to pray
+thought of her, a spotless maiden, fair and beautiful and good
+thought of his relentless anger, that had cursed her womanhood
+
+till his yearning grief and penitence at last were all complete
+and he longed, with bitter longing, just to fall down at her feet
+ah! how throbbed his heart when, after many a weary day and night
+rose his native towers before him, with the sunset glow alight
+
+through the gates into the city on he pressed with eager tread
+there he met a long procession--mourners following the dead
+why do yonder sorrowing maidens scatter flowers along the way
+
+and because her days were given to the service of god's poor
+from his church we mean to bury her. see! yonder is the door
+
+no one knew him; no one wondered when he cried out, white with pain
+no one questioned when, with pallid lips, he poured his tears like rain
+as he made his way unchallenged, and bore the coffin's head
+
+bore it through the open portal, bore it up the echoing aisle
+let it down before the altar, where the lights burned clear the while
+when, oh, hark; the wondrous organ of itself began to play
+strains of rare, unearthly sweetness never heard until that day
+
+all the vaulted arches rang with music sweet and clear
+all the air was filled with glory, as of angels hovering near
+and ere yet the strain was ended, he who bore the coffin's head
+with the smile of one forgiven, gently sank beside it--dead
+
+they who raised the body knew him, and they laid him by his bride
+down the aisle and o'er the threshold they were carried, side by side
+while the organ played a dirge that no man ever heard before
+and then softly sank to silence--silence kept forevermore
+
+
+
+a fellow just a thing or two
+you've had a furlough, been to see
+how all the folks in jersey do
+it's months ago since i was there
+i, and a bullet from fair oaks
+when you were home, old comrade, say
+did you see any of our folks
+
+for if i do look grim and rough
+i've got some feelin
+people think
+a soldier's heart is mighty tough
+but, harry, when the bullets fly
+and hot saltpetre flames and smokes
+while whole battalions lie afield
+one's apt to think about his folks
+
+the old man--is he hearty yet
+and mother--does she fade at all
+or does she seem to pine and fret
+for me? and sis?--has she grown tall
+and did you see her friend--you know
+that annie moss
+where did you see her?--tell: me, hal
+a lot of news about our folks
+
+it's likely, for they're always there
+not sunday? no? a funeral? who
+who, harry? how you shake and stare
+all well, you say, and all were out
+what ails you, hal? is this a hoax
+why don't you tell me like a man
+what is the matter with our folks
+
+i say all well, for he knows best
+who takes the young ones in his arms
+before the sun goes to the west
+the axe-man death deals right and left
+and flowers fall as well as oaks
+and so
+fair annie blooms no more
+and that's the matter with your folks
+
+and this white blossom from her breast
+and here--your sister bessie wrote
+a letter telling all the rest
+bear up, old friend
+nobody speaks
+only the old camp-raven croaks
+and soldiers whisper, "boys, be still
+there's some bad news from granger's folks
+
+he turns his back--the only foe
+that ever saw it--on this grief
+and, as men will, keeps down the tears
+kind nature sends to woe's relief
+then answers he: "ah, hal, i'll try
+but in my throat there's something chokes
+because, you see, i've thought so long
+to count her in among our folks
+
+but still i will keep thinking, too
+i could have kept all trouble off
+by being tender, kind and true
+but maybe not
+she's safe up there
+and when the hand deals other strokes
+she'll stand by heaven's gate, i know
+and wait to welcome in our folks
+
+
+
+which well-nigh filled joe's bar-room on the corner of the square
+and as songs and witty stories came through the open door
+a vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor
+
+i wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's as filthy as a turk
+
+this badinage the poor wretch took with stoical, good grace
+in fact, he smiled as though he thought he'd struck the proper place
+to be in such good company would make a deacon proud
+
+when i had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow
+what? you laugh as though you thought this pocket never held a sou
+i once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you
+
+next time i pass this good saloon, i'll make another call
+my voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are going fast
+
+i'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, i promise, too
+that i was ever a decent man, not one of you would think
+but i was, some four or five years back. say, give me another drink
+
+such little drinks, to a bum like me, are miserably tame
+five fingers--there, that's the scheme--and corking whisky, too
+well, here's luck, boys; and landlord, my best regards to you
+
+i came to be the dirty sot you see before you now
+as i told you, once i was a man, with muscle, frame and health
+and but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth
+
+but an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty good
+i worked hard at my canvas, and was bidding fair to rise
+for gradually i saw the star of fame before my eyes
+
+it brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and added to my name
+and then i met a woman--now comes the funny part
+with eyes that petrified my brain and sunk into my heart
+
+could ever love a woman, and expect her love for me
+but 'twas so, and for a month or two her smiles were freely given
+and when her loving lips touched mine it carried me to heaven
+
+with a form like the milo venus, too beautiful to live
+with eyes that would beat the koh-i-noor, and a wealth of chestnut hair
+if so, 'twas she, for there never was another half so fair
+
+of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way
+and madeline admired it, and, much to my surprise
+said that she'd like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes
+
+my friend had stolen my darling, and i was left alone
+and ere a year of misery had passed above my head
+the jewel i had treasured so had tarnished, and was dead
+
+i thought you'd be amused, and laughing all the while
+why, what's the mattter, friend? there's a teardrop in your eye
+come, laugh, like me; 'tis only babes and women that should cry
+
+and i'll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad
+give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score
+you shall see the lovely madeline upon the bar-room floor
+
+another drink, and, with chalk in hand, the vagabond began
+to sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man
+then as he placed another lock upon the shapely head
+with a fearful shriek, he leaped, and fell across the picture dead
+
+
+
+one day through the primeval wood
+a calf walked home, as good calves should
+but made a trail all bent askew
+a crooked trail, as all calves do
+since then three hundred years have fled
+and, i infer, the calf is dead
+
+but still he left behind his trail
+and thereby hangs a moral tale
+the trail was taken up next day
+by a lone dog that passed that way
+and then the wise bell-wether sheep
+pursued the trail o'er vale and steep
+and drew the flock behind him, too
+as good bell-wethers always do
+and from that day, o'er hill and glade
+through those old woods a path was made
+
+and many men wound in and out
+and turned and dodged and bent about
+and uttered words of righteous wrath
+because 'twas such a crooked path
+but still they followed--do not laugh
+the first migrations of that calf
+and through this winding woodway stalked
+because he wabbled when he walked
+
+this forest path became a lane
+that bent and turned and turned again
+this crooked path became a road
+where many a poor horse, with his load
+toiled on beneath the burning sun
+and traveled some three miles in one
+and thus a century and a half
+they trod the footsteps of that calf
+
+the years passed on in swiftness fleet
+the road became a village street
+and this, before men were aware
+a city's crowded thoroughfare
+and soon the central street was this
+of a renowned metropolis
+and men two centuries and a half
+trod in the footsteps of that calf
+
+each day a hundred thousand rout
+followed the zigzag calf about
+and o'er his crooked journey went
+the traffic of a continent
+a hundred thousand men were led
+by a calf near three centuries dead
+they followed still his crooked way
+and lost one hundred years a day
+for thus such reverence is lent
+to well-established precedent
+
+a moral lesson this might teach
+were i ordained and called to preach
+for men are prone to go it blind
+along the calf-paths of the mind
+and work away from sun to sun
+to do what other men have done
+they follow in the beaten track
+and out and in, and forth and back
+and still their devious course pursue
+to keep the path that others do
+but how the wise wood-gods must laugh
+who saw the first primeval calf
+ah, many things this tale might teach
+but i am not ordained to preach
+
+
+
+paul revere was a rider bold
+well has his valorous deed been told
+sheridan's ride was a glorious one
+often it has been dwelt upon
+but why should men do all the deeds
+on which the love of a patriot feeds
+hearken to me, while i reveal
+the dashing ride of jennie m'neal
+
+on a spot as pretty as might be found
+in the dangerous length of the neutral ground
+in a cottage, cozy, and all their own
+she and her mother lived alone
+safe were the two, with their frugal store
+from all of the many who passed their door
+for jennie's mother was strange to fears
+and jennie was large for fifteen years
+with vim her eyes were glistening
+her hair was the hue of a blackbird's wing
+and while the friends who knew her well
+the sweetness of her heart could tell
+a gun that hung on the kitchen wall
+looked solemnly quick to heed her call
+and they who were evil-minded knew
+her nerve was strong and her aim was true
+so all kind words and acts did deal
+to generous, black-eyed jennie m'neal
+
+one night, when the sun had crept to bed
+and rain-clouds lingered overhead
+and sent their surly drops for proof
+to drum a tune on the cottage roof
+close after a knock at the outer door
+there entered a dozen dragoons or more
+their red coats, stained by the muddy road
+that they were british soldiers showed
+the captain his hostess bent to greet
+saying, "madam, please give us a bit to eat
+we will pay you well, and, if may be
+this bright-eyed girl for pouring our tea
+then we must dash ten miles ahead
+to catch a rebel colonel abed
+he is visiting home, as doth appear
+we will make his pleasure cost him dear
+and they fell on the hasty supper with zeal
+close-watched the while by jennie m'neal
+
+for the gray-haired colonel they hovered near
+had been her true friend, kind and dear
+and oft, in her younger days, had he
+right proudly perched her upon his knee
+and told her stories many a one
+concerning the french war lately done
+and oft together the two friends were
+and many the arts he had taught to her
+she had hunted by his fatherly side
+he had shown her how to fence and ride
+and once had said, "the time may be
+your skill and courage may stand by me
+so sorrow for him she could but feel
+brave, grateful-hearted jennie m'neal
+
+with never a thought or a moment more
+bare-headed she slipped from the cottage door
+ran out where the horses were left to feed
+unhitched and mounted the captain's steed
+and down the hilly and rock-strewn way
+she urged the fiery horse of gray
+around her slender and cloakless form
+pattered and moaned the ceaseless storm
+secure and tight a gloveless hand
+grasped the reins with stern command
+and full and black her long hair streamed
+whenever the ragged lightning gleamed
+and on she rushed for the colonel's weal
+brave, lioness-hearted jennie m'neal
+
+hark! from the hills, a moment mute
+came a clatter of hoofs in hot pursuit
+and a cry from the foremost trooper said
+she heeded it not, and not in vain
+she lashed the horse with the bridle-rein
+
+so into the night the gray horse strode
+his shoes hewed fire from the rocky road
+and the high-born courage that never dies
+flashed from his rider's coal-black eyes
+the pebbles flew from the fearful race
+the raindrops grasped at her glowing face
+cried eager, resolute jennie m'neal
+
+then, no one answering to the calls
+sped after her a volley of balls
+they passed her in her rapid flight
+they screamed to her left, they screamed to her right
+but, rushing still o'er the slippery track
+she sent no token of answer back
+except a silvery laughter-peal
+brave, merry-hearted jennie m'neal
+
+so on she rushed, at her own good will
+through wood and valley, o'er plain and hill
+the gray horse did his duty well
+till all at once he stumbled and fell
+himself escaping the nets of harm
+but flinging the girl with a broken arm
+still undismayed by the numbing pain
+she clung to the horse's bridle-rein
+and gently bidding him to stand
+petted him with her able hand
+then sprung again to the saddle bow
+and shouted, "one more trial now
+as if ashamed of the heedless fall
+he gathered his strength once more for all
+and, galloping down a hillside steep
+gained on the troopers at every leap
+no more the high-bred steed did reel
+but ran his best for jennie m'neal
+
+they were a furlong behind, or more
+when the girl burst through the colonel's door
+her poor arm helpless hanging with pain
+and she all drabbled and drenched with rain
+but her cheeks as red as fire-brands are
+and her eyes as bright as a blazing star
+and shouted, "quick! be quick, i say
+they come! they come! away! away
+then, sunk on the rude white floor of deal
+poor, brave, exhausted jennie m'neal
+
+the startled colonel sprung, and pressed
+the wife and children to his breast
+and turned away from his fireside bright
+and glided into the stormy night
+then soon and safely made his way
+to where the patriot army lay
+but first he bent in the dim firelight
+and kissed the forehead broad and white
+and blessed the girl who had ridden so well
+to keep him out of a prison-cell
+the girl roused up at the martial din
+just as the troopers came rushing in
+and laughed, e'en in the midst of a moan
+saying, "good sirs, your bird has flown
+so deal with me now as you think best
+but the grand young captain bowed, and said
+of womankind i must crown you queen
+so brave a girl i have never seen
+wear this gold ring as your valor's due
+and when peace comes i will come for you
+but jennie's face an arch smile wore
+as she said, "there's a lad in putnam's corps
+who told me the same, long time ago
+you two would never agree, i know
+i promised my love to be as true as steel
+said good, sure-hearted jennie m'neal
+
+
+
+they say that man is mighty, he governs land and sea
+he wields a mighty scepter o'er lesser powers that be
+by a mightier power and stronger, man from his throne is hurled
+and the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world
+
+blessings on the hand of woman! angels guard its strength and grace
+in the palace, cottage, hovel, oh, no matter where the place
+would that never storms assailed it, rainbows ever gently curled
+for the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world
+
+infancy's the tender fountain, power may with beauty flow
+mother's first to guide the streamlets, from them souls unresting grow
+grow on for the good or evil, sunshine streamed or darkness hurled
+for the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world
+
+woman, how divine your mission here upon our natal sod
+keep, oh, keep the young heart open always to the breath of god
+all true trophies of the ages are from mother-love impearled
+for the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world
+
+blessings on the hand of woman! fathers, sons and daughters cry
+and the sacred song is mingled with the worship in the sky
+mingles where no tempest darkens, rainbows evermore are curled
+for the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world
+
+
+
+i live for those who love me
+whose hearts are kind and true
+for the heaven that smiles above me
+and awaits my spirit, too
+for the human ties that bind me
+for the task by god assigned me
+for the bright hopes left behind me
+and the good that i can do
+
+i live to learn their story
+who've suffered for my sake
+to emulate their glory
+and to follow in their wake
+bards, patriots, martyrs, sages
+the noble of all ages
+whose deeds crowd history's pages
+and time's great volume make
+
+i live to hold communion
+with all that is divine
+to feel there is a union
+to profit by affliction
+reap truths from fields of fiction
+grow wiser from conviction
+and fulfill each grand design
+
+i live to hail that season
+by gifted minds foretold
+when men shall rule by reason
+and not alone by gold
+when man to man united
+and every wrong thing righted
+the whole world shall be lighted
+as eden was of old
+
+i live for those who love me
+for those who know me true
+for the heaven that smiles above me
+and awaits my spirit, too
+for the cause that lacks assistance
+for the wrong that needs resistance
+for the future in the distance
+and the good that i can do
+
+
+
+if all the ships i have at sea
+should come a-sailing home to me
+weighed down with gems, and silk and gold
+ah! well, the harbor would not hold
+so many ships as there would be
+if all my ships came home from sea
+
+if half my ships came home from sea
+and brought their precious freight to me
+ah! well, i should have wealth as great
+as any king that sits in state
+so rich the treasure there would be
+in half my ships now out at sea
+
+if but one ship i have at sea
+should come a-sailing home to me
+ah! well, the storm clouds then might frown
+for, if the others all went down
+still rich and glad and proud i'd be
+if that one ship came home to me
+
+if that one ship went down at sea
+and all the others came to me
+weighed down with gems and wealth untold
+with honor, riches, glory, gold
+the poorest soul on earth i'd be
+if that one ship came not to me
+
+o skies, be calm; o winds, blow free
+blow all my ships safe home to me
+but if thou sendest some awrack
+to nevermore come sailing back
+send any, all that skim the sea
+but send my love ship home to me
+
+
+
+
+god made man in his own image; in the image of god made he
+
+bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
+upon his hoe and gazes on the ground
+the emptiness of ages in his face
+and on his back the burden of the world
+who made him dead to rapture and despair
+a thing that grieves not and that never hopes
+stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox
+who loosened and let down this brutal jaw
+whose was the hand that slanted back this brow
+whose breath blew out the light within this brain
+is this the thing, the lord god made and gave
+to have dominion over sea and land
+to trace the stars and search the heavens for power
+to feel the passion of eternity
+is this the dream he dreamed who shaped the suns
+and pillared the blue firmament with light
+down all the stretch of hell to its last gulf
+there is no shape more terrible than this
+more tongued with censure of the world's blind greed
+more filled with signs and portents for the soul
+more fraught with menace to the universe
+
+what gulfs between him and the seraphim
+slave of the wheel of labor, what to him
+are plato and the swing of pleiades
+what the long reaches of the peaks of song
+the rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose
+through this dread shape the suffering ages look
+time's tragedy is in that aching stoop
+through this dread shape humanity betrayed
+plundered, profaned and disinherited
+cries protest to the judges of the world
+a protest that is also prophecy
+
+o masters, lords and rulers in all lands
+is this the handiwork you give to god
+this monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched
+how will you ever straighten up this shape
+touch it again with immortality
+give back the upward looking and the light
+rebuild it in the music and the dream
+make right the immemorial infamies, perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes
+
+o masters, lords and rulers in all lands
+how will the future reckon with this man
+how answer his brute question in that hour
+when whirlwinds of rebellion shake the world
+how will it be with kingdom and with kings
+with those who shaped him to the thing he is
+when this dumb terror shall reply to god
+after the silence of the centuries
+
+
+
+did you say you wished to see me, sir? step in; 'tis a cheerless place
+but you're heartily welcome all the same; to be poor is no disgrace
+have i been here long? oh, yes, sir! 'tis thirty winters gone
+since poor jim took to crooked ways and left me all alone
+jim was my son, and a likelier lad you'd never wish to see
+till evil counsels won his heart and led him away from me
+
+and men go down--and down--and down--to blackness and despair
+tossing about like wrecks at sea, with helm and anchor lost
+on and on, through the surging waves, nor caring to count the cost
+i doubt sometimes if the savior sees, he seems so far away
+how the souls he loved and died for, are drifting--drifting astray
+
+indeed,'tis little wonder, sir, if woman shrinks and cries
+when the life-blood on rum's altar spilled is calling to the skies
+small wonder if her own heart feels each sacrificial blow
+for isn't each life a part of hers? each pain her hurt and woe
+read all the records of crime and shame--'tis bitterly, sadly true
+where manliness and honor die, there some woman's heart dies, too
+
+i often think, when i hear folks talk so prettily and so fine
+of "alcohol as needful food"; of the "moderate use of wine
+how "the world couldn't do without it, there was clearly no other way
+but for a man to drink, or let it alone, as his own strong will might say
+that "to use it, but not abuse it, was the proper thing to do
+how i wish they'd let old poorhouse nan preach her little sermon, too
+
+i would give them scenes in a woman's life that would make their
+pulses stir
+for i was a drunkard's child and wife--aye, a drunkard's mother, sir
+i would tell of childish terrors, of childish tears and pain
+of cruel blows from a father's hand when rum had crazed his brain
+he always said he could drink his fill, or let it alone as well
+perhaps he might, he was killed one night in a brawl--in a grog-shop hell
+
+i would tell of years of loveless toil the drunkard's child had passed
+with just one gleam of sunshine, too beautiful to last
+when i married tom i thought for sure i had nothing more to fear
+that life would come all right at last; the world seemed full of cheer
+but he took to moderate drinking--he allowed 'twas a harmless thing
+so the arrow sped, and my bird of hope came down with a broken wing
+
+tom was only a moderate drinker; ah, sir, do you bear in mind
+how the plodding tortoise in the race left the leaping hare behind
+and that's the way, i'm thinking, that the moderate drinkers go
+step over step--day after day--with sleepless, tireless pace
+while the toper sometimes looks behind and tarries in the race
+
+ah, heavily in the well-worn path poor tom walked day by day
+for my heart-strings clung about his feet and tangled up the way
+the days were dark, and friends were gone, and life dragged on full slow
+and children came, like reapers, and to a harvest of want and woe
+two of them died, and i was glad when they lay before me dead
+i had grown so weary of their cries--their pitiful cries for bread
+
+there came a time when my heart was stone; i could neither hope nor pray
+poor tom lay out in the potter's field, and my boy had gone astray
+my boy who'd been my idol, while, like hound athirst for blood
+between my breaking heart and him the liquor seller stood
+and lured him on with pleasant words, his pleasures and his wine
+ah, god have pity on other hearts as bruised and hurt as mine
+
+there were whispers of evil-doing, of dishonor, and of shame
+that i cannot bear to think of now, and would not dare to name
+there was hiding away from the light of day, there was creeping about at
+night
+a hurried word of parting--then a criminal's stealthy flight
+his lips were white with remorse and fright when he gave me a good-by kiss
+and i've never seen my poor lost boy from that black day to this
+
+ah, none but a mother can tell you, sir, how a mother's heart will ache
+with the sorrow that comes of a sinning child, with grief for a lost one's
+when she knows the feet she trained to walk have gone so far astray
+and the lips grown bold with curses that she taught to sing and pray
+a child may fear--a wife may weep, but of all sad things, none other
+seems half so sorrowful to me as being a drunkard's mother
+
+they tell me that down in the vilest dens of the city's crime and murk
+there are men with the hearts of angels, doing the angels' work
+that they win back the lost and the straying, that they help the weak to
+stand
+by the wonderful power of loving words--and the help of god's right hand
+and often and often, the dear lord knows, i've knelt and prayed to him
+that somewhere, somehow, 'twould happen that they'd find and save my jim
+
+you'll say 'tis a poor old woman's whim; but when i prayed last night
+right over yon eastern window there shone a wonderful light
+the softest voice i had ever heard: it rung like a silver bell
+and these were the words, "the prodigal turns, so tired by want and sin
+he seeks his father's open door--he weeps--and enters in
+
+why, sir, you're crying as hard as i; what--is it really done
+have the loving voice and the helping hand brought back my wandering son
+did you kiss me and call me "mother"--and hold me to your breast
+or is it one of the taunting dreams that come to mock my rest
+no--no! thank god, 'tis a dream come true! i can die, for he's saved
+my boy
+and the poor old heart that had lived on grief was broken at last by joy
+
+
+
+oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud
+like a swift fleeting meteor, a fast flying cloud
+a flash of the lightning, a break of the wave
+he passes from life to his rest in the grave
+
+the leaves of the oak and the willows shall fade
+be scattered around, and together be laid
+and the young and the old, and the low and the high
+shall moulder to dust, and together shall die
+
+the child whom a mother attended and loved
+the mother that infant's affection who proved
+the husband that mother and infant who blessed
+each--all are away to their dwelling of rest
+
+the maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye
+shone beauty and pleasure--her triumphs are by
+and the memory of those who loved her and praised
+are alike from the minds of the living erased
+
+the hand of the king who the scepter hath borne
+the brow of the priest who the mitre hath worn
+the eye of the sage and the heart of the brave
+are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave
+
+the peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap
+the herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep
+the beggar who wandered in search of his bread
+have faded away like the grass that we tread
+
+the saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven
+the sinner who dared to remain unforgiven
+the wise and the foolish, the guilty and just
+have quietly mingled their bones in the dust
+
+so the multitude goes--like the flower and the weed
+that wither away to let others succeed
+so the multitude comes--even those we behold
+to repeat every tale that has often been told
+
+for we are the same things that our fathers have been
+we see the same sights that our fathers have seen
+we drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun
+and we run the same course that our fathers have run
+
+the thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think
+from the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink
+to the life we are clinging to, they too would cling
+but it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing
+
+they loved--but their story we cannot enfold
+they scorned--but the heart of the haughty is cold
+they grieved--but no wail from their slumbers may come
+they joy'd--but the voice of their gladness--is dumb
+
+they died, ay, they died! and we things that are now
+who walk on the turf that lies over their brow
+who make in their dwellings a transient abode
+meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road
+
+yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain
+are mingled together in sunshine and rain
+and the smile, and the tear, and the song and the dirge
+still follow each other like surge upon surge
+
+from the blossoms of health to the paleness of death
+from the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud
+oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud
+
+
+
+that blazed before fort sumter had wakened the north as one
+long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire
+had marked where the unchained millions marched on to their heart's desire
+on roofs and glittering turrets, that night, as the sun went down
+the mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jeweled crown
+and, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted their eyes
+they saw the pride of the city, the spire of st. michael's rise
+high over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden ball
+that hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward fall
+first glimpse of home to the sailor who made the harbor round
+and last slow-fading vision dear to the outward bound
+the gently gathering shadows shut out the waning light
+the children prayed at their bedsides as they were wont each night
+the noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was gone
+and in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumbered on
+
+but another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping street
+for a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of trampling feet
+men stared in each other's faces, thro' mingled fire and smoke
+while the frantic bells went clashing clamorous, stroke on stroke
+by the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless mother fled
+with the babe she pressed to her bosom shrieking in nameless dread
+while the fire-king's wild battalions scaled wall and cap-stone high
+and painted their glaring banners against an inky sky
+from the death that raged behind them, and the crush of ruin loud
+to the great square of the city, were driven the surging crowd
+where yet firm in all the tumult, unscathed by the fiery flood
+with its heavenward pointing finger the church of st. michael's stood
+
+but e'en as they gazed upon it there rose a sudden wail
+a cry of horror blended with the roaring of the gale
+on whose scorching wings updriven, a single flaming brand
+aloft on the towering steeple clung like a bloody hand
+far out on the lurid harbor they watched it from the ships
+a baleful gleam, that brighter and ever brighter shone
+like a flickering, trembling will-o'-the-wisp to a steady beacon grown
+for the love of the periled city, plucks down yon burning brand
+so cried the mayor of charleston, that all the people heard
+but they looked each one at his fellow, and no man spoke a word
+who is it leans from the belfry, with face upturned to the sky
+clings to a column and measures the dizzy spire with his eye
+will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible, sickening height
+or will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins at the sight
+but see! he has stepped on the railing, he climbs with his feet and his
+hands
+and firm on a narrow projection, with the belfry beneath him, he stands
+now once, and once only, they cheer him--a single tempestuous breath
+and there falls on the multitude gazing a hush like the stillness of death
+
+slow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the goal of the fire
+still higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face of the spire
+he stops! will he fall? lo! for answer, a gleam like a meteor's track
+and, hurled on the stones of the pavement, the red brand lies shattered and
+black
+once more the shouts of the people have rent the quivering air
+at the church door mayor and council wait with their feet on the stair
+and the eager throng behind them press for a touch of his hand
+the unknown savior whose daring could compass a deed so grand
+
+but why does a sudden tremor seize on them as they gaze
+and what meaneth that stifled murmur of wonder and amaze
+he stood in the gate of the temple he had periled his life to save
+and the face of the unknown hero was the sable face of a slave
+with folded arms he was speaking in tones that were clear, not loud
+and his eyes, ablaze in their sockets, burnt into the eyes of the crowd
+if the deed i have done before you be not the deed of a _man
+
+he stepped but a short space backward, and from all the women and men
+there were only sobs for answer, and the mayor called for a pen
+and the great seal of the city, that he might read who ran
+and the slave who saved st. michael's went out from its door a man
+
+
+
+a soldier of the legion lay dying in algiers
+there was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears
+but a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away
+and bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say
+the dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand
+and he said, "i never more shall see my own, my native land
+take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine
+for i was born at bingen--at bingen on the rhine
+
+to hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground
+that we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done
+full many a corpse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun
+and 'midst the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars
+the death-wound on their gallant breasts the last of many scars
+but some were young--and suddenly beheld life's morn decline
+and one had come from bingen--fair bingen on the rhine
+
+and i was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage
+for my father was a soldier, and even as a child
+my heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild
+and when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard
+i let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword
+and with boyish love i hung it where the bright light used to shine
+on the cottage-wall at bingen--calm bingen on the rhine
+
+when the troops are marching home again with glad and gallant tread
+but to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye
+for her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die
+and if a comrade seek her love, i ask her in my name
+to listen to him kindly, without regret or shame
+and to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine
+for the honor of old bingen--dear bingen on the rhine
+
+you'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye
+too innocent for coquetry--too fond for idle scorning
+oh, friend! i fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning
+tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen
+my body will be out of pain--my soul be out of prison
+i dreamed i stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine
+on the vine-clad hills of bingen--fair bingen on the rhine
+
+the german songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear
+and down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill
+the echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still
+and her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly talk
+down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk
+and her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine
+but we'll meet no more at bingen--loved bingen on the rhine
+
+his voice grew faint and hoarser,--his grasp was childish weak
+his eyes put on a dying look,--he sighed and ceased to speak
+his comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled
+the soldier of the legion, in a foreign land--was dead
+and the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down
+on the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown
+yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine
+as it shone on distant bingen--fair bingen on the rhine
+
+
+
+on a board of bright mosaic wrought in many a quaint design
+gleam a brace of silver goblets wreathed with flowers and filled with wine
+round the board a group is seated; here and there are threads of white
+which their dark locks lately welcomed; but they're only boys tonight
+some whose words have thrilled the senate, some who win the critic's
+praise
+all are "chums" to-night, with voices redolent of college days
+
+how we used to fill our oil cans and repair to 'no. 9
+but at last the old professor--never long was he outdone
+opened up our shining oil cans and demolished all our fun
+in the laugh that rings so gayly through the richly curtained room
+join they all, save one; why is it? does he see the waxen bloom
+tremble in its vase of silver? does he see the ruddy wine
+shiver in its crystal goblet, or do those grave eyes divine
+something sadder yet? he pauses till their mirth has died away
+then in measured tones speaks gravely
+worthily your praise
+it is bitter fruitage ripened from our pranks of college days
+
+with his flexible voice would garnish any tale, whate'er it be
+
+at the san francisco l---- house, when i heard a plaintive moan
+sounding from the room adjoining. hoping to give some relief
+to the suffering one, i entered; but it thrilled my heart with grief
+just to see that wreck of manhood--bloated face, disheveled hair
+wildly tossing, ever moaning, while his thin hands beat the air
+broken prayers, vile oaths and curses filled the air as i drew near
+then in faint and piteous accents, these words i could plainly hear
+then i'll follow where they lead me, be it to the depths of hell
+when he saw me he grew calmer, started strangely--looked me o'er
+oh, the glory of expression! i had seen those eyes before
+yes, i knew him; it was horace, he who won the college prize
+naught remained of his proud beauty but the splendor of his eyes
+he whom we were all so proud of, lay there in the fading light
+if my years should number fourscore, i shall ne'er forget that sight
+and he knew me--called me 'albert,' ere a single word i'd said
+we were comrades in the old days; i sat down beside the bed
+
+he kept talking of our boyhood while my hand he still would keep
+in his own so white and wasted, and with burning eyes would gaze
+on my face, still talking feebly of the dear old college days
+but a poor degraded outcast--hopes, ambition swept away
+and it dates back to those oil cans that we filled in greatest glee
+little did i think in those days what the harvest now would be
+
+wrings my heart, burst from his white lips, though his teeth were tightly
+and with sudden strength he started--sprang from my detaining arm
+shrieking wildly, 'curse the demons; do they think to do me harm
+back! i say, ye forked-tongued serpents reeking with the filth of hell
+don't ye see i have her with me--my poor sainted little belle
+
+my head down, 'oh, al,' he whispered, 'such remorse you never knew
+and again i tried to soothe him, but my eyes o'erbrimmed with tears
+his were dry and clear, as brilliant as they were in college years
+all the flush had left his features, he lay white as marble now
+tenderly i smoothed his pillow, wiped the moisture from his brow
+though i begged him to be quiet, he would talk of those old days
+brokenly at times, but always of 'the boys' with loving praise
+
+you remember rena barstow. when i asked if she were dead
+but i wish, to god, it were so, and i still might call her mine
+she's divorced--she's mine no longer,' here his voice grew weak and hoarse
+i've a little girl in heaven, playing round the savior's knee
+always patient and so faithful that at last she died for me
+
+every one had lost hope in me but my faithful little child
+she would say, "now stop, dear papa, for i know you can stop _now
+i would promise, kiss my darling, and the next day break my vow
+so it went until one christmas, dark and stormy, cold and drear
+out i started, just as usual, for the cursed rum shop near
+and my darling followed after, in the storm of rain and sleet
+with no covering wrapped about her, naught but slippers on her feet
+no one knew it, no one missed her, till there came with solemn tread
+stern-faced men unto our dwelling, bringing back our darling--_dead
+they had found her cold and lifeless, like, they said, an angel fair
+leaning 'gainst the grog shop window--oh, she thought that _i was there
+then he raised his arms toward heaven, called aloud unto the dead
+for his mind again was wandering: 'belle, my precious belle!' he said
+all the way--alone--my darling--just to lead--poor--papa--home
+and he surely had an answer, for a silence o'er him fell
+and i sat alone and lonely--death had come with little belle
+
+silence in that princely parlor--head of every guest is bowed
+they still see the red wine sparkle, but 'tis through a misty cloud
+said the host at last, arising, "i have scorned the pledge to sign
+laughed at temperance all my life long. never more shall drop of wine
+touch my lips. the fruit _was_ bitter, boys; 'twas i proposed it first
+that foul joke from which poor horace ever bore a life accurst
+let us pledge ourselves to-night, boys, never more by word, or deed
+in our own fair homes, or elsewhere, help to plant the poison seed
+
+silence once again, but only for a moment's space, and then
+in one voice they all responded with a low and firm "amen
+
+
+
+the summer and autumn had been so wet
+that in winter the corn was growing yet
+the grain lie rotting on the ground
+
+every day the starving poor
+crowded round bishop hatto's door
+for he had a plentiful last year's store
+and all the neighborhood could tell
+his granaries were furnish'd well
+
+at last bishop hatto appointed a day
+to quiet the poor without delay
+he bade them to his great barn repair
+and they should have food for the winter there
+
+rejoiced the tidings good to hear
+the poor folk flock'd from far and near
+the great barn was full as it could hold
+of women and children, and young and old
+
+then, when he saw it could hold no more
+bishop hatto he made fast the door
+and while for mercy on christ they call
+he set fire to the barn and burnt them all
+
+for ridding it, in these times forlorn
+of rats that only consume the corn
+
+so then to his palace returned he
+and he sat down to supper merrily
+and he slept that night like an innocent man
+but bishop hatto never slept again
+
+in the morning, as he enter'd the hall
+where his picture hung against the wall
+a sweat like death all over him came
+for the rats had eaten it out of the frame
+
+as he look'd, there came a man from his farm
+he had a countenance white with alarm
+and the rats had eaten all your corn
+
+another came running presently
+and he was pale as pale could be
+the lord forgive you for yesterday
+
+the walls are high, and the shores are steep
+and the stream is strong, and the water deep
+
+bishop hatto fearfully hasten'd away
+and he cross'd the rhine without delay
+and reach'd his tower and barr'd with care
+all the windows, doors, and loopholes there
+
+he laid him down and closed his eyes
+but soon a scream made him arise
+he started, and saw two eyes of flame
+on his pillow, from whence the screaming came
+
+he listen'd and look'd,--it was only the cat
+but the bishop he grew more fearful for that
+for she sat screaming, mad with fear
+at the army of rats that were drawing near
+
+for they have swum over the river so deep
+and they have climb'd the shores so steep
+and up the tower their way is bent
+to do the work for which they were sent
+
+they are not to be told by the dozen or score
+by thousands they come, and by myriads and more
+such numbers had never been heard of before
+such a judgment had never been witness'd of yore
+
+down on his knees the bishop fell
+and faster and faster his beads did he tell
+as louder and louder, drawing near
+the gnawing of their teeth he could hear
+
+and in at the windows and in at the door
+and through the walls helter-skelter they pour
+and down from the ceiling and up through the floor
+
+from the right and the left, from behind and before
+from within and without, from above and below
+and all at once to the bishop they go
+
+they have whetted their teeth against the stones
+and now they pick the bishop's bones
+they gnaw'd the flesh from every limb
+for they were sent to do judgment on him
+
+
+
+the sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea
+the uttered benediction touched the people tenderly
+and they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, lighted west
+and then hastened to their dwellings for god's blessed boon of rest
+
+bat they looked across the waters, and a storm was raging there
+a fierce spirit moved above them--the wild spirit of the air
+and it lashed and shook and tore them till they thundered, groaned and
+boomed
+and, alas! for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed
+
+very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of wales
+lest the dawn of coming morrow should be telling awful tales
+when the sea had spent its passion and should cast upon the shore
+bits of wreck and swollen victims as it had done heretofore
+
+with the rough winds blowing round her, a brave woman strained her eyes
+as she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise
+oh, it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be
+for no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea
+
+then the pitying people hurried from their homes and thronged the beach
+oh, for power to cross the waters and the perishing to reach
+helpless hands were wrung in terror, tender hearts grew cold with dread
+and the ship, urged by the tempest, to the fatal rock-shore sped
+
+lo! when next the white, shocked faces looked with terror on the sea
+only one last clinging figure on a spar was seen to be
+
+nearer to the trembling watchers came the wreck tossed by the wave
+and the man still clung and floated, though no power on earth could save
+
+any memory of his sermon? firstly? secondly? ah, no
+there was but one thing to utter in that awful hour of woe
+so he shouted through the trumpet, "look to jesus
+can you hear?" and "aye, aye, sir," rang the answer o'er the waters loud
+and clear
+
+then they listened,--"he is singing, 'jesus, lover of my soul
+and the winds brought back the echo, "while the nearer waters roll
+strange, indeed, it was to hear him,--"till the storm of life is past
+singing bravely o'er the waters, "oh, receive my soul at last
+
+he could have no other refuge,--"hangs my helpless soul on thee
+and the watchers, looking homeward, through their eyes by tears made dim
+said, "he passed to be with jesus in the singing of that hymn
+
+
+
+though to walk near its crest was so pleasant
+but over its terrible edge there had slipped
+a duke and full many a peasant
+so the people said something would have to be done
+but their projects did not at all tally
+some said, "put a fence around the edge of the cliff
+some, "an ambulance down in the valley
+
+but the cry for the ambulance carried the day
+for it spread through the neighboring city
+a fence may be useful or not, it is true
+but each heart became brimful of pity
+for those who slipped over that dangerous cliff
+and the dwellers in highway and alley
+gave pounds or gave pence, not to put up a fence
+but an ambulance down in the valley
+
+it isn't the slipping that hurts them so much
+as the shock down below when they're stopping
+so day after day, as these mishaps occurred
+quick forth would these rescuers sally
+to pick up the victims who fell off the cliff
+with their ambulance down in the valley
+
+then an old sage remarked: "it's a marvel to me
+that people give far more attention
+to repairing results than to stopping the cause
+when they'd much better aim at prevention
+let us stop at its source all this mischief," cried he
+if the cliff we will fence, we might almost dispense
+with the ambulance down in the valley
+
+he'd dispense with all charities, too, if he could
+no! no! we'll support them forever
+aren't we picking up folks just as fast as they fall
+and shall this man dictate to us? shall he
+why should people of sense stop to put up a fence
+while the ambulance works in the valley
+
+but a sensible few, who are practical too
+will not bear with such nonsense much longer
+they believe that prevention is better than cure
+and their party will soon be the stronger
+encourage them then, with your purse, voice, and pen
+and while other philanthropists dally
+they will scorn all pretense and put up a stout fence
+on the cliff that hangs over the valley
+
+better guide well the young than reclaim them when old
+for the voice of true wisdom is calling
+to prevent other people from falling
+better close up the source of temptation and crime
+than deliver from dungeon or galley
+better put a strong fence 'round the top of the cliff
+than an ambulance down in the valley
+
+
+
+a district school, not far away
+was humming with its wonted noise
+of three-score mingled girls and boys
+some few upon their tasks intent
+but more on furtive mischief bent
+the while the master's downward look
+was fastened on a copy-book
+when suddenly, behind his back
+rose sharp and clear a rousing smack
+as 'twere a battery of bliss
+let off in one tremendous kiss
+i thaw him kith thuthanna peathe
+with frown to make a statue thrill
+the master thundered, "hither, will
+like wretch o'ertaken in his track
+with stolen chattels on his back
+will hung his head in fear and shame
+and to the awful presence came
+a great, green, bashful simpleton
+the butt of all good-natured fun
+with smile suppressed, and birch upraised
+the threatener faltered, "i'm amazed
+that you, my biggest pupil, should
+be guilty of an act so rude
+before the whole set school to boot
+what evil genius put you to 't
+but when susanna shook her curls
+and whispered i was 'fraid of girls
+and dursn't kiss a baby's doll
+i couldn't stand it, sir, at all
+but up and kissed her on the spot
+i know--boo-hoo--i ought to not
+but, somehow, from her looks--boo-hoo
+i thought she kind o' wished me to
+
+
+
+do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
+ever made by the hand above
+a woman's heart and a woman's life
+and a woman's wonderful love
+
+do you know you have asked for this priceless thing
+as a child might ask for a toy
+demanding what others have died to win
+with the reckless dash of a boy
+
+you have written my lesson of duty out
+man-like you have questioned me
+now stand at the bar of my woman's soul
+until i shall question thee
+
+you require your mutton shall always be hot
+your socks and your shirts shall be whole
+i require your heart to be true as god's stars
+and pure as heaven your soul
+
+you require a cook for your mutton and beef
+i require a far better thing
+a seamstress you're wanting for stockings and shirts
+i look for a man and a king
+
+a king for a beautiful realm called home
+and a man that the maker, god
+shall look upon as he did the first
+and say, "it is very good
+
+i am fair and young, but the rose will fade
+from my soft, young cheek one day
+will you love then, 'mid the falling leaves
+as you did 'mid the bloom of may
+
+is your heart an ocean so strong and deep
+i may launch my all on its tide
+a loving woman finds heaven or hell
+on the day she is made a bride
+
+i require all things that are grand and true
+all things that a man should be
+if you give this all, i would stake my life
+to be all you demand of me
+
+if you cannot do this, a laundress and cook
+you can hire with little to pay
+but a woman's heart and a woman's life
+are not to be won that way
+
+
+
+i want free life and i want fresh air
+and i sigh for the canter after the cattle
+the crack of the whips like shots in battle
+the mellay of horns, and hoofs, and heads
+that wars, and wrangles, and scatters, and spreads
+the green beneath and the blue above
+and dash and danger, and life and love
+and lasca
+lasca used to ride
+on a mouse-gray mustang, close to my side
+with blue _serape_ and bright-belled spur
+i laughed with joy as i looked at her
+little knew she of books or creeds
+an _ave maria_ sufficed her needs
+little she cared, save to be by my side
+to ride with me, and ever to ride
+from san saba's shore to lavaca's tide
+she was as bold as the billows that beat
+she was as wild as the breezes that blow
+from her little head to her little feet
+she was swayed, in her suppleness, to and fro
+by each gust of passion; a sapling pine
+that grows on the edge of a kansas bluff
+and wars with the wind when the weather is rough
+is like this lasca, this love of mine
+she would hunger that i might eat
+would take the bitter and leave me the sweet
+but once, when i made her jealous for fun
+at something i'd whispered, or looked, or done
+one sunday, in san antonio
+to a glorious girl on the alamo
+she drew from her girdle a dear little dagger
+and--sting of a wasp!--it made me stagger
+an inch to the left or an inch to the right
+and i shouldn't be maundering here to-night
+but she sobbed, and, sobbing, so swiftly bound
+her torn _rebosa_ about the wound
+that i quite forgave her. scratches don't count
+in texas, down by the rio grande
+
+her eye was brown,--a deep, deep brown
+her hair was darker than her eye
+and something in her smile and frown
+curled crimson lip, and instep high
+showed that there ran in each blue vein
+mixed with the milder aztec strain
+the vigorous vintage of old spain
+she was alive in every limb
+with feeling, to the finger tips
+and when the sun is like a fire
+and sky one shining, soft sapphire
+one does not drink in little sips
+
+the air was heavy, the night was hot
+i sat by her side, and forgot--forgot
+forgot the herd that were taking their rest
+forgot that the air was close opprest
+that the texas norther comes sudden and soon
+in the dead of night or the blaze of noon
+that once let the herd at its breath take fright
+that nothing on earth can stop the flight
+and woe to the rider, and woe to the steed
+who falls in front of their mad stampede
+was that thunder? no, by the lord
+i sprang to my saddle without a word
+one foot on mine, and she clung behind
+away on a hot chase down the wind
+but never was fox-hunt half so hard
+and never was steed so little spared
+for we rode for our lives. you shall hear how we fared
+in texas, down by the rio grande
+
+the mustang flew, and we urged him on
+there was one chance left, and you have but one
+halt, jump to the ground, and shoot your horse
+crouch under his carcass, and take your chance
+and if the steers, in their frantic course
+don't batter you both to pieces at once
+you may thank your star; if not, good-by
+to the quickening kiss and the long-drawn sigh
+and the open air and the open sky
+in texas, down by the rio grande
+
+the cattle gained on us, and just as i felt
+for my old six-shooter, behind in my belt
+down came the mustang, and down came we
+clinging together, and--what was the rest
+a body that spread itself on my breast
+two arms that shielded my dizzy head
+two lips that hard on my lips were pressed
+then came thunder in my ears
+as over us surged the sea of steers
+blows that beat blood into my eyes
+and when i could rise
+lasca was dead
+
+i gouged out a grave a few feet deep
+and there in earth's arms i laid her to sleep
+and there she is lying, and no one knows
+and the summer shines and the winter snows
+for many a day the flowers have spread
+a pall of petals over her head
+and the little gray hawk hangs aloft in the air
+and the sly coyote trots here and there
+and the black snake glides, and glitters, and slides
+into the rift in a cotton-wood tree
+and the buzzard sails on
+and comes and is gone
+stately and still like a ship at sea
+and i wonder why i do not care
+for the things that are like the things that were
+does half my heart lie buried there
+in texas, down by the rio grande
+
+
+
+over the hill to the poor-house i'm trudgin' my weary way
+i, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray
+i, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years i've told
+as many another woman that's only half as old
+
+over the hill to the poor-house--i can't quite make it clear
+over the hill to the poor-house-it seems so horrid queer
+many a step i've taken a-toiling to and fro
+but this is a sort of journey i never thought to go
+
+what is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame
+am i lazy or crazy? am i blind or lame
+true, i am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout
+but charity ain't no favor, if one can live without
+
+i am willin' and anxious an' ready any day
+to work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way
+for i can earn my victuals, an' more too, i'll be bound
+if anybody only is willin' to have me round
+
+once i was young an' han'some--i was upon my soul
+once my cheeks was roses, my eyes as black as coal
+and i can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say
+for any kind of a reason, that i was in their way
+
+but many a house an' home was open then to me
+many a han'some offer i had from likely men
+and nobody ever hinted that i was a burden then
+
+and when to john i was married, sure he was good and smart
+but he and all the neighbors would own i done my part
+for life was all before me, an' i was young an' strong
+and i worked the best that i could in tryin' to get along
+
+and so we worked together: and life was hard, but gay
+with now and then a baby for to cheer us on our way
+till we had half a dozen, an' all growed clean an' neat
+an' went to school like others, an' had enough to eat
+
+so we worked for the childr'n, and raised 'em every one
+worked for 'em summer and winter just as we ought to've done
+only, perhaps, we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn
+but every couple's childr'n's a heap the best to them
+
+strange how much we think of our blessed little ones
+i'd have died for my daughters, i'd have died for my sons
+and god he made that rule of love; but when we're old and gray
+i've noticed it sometimes, somehow, fails to work the other way
+
+strange, another thing: when our boys an' girls was grown
+and when, exceptin' charley, they'd left us there alone
+when john he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be
+the lord of hosts he come one day, an' took him away from me
+
+still i was bound to struggle, an' never to cringe or fall
+still i worked for charley, for charley was now my all
+and charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown
+till at last he went a-courtin', and brought a wife from town
+
+she was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant smile
+she was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' style
+but if ever i tried to be friends, i did with her, i know
+but she was hard and proud, an' i couldn't make it go
+
+she had an edication, an' that was good for her
+but when she twitted me on mine, 'twas carryin' things too fur
+an' i told her once, 'fore company (an' it almost made her sick
+that i never swallowed a grammar, or eat a 'rithmetic
+
+so 'twas only a few days before the thing was done
+they was a family of themselves, and i another one
+and a very little cottage one family will do
+but i never have seen a house that was big enough for two
+
+an' i never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye
+an' it made me independent, an' then i didn't try
+but i was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow
+when charley turn'd agin me, an' told me i could go
+
+i went to live with susan, but susan's house was small
+and she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all
+and what with her husband's sisters, and what with childr'n three
+
+an' then i went to thomas, the oldest son i've got
+for thomas's buildings'd cover the half of an acre lot
+but all the childr'n was on me--i couldn't stand their sauce
+and thomas said i needn't think i was comin' there to boss
+
+an' then i wrote rebecca, my girl who lives out west
+and to isaac, not far from her--some twenty miles, at best
+and one of 'em said 'twas too warm there for any one so old
+and t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold
+
+so they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about
+so they have well-nigh soured me, an' wore my old heart out
+but still i've borne up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down
+till charley went to the poor-master, an' put me on the town
+
+over the hill to the poor-house--my childr'n dear, good-by
+many a night i've watched you when only god was nigh
+and god'll judge between us; but i will always pray
+that you shall never suffer the half i do to-day
+
+
+
+when freedom from her mountain height
+unfurled her standard to the air
+she tore the azure robe of night
+and set the stars of glory there
+she mingled with its gorgeous dyes
+the milky baldric of the skies
+and striped its pure celestial white
+with streakings of the morning light
+then from his mansion in the sun
+she called her eagle bearer down
+and gave into his mighty hand
+the symbol of her chosen land
+
+majestic monarch of the cloud
+who rear'st aloft thy regal form
+to hear the tempest trumpings loud
+and see the lightning lances driven
+when strive the warriors of the storm
+and rolls the thunder-drum of heaven
+child of the sun! to thee 'tis given
+to guard the banner of the free
+to hover in the sulphur smoke
+to ward away the battle stroke
+and bid its blendings shine afar
+like rainbows on the cloud of war
+the harbingers of victory
+
+flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly
+the sign of hope and triumph high
+when speaks the signal trumpet tone
+and the long line comes gleaming on
+ere yet the lifeblood, warm and wet
+has dimmed the glistening bayonet
+each soldier eye shall brightly turn
+to where thy sky-born glories burn
+and, as his springing steps advance
+catch war and vengeance from the glance
+
+and when the cannon-mouthings loud
+heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud
+and gory sabres rise and fall
+like shoots of flame on midnight's pall
+then shall thy meteor glances glow
+and cowering foes shall shrink beneath
+each gallant arm that strikes below
+that lovely messenger of death
+
+flag of the seas! on ocean wave
+thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave
+when death, careering on the gale
+sweeps darkly 'round the bellied sail
+and frighted waves rush wildly back
+before the broadside's reeling rack
+each dying wanderer of the sea
+shall look at once to heaven and thee
+and smile to see thy splendors fly
+in triumph o'er his closing eye
+
+flag of the free heart's hope and home
+by angel hands to valor given
+thy stars have lit the welkin dome
+and all thy hues were born in heaven
+forever float that standard sheet
+where breathes the foe but falls before us
+with freedom's soil beneath our feet
+and freedom's banner streaming o'er us
+
+
+
+a bunch of golden keys is mine
+to make each day with gladness shine
+
+that unlocks every door for me
+
+when evening comes, "good night!" i say
+and close the door of each glad day
+
+when at the table "if you please
+i take from off my bunch of keys
+
+when friends give anything to me
+i'll use the little "thank you" key
+
+when by mistake some harm i do
+
+or if unkindly harm i've given
+with "forgive me" key i'll be forgiven
+
+on a golden ring these keys i'll bind
+this is its motto: "be ye kind
+
+i'll often use each golden key
+and so a happy child i'll be
+
+
+i know a place where the sun is like gold
+and the cherry blooms burst like snow
+and down underneath is the loveliest nook
+where the four-leaf clovers grow
+
+one leaf is for faith, and one is for hope
+and one is for love, you know
+and god put another one in for luck
+if you search, you will find where they grow
+
+but you must have faith and you must have hope
+you must love and be strong, and so
+if you work, if you wait, you will find the place
+where the four-leaf clovers grow
+
+
+
+note: a remarkable custom, brought from the old country, formerly
+prevailed in the rural districts of new england. on the death of a
+member of the family, the bees were at once informed of the event, and
+their hives dressed in mourning. this ceremonial was supposed to be
+necessary to prevent the swarms from leaving their hives and seeking a
+new home
+
+here is the place; right over the hill
+runs the path i took
+you can see the gap in the old wall still
+and the stepping-stones in the shallow brook
+
+there is the house, with the gate red-barred
+and the poplars tall
+and the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard
+and the white horns tossing above the wall
+
+there are the beehives ranged in the sun
+and down by the brink
+of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun
+pansy and daffodil, rose and pink
+
+a year has gone, as the tortoise goes
+heavy and slow
+and the same rose blows, and the same sun glows
+and the same brook sings of a year ago
+
+there's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze
+and the june sun warm
+tangles his wings of fire in the trees
+setting, as then, over fernside farm
+
+i mind me how with a lover's care
+from my sunday coat
+i brushed off the burs, and smoothed my hair
+and cooled at the brookside my brow and throat
+
+since we parted, a month had passed
+to love, a year
+down through the beeches i looked at last
+on the little red gate and the well-sweep near
+
+i can see it all now,--the slantwise rain
+of light through the leaves
+the sundown's blaze on her window-pane
+the bloom of her roses under the eaves
+
+just the same as a month before
+the house and the trees
+the barn's brown gable, the vine by the door
+nothing changed but the hives of bees
+
+before them, under the garden wall
+forward and back
+went drearily singing the chore-girl small
+draping each hive with a shred of black
+
+trembling, i listened; the summer sun
+had the chill of snow
+for i knew she was telling the bees of one
+gone on the journey we all must go
+
+then i said to myself, "my mary weeps
+for the dead to-day
+haply her blind grandsire sleeps
+the fret and pain of his age away
+
+but her dog whined low; on the doorway sill
+with his cane to his chin
+the old man sat; and the chore-girl still
+sung to the bees stealing out and in
+
+and the song she was singing ever since
+in my ear sounds on
+mistress mary is dead and gone
+
+
+
+not understood, we move along asunder
+our paths grow wider as the seasons creep
+along the years. we marvel and we wonder
+why life is life, and then we fall asleep
+not understood
+
+not understood, we gather false impressions
+and hug them closer as the years go by
+till virtues often seem to us transgressions
+and thus men rise and fall and live and die
+not understood
+
+not understood, poor souls with stunted visions
+often measure giants by their narrow gauge
+the poisoned shafts of falsehood and derision
+are oft impelled 'gainst those who mould the age
+not understood
+
+not understood, the secret springs of action
+which lie beneath the surface and the show
+are disregarded; with self-satisfaction
+we judge our neighbors, and they often go
+not understood
+
+not understood, how trifles often change us
+the thoughtless sentence or the fancied slight
+destroy long years of friendship and estrange us
+and on our souls there falls a freezing blight
+not understood
+
+not understood, how many hearts are aching
+for lack of sympathy! ah! day by day
+how many cheerless, lonely hearts are breaking
+how many noble spirits pass away
+not understood
+
+o god! that men would see a little clearer
+or judge less hardly when they cannot see
+o god! that men would draw a little nearer
+to one another! they'd be nearer thee
+and understood
+
+
+the woman was old, and ragged, and gray
+and bent with the chill of a winter's day
+the streets were white with a recent snow
+and the woman's feet with age were slow
+
+at the crowded crossing she waited long
+jostled aside by the careless throng
+of human beings who passed her by
+unheeding the glance of her anxious eye
+
+down the street with laughter and shout
+glad in the freedom of "school let out
+come happy boys, like a flock of sheep
+hailing the snow piled white and deep
+past the woman, so old and gray
+hastened the children on their way
+
+none offered a helping hand to her
+so weak and timid, afraid to stir
+lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
+should trample her down in the slippery street
+
+at last came out of the merry troop
+the gayest boy of all the group
+he paused beside her, and whispered low
+
+her aged hand on his strong young arm
+she placed, and so without hurt or harm
+he guided the trembling feet along
+proud that his own were young and strong
+then back again to his friends he went
+his young heart happy and well content
+
+for all she's aged, and poor, and slow
+and some one, some time, may lend a hand
+to help my mother--you understand
+if ever she's poor, and old, and gray
+and her own dear boy is far away
+
+in her home that 'night, and the prayer she said
+was: "god, be kind to that noble boy
+who is somebody's son, and pride and joy
+
+faint was the voice, and worn and weak
+but the father hears when his children speak
+angels caught the faltering word
+and "somebody's mother's" prayer was heard
+
+
+whither, midst falling dew
+while glow the heavens with the last steps of day
+far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
+thy solitary way
+
+vainly the fowler's eye
+might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong
+as, darkly seen against the crimson sky
+thy figure floats along
+
+seek'st thou the plashy brink
+of weedy lake, or marge of river wide
+or where the rocking billows rise and sink
+on the chafed ocean-side
+
+there is a power whose care
+teaches thy way along that pathless coast
+the desert and illimitable air
+lone wandering, but not lost
+
+all day thy wings have fanned
+at that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere
+yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land
+though the dark night is near
+
+and soon that toil shall end
+soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest
+and scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
+soon, o'er thy sheltered nest
+
+thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
+hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
+deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given
+and shall not soon depart
+
+he who, from zone to zone
+guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight
+in the long way that i must tread alone
+will lead my steps aright
+
+
+
+who fed me from her gentle breast
+and hushed me in her arms to rest
+and on my cheek sweet kisses prest
+my mother
+
+when sleep forsook my open eye
+who was it sung sweet lullaby
+and rocked me that i should not cry
+my mother
+
+who sat and watched my infant head
+when sleeping in my cradle bed
+and tears of sweet affection shed
+my mother
+
+when pain and sickness made me cry
+who gazed upon my heavy eye
+and wept, for fear that i should die
+my mother
+
+who ran to help me when i fell
+and would some pretty story tell
+or kiss the part to make it well
+my mother
+
+who taught my infant lips to pray
+to love god's holy word and day
+and walk in wisdom's pleasant way
+my mother
+
+and can i ever cease to be
+affectionate and kind to thee
+who wast so very kind to me
+my mother
+
+oh, no, the thought i cannot bear
+and if god please my life to spare
+i hope i shall reward thy care
+my mother
+
+when thou art feeble, old and gray
+my healthy arms shall be thy stay
+and i will soothe thy pains away
+my mother
+
+and when i see thee hang thy head
+and tears of sweet affection shed
+my mother
+
+
+the sun was shining on the sea
+shining with all his might
+he did his very best to make
+the billows smooth and bright
+and this was odd, because it was
+the middle of the night
+
+the moon was shining sulkily
+because she thought the sun
+had got no business to be there
+after the day was done
+
+the sea was wet as wet could be
+the sands were dry as dry
+you could not see a cloud, because
+no cloud was in the sky
+no birds were flying overhead
+there were no birds to fly
+
+the walrus and the carpenter
+were walking close at hand
+they wept like anything to see
+such quantities of sand
+they said, "it would be grand
+
+swept it for half a year
+do you suppose," the walrus said
+and shed a bitter tear
+
+the walrus did beseech
+along the briny beach
+we cannot do with more than four
+to give a hand to each
+
+the eldest oyster looked at him
+but never a word he said
+the eldest oyster winked his eye
+and shook his heavy head
+meaning to say he did not choose
+to leave the oyster-bed
+
+but four young oysters hurried up
+all eager for the treat
+their coats were brushed, their faces washed
+their shoes were clean and neat
+and this was odd, because, you know
+they hadn't any feet
+
+four other oysters followed them
+and yet another four
+and thick and fast they came at last
+and more, and more, and more
+all hopping through the frothy waves
+and scrambling to the shore
+
+the walrus and the carpenter
+walked on a mile or so
+and then they rested on a rock
+conveniently low
+and all the little oysters stood
+and waited in a row
+
+of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax
+of cabbages and kings
+and why the sea is boiling hot
+and whether pigs have wings
+
+for some of us are out of breath
+and all of us are fat
+they thanked him much for that
+
+pepper and vinegar besides
+are very good indeed
+now, if you're ready, oysters dear
+we can begin to feed
+
+turning a little blue
+a dismal thing to do
+
+and you are very nice
+the carpenter said nothing but
+i wish you were not quite so deaf
+i've had to ask you twice
+
+after we've brought them out so far
+and made them trot so quick
+the carpenter said nothing but
+
+with sobs and tears he sorted out
+those of the largest size
+holding his pocket-handkerchief
+before his streaming eyes
+
+shall we be trotting home again
+but answer came there none
+and this was scarcely odd, because
+they'd eaten every one
+
+
+
+the weary teacher sat alone
+while twilight gathered on
+and not a sound was heard around
+the boys and girls were gone
+
+the weary teacher sat alone
+unnerved and pale was he
+bowed 'neath a yoke of care, he spoke
+in sad soliloquy
+
+of labor thrown away
+another chain of toil and pain
+dragged through a tedious day
+
+love's sacrifice is lost
+the hopes of morn, so golden, turn
+each evening, into dross
+
+my strength, my life, my all
+the seeds i sow will never grow
+they perish where they fall
+
+he sighed, and low upon his hands
+his aching brow he pressed
+and o'er his frame ere long there came
+a soothing sense of rest
+
+and then he lifted up his face
+but started back aghast
+the room, by strange and sudden change
+assumed proportions vast
+
+it seemed a senate-hall, and one
+addressed a listening throng
+each burning word all bosoms stirred
+applause rose loud and long
+
+the 'wildered teacher thought he knew
+the speaker's voice and look
+is in my record book
+
+the stately senate-hall dissolved
+a church rose in its place
+wherein there stood a man of god
+dispensing words of grace
+
+and though he spoke in solemn tone
+and though his hair was gray
+the teacher's thought was strangely wrought
+
+the church, a phantom, vanished soon
+what saw the teacher then
+in classic gloom of alcoved room
+an author plied his pen
+
+filled with a new surprise
+among the great and wise
+
+the vision of a cottage home
+the teacher now descried
+a mother's face illumed the place
+her influence sanctified
+
+this matron, well i know
+was but a wild and careless child
+not half an hour ago
+
+of duty's golden rule
+her lips repeat in accents sweet
+my words to her at school
+
+the scene was changed again, and lo
+the schoolhouse rude and old
+upon the wall did darkness fall
+the evening air was cold
+
+then paced along the floor
+and, whistling slow and soft and low
+he locked the schoolhouse door
+
+and, walking home, his heart was full
+of peace and trust and praise
+and singing slow and soft and low
+said, "after many days
+
+
+
+girt round with rugged mountains, the fair lake constance lies
+in her blue heart reflected shine back the starry skies
+and watching each white cloudlet float silently and slow
+you think a piece of heaven lies on our earth below
+
+midnight is there: and silence, enthroned in heaven, looks down
+upon her own calm mirror, upon a sleeping town
+for bregenz, that quaint city upon the tyrol shore
+has stood above lake constance a thousand years and more
+
+her battlement and towers, from off their rocky steep
+have cast their trembling shadow for ages on the deep
+mountain, and lake, and valley, a sacred legend know
+of how the town was saved, one night three hundred years ago
+
+far from her home and kindred, a tyrol maid had fled
+to serve in the swiss valleys, and toil for daily bread
+and every year that fleeted so silently and fast
+seemed to bear farther from her the memory of the past
+
+she served kind, gentle masters, nor asked for rest or change
+her friends seemed no more new ones, their speech seemed no more strange
+and when she led her cattle to pasture every day
+she ceased to look and wonder on which side bregenz lay
+
+she spoke no more of bregenz, with longing and with tears
+her tyrol home seemed faded in a deep mist of years
+she heeded not the rumors of austrian war and strife
+each day she rose, contented, to the calm toils of life
+
+yet when her master's children would clustering round her stand
+she sang them ancient ballads of her own native land
+and when at morn and evening she knelt before god's throne
+the accents of her childhood rose to her lips alone
+
+and so she dwelt: the valley more peaceful year by year
+when suddenly strange portents of some great deed seemed near
+the golden corn was bending upon its fragile stock
+while farmers, heedless of their fields, paced up and down in talk
+
+the men seemed stern and altered, with looks cast on the ground
+with anxious faces, one by one, the women gathered round
+all talk of flax, or spinning, or work, was put away
+the very children seemed afraid to go alone to play
+
+one day, out in the meadow with strangers from the town
+some secret plan discussing, the men walked up and down
+yet now and then seemed watching a strange uncertain, gleam
+that looked like lances 'mid the trees that stood below the stream
+
+at eve they all assembled, then care and doubt were fled
+with jovial laugh they feasted; the board was nobly spread
+the elder of the village rose up, his glass in hand
+and cried, "we drink the downfall of an accursed land
+
+bregenz, our foeman's stronghold, bregenz shall be our own
+the women shrank in terror, (yet pride, too, had her part
+but one poor tyrol maiden felt death within her heart
+
+before her stood fair bregenz, once more her towers arose
+what were the friends beside her? only her country's foes
+the faces of her kinsfolk, the days of childhood flown
+the echoes of her mountains, reclaimed her as their own
+
+nothing she heard around her, (though shouts rang forth again
+gone were the green swiss valleys, the pasture, and the plain
+before her eyes one vision, and in her heart one cry
+that said, "go forth, save bregenz, and then, if need be, die
+
+with trembling haste and breathless, with noiseless step, she sped
+horses and weary cattle were standing in the shed
+she loosed the strong white charger, that fed from out her hand
+she mounted, and she turned his head towards her native land
+
+out--out into the darkness--faster, and still more fast
+the smooth grass flies behind her, the chestnut wood is past
+she looks up; clouds are heavy: why is her steed so slow
+scarcely the wind beside them can pass them as they go
+
+but louder than bells' ringing, or lowing of the kine
+grows nearer in the midnight the rushing of the rhine
+
+shall not the roaring waters their headlong gallop check
+the steed draws back in terror, she leans upon his neck
+to watch the flowing darkness,--the bank is high and steep
+one pause--he staggers forward, and plunges in the deep
+
+she strives to pierce the blackness, and looser throws the rein
+her steed must breast the waters that dash above his mane
+how gallantly, how nobly, he struggles through the foam
+and see--in the far distance shine out the lights of home
+
+up the steep bank he bears her, and now they rush again
+toward the heights of bregenz, that tower above the plain
+they reach the gate of bregenz, just as the midnight rings
+and out come serf and soldier to meet the news she brings
+
+bregenz is saved! ere daylight her battlements are manned
+defiance greets the army that marches on the land
+and if to deeds heroic should endless fame be paid
+bregenz does well to honor the noble tyrol maid
+
+three hundred years are vanished, and yet upon the hill
+an old stone gateway rises, to do her honor still
+and there, when bregenz women sit spinning in the shade
+they see in quaint old carving the charger and the maid
+
+and when, to guard old bregenz, by gateway, street, and tower
+the warder paces all night long, and calls each passing hour
+when midnight pauses in the skies he calls the maiden's name
+
+
+
+better than grandeur, better than gold
+than rank and title a thousand fold
+is a healthy body, a mind at ease
+and simple pleasures that always please
+a heart that can feel for a neighbor's woe
+and share his joys with a genial glow
+with sympathies large enough to enfold
+all men as brothers,--is better than gold
+
+better than gold is a conscience clear
+though toiling for bread in an humble sphere
+doubly blest with content and health
+untried by the lusts or cares of wealth
+lowly living and lofty thought
+adorn and ennoble a poor man's cot
+for mind and morals, in nature's plan
+are the genuine test of a gentleman
+
+better than gold is the sweet repose
+of the sons of toil when their labors close
+better than gold is the poor man's sleep
+and the balm that drops on his slumbers deep
+bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed
+where luxury pillows his aching head
+his simple opiate labor deems
+a shorter road to the land of dreams
+
+better than gold is a thinking mind
+that in the realm of books can find
+a treasure surpassing australian ore
+and live with the great and good of yore
+the sage's lore and the poet's lay
+the glories of empires pass'd away
+the world's great drama will thus unfold
+and yield a pleasure better than gold
+
+better than gold is a peaceful home
+where all the fireside charities come
+the shrine of love and the heaven of life
+hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife
+however humble the home may be
+or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree
+the blessings that never were bought or sold
+and center there, are better than gold
+
+
+
+o suns and skies and clouds of june
+and flowers of june together
+ye cannot rival for one hour
+october's bright blue weather
+
+when loud the bumblebee makes haste
+belated, thriftless vagrant
+and goldenrod is dying fast
+and lanes with grapes are fragrant
+
+when gentians roll their fringes tight
+to save them for the morning
+and chestnuts fall from satin burrs
+without a sound of warning
+
+when on the ground red apples lie
+in piles like jewels shining
+and redder still on old stone walls
+are leaves of woodbine twining
+
+when all the lovely wayside things
+their white-winged seeds are sowing
+and in the fields, still green and fair
+late aftermaths are growing
+
+when springs run low, and on the brooks
+in idle, golden freighting
+bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
+of woods, for winter waiting
+
+when comrades seek sweet country haunts
+by twos and threes together
+and count like misers hour by hour
+october's bright blue weather
+
+o suns and skies and flowers of june
+count all your boasts together
+love loveth best of all the year
+october's bright blue weather
+
+
+
+said brier-rose's mother to the naughty brier-rose
+you will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the broom
+you never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom
+
+thus grumbled in the morning, and grumbled late at eve
+the good-wife as she bustled with pot and tray and sieve
+but brier-rose, she laughed and she cocked her dainty head
+
+to marry such a worthless wench, these seven leagues around
+but brier-rose, she laughed and she trilled a merry lay
+
+the good-wife with a "humph" and a sigh forsook the battle
+and flung her pots and pails about with much vindictive rattle
+that thou hast punished me in age with such a wayward child
+
+up stole the girl on tiptoe, so that none her step could hear
+and laughing pressed an airy kiss behind the good-wife's ear
+and she, as e'er relenting, sighed: "oh, heaven only knows
+whatever will become of you, my naughty brier-rose
+
+the sun was high and summer sounds were teeming in the air
+the clank of scythes, the cricket's whir, and swelling woodnotes rare
+from fields and copse and meadow; and through the open door
+sweet, fragrant whiffs of new-mown hay the idle breezes bore
+
+then brier-rose grew pensive, like a bird of thoughtful mien
+whose little life has problems among the branches green
+she heard the river brawling where the tide was swift and strong
+she heard the summer singing its strange, alluring song
+
+and out she skipped the meadows o'er and gazed into the sky
+her heart o'erbrimmed with gladness, she scarce herself knew why
+and to a merry tune she hummed, "oh, heaven only knows
+whatever will become of the naughty brier-rose
+
+whene'er a thrifty matron this idle maid espied
+she shook her head in warning, and scarce her wrath could hide
+for girls were made for housewives, for spinning-wheel and loom
+and not to drink the sunshine and wild flower's sweet perfume
+
+and oft the maidens cried, when the brier-rose went by
+but brier-rose, as was her wont, she cocked her curly head
+
+and oft the young lads shouted, when they saw the maid at play
+then she shook her tiny fist; to her cheeks the color flew
+
+till she was twenty summers old and yet remained unwed
+and all the parish wondered: "the lord almighty knows
+whatever will become of that naughty brier-rose
+
+and while they wondered came the spring a-dancing o'er the hills
+her breath was warmer than of yore, and all the mountain rills
+with their tinkling and their rippling and their rushing, filled the air
+and the misty sounds of water forth-welling everywhere
+
+and in the valley's depth, like a lusty beast of prey
+the river leaped and roared aloud and tossed its mane of spray
+then hushed again its voice to a softly plashing croon
+as dark it rolled beneath the sun and white beneath the moon
+
+it was a merry sight to see the lumber as it whirled
+adown the tawny eddies that hissed and seethed and swirled
+now shooting through the rapids and, with a reeling swing
+into the foam-crests diving like an animated thing
+
+but in the narrows of the rocks, where o'er a steep incline
+the waters plunged, and wreathed in foam the dark boughs of the pine
+the lads kept watch with shout and song, and sent each straggling beam
+a-spinning down the rapids, lest it should lock the stream
+
+a rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a torch's flaring light
+and wandering gusts of dampness, and round us far and nigh
+a throbbing boom of water like a pulse-beat in the sky
+
+the dawn just pierced the pallid east with spears of gold and red
+as we, with boat-hooks in our hands, toward the narrows sped
+and terror smote us; for we heard the mighty tree-tops sway
+and thunder, as of chariots, and hissing showers of spray
+
+a hundred crowns i give to him who breaks the lumber lock
+for if another hour go by, the angry waters' spoil
+our homes will be, and fields, and our weary years of toil
+
+we looked each at the other; each hoped his neighbor would
+brave death and danger for his home, as valiant norsemen should
+but at our feet the brawling tide expanded like a lake
+and whirling beams came shooting on, and made the firm rock quake
+
+but not a man came forward, and no one spoke or stirred
+and nothing save the thunder of the cataract was heard
+
+but as with trembling hands and with fainting hearts we stood
+we spied a little curly head emerging from the wood
+we heard a little snatch of a merry little song
+and saw the dainty brier-rose come dancing through the throng
+
+an angry murmur rose from the people round about
+why ever he created that worthless brier-rose
+
+sweet brier-rose, she heard their cries; a little pensive smile
+across her fair face flitted that might a stone beguile
+and then she gave her pretty head a roguish little cock
+
+derisive shouts of laughter broke from throats of young and old
+and, mockingly, a boat-hook into her hands was flung
+when, lo! into the river's midst with daring leaps she sprung
+
+we saw her dimly through a mist of dense and blinding spray
+from beam to beam she skipped, like a water-sprite at play
+and now and then faint gleams we caught of color through the mist
+a crimson waist, a golden head, a little dainty wrist
+
+in terror pressed the people to the margin of the hill
+a hundred breaths were bated, a hundred hearts stood still
+for, hark! from out the rapids came a strange and creaking sound
+and then a crash of thunder which shook the very ground
+
+the waters hurled the lumber mass down o'er the rocky steep
+we heard a muffled rumbling and a rolling in the deep
+we saw a tiny form which the torrent swiftly bore
+and flung into the wild abyss, where it was seen no more
+
+ah, little naughty brier-rose, thou couldst not weave nor spin
+yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than all thy mocking kin
+for thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by thy death to save
+a thousand farms and lives from the fury of the wave
+
+and yet the adage lives, in the valley of thy birth
+when wayward children spend their days in heedless play and mirth
+oft mothers say, half smiling, half sighing, "heaven knows
+whatever will become of the naughty brier-rose
+
+
+
+robert of sicily, brother of pope urbane
+and valmond, emperor of allemaine
+appareled in magnificent attire
+with retinue of many a knight and squire
+on st. john's eve, at vespers, proudly sat
+and heard the priests chant the magnificat
+and as he listened, o'er and o'er again
+repeated, like a burden or refrain
+he caught the words, _"deposuit potentes
+de sede, et exaltavit humiles
+and slowly lifting up his kingly head
+he to a learned clerk beside him said
+and has exalted them of low degree
+thereat king robert muttered scornfully
+only by priests, and in the latin tongue
+for unto priests, and people be it known
+there is no power can push me from my throne
+and leaning back he yawned and fell asleep
+lulled by the chant monotonous and deep
+
+when he awoke, it was already night
+the church was empty, and there was no light
+save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint
+lighted a little space before some saint
+he started from his seat and gazed around
+but saw no living thing and heard no sound
+he groped towards the door, but it was locked
+he cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked
+and uttered awful threatenings and complaints
+and imprecations upon men and saints
+the sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls
+as if dead priests were laughing in their stalls
+
+at length the sexton, hearing from without
+the tumult of the knocking and the shout
+and thinking thieves were in the house of prayer
+came with his lantern, asking "who is there
+half choked with rage, king robert fiercely said
+the frightened sexton, muttering with a curse
+turned the great key and flung the portal wide
+a man rushed by him at a single stride
+haggard, half-naked, without hat or cloak
+who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke
+but leaped into the blackness of the night
+and vanished like a spectre from his sight
+
+robert of sicily, brother of pope urbane
+and valmond, emperor of allemaine
+despoiled of his magnificent attire
+bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire
+with sense of wrong and outrage desperate
+strode on and thundered at the palace gate
+rushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage
+to right and left each seneschal and page
+and hurried up the broad and sounding stair
+his white face ghastly in the torches' glare
+from hall to hall he passed with breathless speed
+voices and cries he heard, but did not heed
+until at last he reached the banquet-room
+blazing with light, and breathing with perfume
+
+there on the dais sat another king
+wearing his robes, his crown, his signet ring
+king robert's self in features, form, and height
+but all transfigured with angelic light
+it was an angel; and his presence there
+with a divine effulgence filled the air
+an exaltation, piercing the disguise
+though none the hidden angel recognize
+
+a moment speechless, motionless, amazed
+the throneless monarch on the angel gazed
+who met his look of anger and surprise
+with the divine compassion of his eyes
+then said, "who art thou, and why com'st thou here
+to which king robert answered with a sneer
+from an impostor, who usurps my throne
+and suddenly, at these audacious words
+up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords
+the angel answered with unruffled brow
+henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape
+and for thy counselor shalt lead an ape
+thou shalt obey my servants when they call
+and wait upon my henchmen in the hall
+
+deaf to king robert's threats and cries and prayers
+they thrust him from the hall and down the stairs
+a group of tittering pages ran before
+and as they opened wide the folding door
+his heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms
+the boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms
+and all the vaulted chamber roar and ring
+with the mock plaudits of "long live the king
+
+next morning, waking with the day's first beam
+he said within himself, "it was a dream
+but the straw rustled as he turned his head
+there were the cap and bells beside his bed
+around him rose the bare, discolored walls
+close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls
+and in the corner, a revolting shape
+shivering and chattering, sat the wretched ape
+it was no dream; the world he loved so much
+had turned to dust and ashes at his touch
+
+days came and went; and now returned again
+to sicily the old saturnian reign
+under the angel's governance benign
+the happy island danced with corn and wine
+and deep within the mountain's burning breast
+enceladus, the giant, was at rest
+
+meanwhile king robert yielded to his fate
+sullen and silent and disconsolate
+dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear
+with look bewildered, and a vacant stare
+close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn
+by courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn
+his only friend the ape, his only food
+what others left--he still was unsubdued
+and when the angel met him on his way
+and half in earnest, half in jest, would say
+sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel
+the velvet scabbard held a sword of steel
+burst from him in resistless overflow
+and lifting high his forehead, he would fling
+the haughty answer back, "i am, i am the king
+
+almost three years were ended, when there came
+ambassadors of great repute and name
+from valmond, emperor of allemaine
+unto king robert, saying that pope urbane
+by letter summoned them forthwith to come
+on holy thursday to his city of rome
+the angel with great joy received his guests
+and gave them presents of embroidered vests
+and velvet mantles with rich ermine lined
+and rings and jewels of the rarest kind
+then he departed with them o'er the sea
+into the lovely land of italy
+whose loveliness was more resplendent made
+by the mere passing of that cavalcade
+with plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir
+of jeweled bridle and of golden spur
+
+and lo! among the menials, in mock state
+upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait
+his cloak of foxtails flapping in the wind
+the solemn ape demurely perched behind
+king robert rode, making huge merriment
+in all the country towns through which they went
+
+the pope received them with great pomp, and blare
+of bannered trumpets, on st. peter's square
+giving his benediction and embrace
+fervent, and full of apostolic grace
+while with congratulations and with prayers
+he entertained the angel unawares
+robert, the jester, bursting through the crowd
+into their presence rushed, and cried aloud
+robert, your brother, king of sicily
+this man, who wears my semblance to your eyes
+is an impostor in a king's disguise
+do you not know me? does no voice within
+answer my cry, and say we are akin
+the pope in silence, but with troubled mien
+gazed at the angel's countenance serene
+the emperor, laughing, said, "it is strange sport
+to keep a mad man for thy fool at court
+and the poor, baffled jester, in disgrace
+was hustled back among the populace
+
+in solemn state the holy week went by
+and easter sunday gleamed upon the sky
+the presence of the angel, with its light
+before the sun rose, made the city bright
+and with new fervor filled the hearts of men
+who felt that christ indeed had risen again
+even the jester, on his bed of straw
+with haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw
+he felt within a power unfelt before
+and kneeling humbly on his chamber floor
+he heard the rustling garments of the lord
+sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward
+
+and now the visit ending, and once more
+valmond returning to the danube's shore
+homeward the angel journeyed, and again
+the land was made resplendent with his train
+flashing along the towns of italy
+unto salerno, and from thence by sea
+and when once more within palermo's wall
+and, seated on the throne in his great hall
+he heard the angelus from convent towers
+as if the better world conversed with ours
+he beckoned to king robert to draw nigher
+and with a gesture bade the rest retire
+and when they were alone, the angel said
+king robert crossed both hands upon his breast
+and meekly answered him, "thou knowest best
+my sins as scarlet are; let me go hence
+and in some cloister's school of penitence
+across those stones that pave the way to heaven
+walk barefoot till my guilty soul be shriven
+
+the angel smiled, and from his radiant face
+a holy light illumined all the place
+and through the open window, loud and clear
+they heard the monks chant in the chapel near
+above the stir and tumult of the street
+and has exalted them of low degree
+and through the chant a second melody
+rose like the throbbing of a single string
+
+king robert, who was standing near the throne
+lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone
+but all appareled as in days of old
+with ermined mantle and with cloth of gold
+and when his courtiers came they found him there
+kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer
+
+
+
+it was late in mild october, and the long autumnal rain
+had left the summer harvest-fields all green with grass again
+the first sharp frosts had fallen, leaving all the woodlands gay
+with the hues of summer's rainbow, or the meadow-flowers of may
+
+through a thin, dry mist, that morning, the sun rose broad and red
+at first a rayless disk of fire, he brightened as he sped
+yet, even his noontide glory fell chastened and subdued
+on the cornfields and the orchards, and softly pictured wood
+
+and all that quiet afternoon, slow sloping to the night
+he wove with golden shuttle the haze with yellow light
+slanting through the painted beeches, he glorified the hill
+and beneath it, pond and meadow lay brighter, greener still
+
+and shouting boys in woodland haunts caught glimpses of that sky
+flecked by the many-tinted leaves, and laughed, they knew not why
+and schoolgirls, gay with aster-flowers, beside the meadow brooks
+mingled the glow of autumn with the sunshine of sweet looks
+
+from spire and ball looked westerly the patient weathercock
+but even the birches on the hill stood motionless as rocks
+no sound was in the woodlands, save the squirrel's dropping shell
+and the yellow leaves among the boughs, low rustling as they fell
+
+the summer grains were harvested; the stubble-fields lay dry
+where june winds rolled, in light and shade, the pale green waves of rye
+but still, on gentle hill-slopes, in valleys fringed with wood
+ungathered, bleaching in the sun, the heavy corn crop stood
+
+bent low, by autumn's wind and rain, through husks that, dry and sere
+unfolded by their ripened charge, shone out the yellow ear
+beneath, the turnip lay concealed, in many a verdant fold
+and glistened in the slanting light the pumpkin's sphere of gold
+
+there wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking wain
+bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and grain
+till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at last
+and like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness passed
+
+and lo! as through the western pines on meadow, stream, and pond
+flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond
+slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone
+and the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one
+
+as thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away
+and deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay
+from many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without name
+their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry huskers came
+
+swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow
+shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below
+the growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before
+and laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er
+
+half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart
+talking their old times over, the old men sat apart
+while, up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade
+at hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played
+
+urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair
+lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair
+the master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue
+to the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking-ballad sung
+
+
+
+if ever there lived a yankee lad
+wise or otherwise, good or bad
+who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump
+with flapping arms from stake or stump
+or, spreading the tail
+of his coat for a sail
+take a soaring leap from post or rail
+and wonder why
+he couldn't fly
+and flap and flutter and wish and try
+if ever you knew a country dunce
+who didn't try that as often as once
+all i can say is, that's a sign
+he never would do for a hero of mine
+
+an aspiring genius was d. green
+the son of a farmer,--age fourteen
+his body was long and lank and lean
+just right for flying, as will be seen
+he had two eyes, each bright as a bean
+and a freckled nose that grew between
+a little awry,--for i must mention
+that he had riveted his attention
+upon his wonderful invention
+twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings
+working his face as he worked the wings
+and with every turn of gimlet and screw
+turning and screwing his mouth round, too
+till his nose seemed bent
+to catch the scent
+around some corner, of new-baked pies
+and his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes
+grew puckered into a queer grimace
+that made him look very droll in the face
+and also very wise
+
+and wise he must have been, to do more
+than ever a genius did before
+excepting daedalus of yore
+and his son icarus, who wore
+upon their backs
+those wings of wax
+he had read of in the old almanacs
+darius was clearly of the opinion
+that the air is also man's dominion
+and that, with paddle or fin or pinion
+we soon or late
+shall navigate
+the azure as now we sail the sea
+the thing looks simple enough to me
+and if you doubt it
+hear how darius reasoned about it
+
+must we give in
+says he with a grin
+are smarter'n we be
+jest fold our hands an' see the swaller
+an' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler
+does the leetle, chatterin', sassy wren
+no bigger'n my thumb, know more than men
+jest show me that
+er prove 't the bat
+has got more brains than's in my hat
+an' i'll back down, an' not till then
+
+he argued further: "ner i can't see
+what's ta' use o' wings to a bumblebee
+fer to git a livin' with, more'n to me
+ain't my business
+important's his'n is
+that icarus
+was a silly cuss
+him an' his daddy daedalus
+they might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax
+wouldn't stan' sun-heat an' hard whacks
+i'll make mine o' luther
+er suthin' er other
+
+and he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned
+to mummies that never can understand
+the fust idee that's big an' grand
+they'd 'a' laft an' made fun
+o' creation itself afore't was done
+so he kept his secret from all the rest
+safely buttoned within his vest
+and in the loft above the shed
+himself he locks, with thimble and thread
+and wax and hammer and buckles and screws
+and all such things as geniuses use
+two bats for patterns, curious fellows
+a charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows
+an old hoop-skirt or two, as well as
+some wire and several old umbrellas
+a carriage-cover, for tail and wings
+a piece of harness; and straps and strings
+and a big strong boxs
+in which he locks
+these and a hundred other things
+
+his grinning brothers, reuben and burke
+and nathan and jotham and solomon, lurk
+around the corner to see him work
+sitting cross-legged, like a turk
+drawing the waxed end through with a jerk
+and boring the holes with a comical quirk
+of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk
+but vainly they mounted each other's backs
+and poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks
+with wood from the pile and straw from the stacks
+he plugged the knot-holes and calked the cracks
+and a bucket of water, which one would think
+he had brought up into the loft to drink
+when he chanced to be dry
+stood always nigh
+for darius was sly
+and whenever at work he happened to spy
+at chink or crevice a blinking eye
+he let a dipper of water fly
+guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep
+and he sings as he locks
+his big strong box
+
+an' he is leetle an' long an' slim
+an' quick of motion an' nimble of limb
+an' ef yeou'll be
+advised by me
+keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him
+so day after day
+he stitched and tinkered and hammered away
+till at last 'twas done
+the greatest invention under the sun
+
+and the weather was dry
+and not a cloud was on all the sky
+save a few light fleeces, which here and there
+half mist, half air
+like foam on the ocean went floating by
+just as lovely a morning as ever was seen
+for a nice little trip in a flying-machine
+
+thought cunning darius: "now i sha'n't go
+along 'ith the fellers to see the show
+i'll say i've got sich a terrible cough
+an' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off
+i'll hev full swing
+for to try the thing
+an' practyse a leetle on the wing
+says brother nate. "no; botheration
+my gracious!--feel's though i should fly
+
+said jotham, "sho
+guess ye better go
+but darius said, "no
+shouldn't wonder 'f yeou might see me, though
+o' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head
+for all the while to himself he said
+i'll fly a few times around the lot
+to see how 't seems, then soon's i've got
+the hang o' the thing, ez likely's not
+i'll astonish the nation
+and all creation
+by flyin' over the celebration
+over their heads i'll sail like an eagle
+i'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull
+i'll dance on the chimbleys; i'll stan' on the steeple
+i'll flop up to winders an' scare the people
+i'll light on the libbe'ty-pole, an' crow
+an' i'll say to the gawpin' fools below
+that i've come near
+fer i'll make 'em believe i'm a chap f'm the moon
+an' i'll try a race 'ith their ol' bulloon
+he crept from his bed
+and, seeing the others were gone, he said
+i'm a-gittin' over the cold 'n my head
+and away he sped
+to open the wonderful box in the shed
+
+his brothers had walked but a little way
+when jotham to nathan chanced to say
+er he wouldn't 'a' stayed to hum to-day
+says burke, "his toothache's all 'n his eye
+ef he hedn't some machine to try
+le's hurry back and hide in the barn
+an' pay him fer tellin' us that yarn
+along by the fences, behind the stack
+and one by one, through a hole in the wall
+in under the dusty barn they crawl
+dressed in their sunday garments all
+and a very astonishing sight was that
+when each in his cobwebbed coat and hat
+came up through the floor like an ancient rat
+and there they hid
+and reuben slid
+the fastenings back, and the door undid
+
+as knights of old put on their mail
+from head to foot
+an iron suit
+iron jacket and iron boot
+iron breeches, and on the head
+no hat, but an iron pot instead
+and under the chin the bail
+i believe they called the thing a helm
+and the lid they carried they called a shield
+and, thus accoutred, they took the field
+sallying forth to overwhelm
+the dragons and pagans that plagued the realm
+so this modern knight
+prepared for flight
+put on his wings and strapped them tight
+jointed and jaunty, strong and light
+buckled them fast to shoulder and hip
+ten feet they measured from tip to tip
+and a helm had he, but that he wore
+not on his head like those of yore
+but more like the helm of a ship
+
+he's opened the winder,--i see his head
+he stretches it out
+an' pokes it about
+lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear
+an' nobody near
+guess he don'o' who's hid in here
+he's riggin' a spring-board over the sill
+stop laffin', solomon! burke, keep still
+he's a climbin' out now--of all the things
+what's he got on? i van, it's wings
+an' that t'other thing? i vum, it's a tail
+an' there he sets like a hawk on a rail
+steppin' careful, he travels the length
+of his spring-board, and teeters to try its strength
+now he stretches his wings, like a monstrous bat
+peeks over his shoulder, this way an' that
+fer to see 'f the' 's anyone passin' by
+but the' 's on'y a ca'f an' a goslin' nigh
+to see--the dragon! he's goin' to fly
+away he goes! jimmmy! what a jump
+flop-flop-an' plump
+to the ground with a thump
+flutt'rin an' flound'rin', all in a lump
+
+as a demon is hurled by an angel's spear
+heels over head, to his proper sphere
+heels over head, and head over heels
+dizzily down the abyss he wheels
+so fell darius. upon his crown
+in the midst of the barnyard, he came down
+in a wonderful whirl of tangled strings
+broken braces and broken springs
+broken tail and broken wings
+shooting-stars, and various things
+away with a bellow fled the calf
+and what was that? did the gosling laugh
+from the old barn-door
+and he hears the voice of jotham crying
+slowly, ruefully, where he lay
+darius just turned and looked that way
+as he stanched his sorrowful nose with his cuff
+he said; "but the' ain't sich a thunder-in' sight
+o' fun in 't when ye come to light
+
+
+i just have room for the moral here
+and this is the moral,--stick to your sphere
+or if you insist, as you have the right
+on spreading your wings for a loftier flight
+the moral is,--take care how you light
+
+
+
+with fingers weary and worn
+with eyelids heavy and red
+a woman sat, in unwomanly rags
+plying her needle and thread
+stitch! stitch! stitch
+in poverty, hunger and dirt
+and still with a voice of dolorous pitch
+she sang the "song of the shirt
+
+while the cock is crowing aloof
+and work--work--work
+till the stars shine through the roof
+it's oh! to be a slave
+along with the barbarous turk
+where a woman has never a soul to save
+if this is christian work
+
+till the brain begins to swim
+work--work--work
+till the eyes are heavy and dim
+seam, and gusset, and band
+band, and gusset, and seam
+till over the buttons i fall asleep
+and sew them on in a dream
+
+o men, with mothers and wives
+it is not linen you're wearing out
+but human creatures' lives
+stitch--stitch--stitch
+in poverty, hunger, and dirt
+sewing at once, with a double thread
+a shroud as well as a shirt
+
+that phantom of grisly bone
+i hardly fear his terrible shape
+it seems so like my own
+it seems so like my own
+because of the fasts i keep
+o god! that bread should be so dear
+and flesh and blood so cheap
+
+my labor never flags
+and what are its wages? a bed of straw
+a crust of bread--and rags
+that shattered roof--this naked floor
+a table--a broken chair
+and a wall so blank, my shadow i thank
+for sometimes falling there
+
+from weary chime to chime
+work--work--work
+as prisoners work for crime
+band, and gusset, and seam
+seam, and gusset, and band
+till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed
+as well as the weary hand
+
+in the dull december light
+and work--work--work
+when the weather is warm, and bright
+while underneath the eaves
+the brooding swallows cling
+as if to show me their sunny backs
+and twit me with the spring
+
+of the cowslip and primrose sweet
+with the sky above my head
+and the grass beneath my feet
+for only one short hour
+to feel as i used to feel
+before i knew the woes of want
+and the walk that costs a meal
+
+a respite, however brief
+no blessed leisure for love or hope
+but only time for grief
+a little weeping would ease my heart
+but in their briny bed
+my tears must stop, for every drop
+hinders needle and thread
+
+with fingers weary and worn
+with eyelids heavy and red
+a woman sat, in unwomanly rags
+plying her needle and thread
+stitch! stitch! stitch
+in poverty, hunger and dirt
+and still with a voice of dolorous pitch
+would that its tone could reach the rich
+she sang this "song of the shirt
+
+
+
+everywhere, everywhere, christmas to-night
+christmas in lands of the fir-tree and pine
+christmas in lands of the palm-tree and vine
+christmas where snow-peaks stand solemn and white
+christmas where corn-fields lie sunny and bright
+everywhere, everywhere, christmas to-night
+
+christmas where children are hopeful and gay
+christmas where old men are patient and gray
+christmas where peace, like a dove in its flight
+broods o'er brave men in the thick of the fight
+everywhere, everywhere, christmas tonight
+
+for the christ-child who comes is the master of all
+no palace too great and no cottage too small
+the angels who welcome him sing from the height
+everywhere, everywhere, christmas tonight
+
+then let every heart keep its christmas within
+christ's pity for sorrow, christ's hatred of sin
+christ's care for the weakest, christ's courage for right
+christ's dread of the darkness, christ's love of the light
+everywhere, everywhere, christmas tonight
+
+so the stars of the midnight which compass us round
+shall see a strange glory, and hear a sweet sound
+and cry, "look! the earth is aflame with delight
+o sons of the morning, rejoice at the sight
+everywhere, everywhere, christmas tonight
+
+
+
+i bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers
+from the seas and the streams
+i bear light shade for the leaves when laid
+in their noon-day dreams
+from my wings are shaken the dews that waken
+the sweet buds every one
+when rocked to rest on their mother's breast
+as she dances about the sun
+i wield the flail of the lashing hail
+and whiten the green plains under
+and then again i dissolve it in rain
+and laugh as i pass in thunder
+
+i sift the snow on the mountains below
+and their great pines groan aghast
+and all the night 'tis my pillow white
+while i sleep in the arms of the blast
+sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers
+lightning my pilot sits
+in a cavern under is fettered the thunder
+it struggles and howls at fits
+over earth and ocean, with gentle motion
+this pilot is guiding me
+lured by the love of the genii that move
+in the depths of the purple sea
+over the rills, and the crags, and the hills
+over the lakes and the plains
+wherever he dream, under mountain or stream
+the spirit he loves remains
+and i all the while bask in heaven's blue smile
+whilst he is dissolving in rains
+
+the sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes
+and his burning plumes outspread
+leaps on the back of my sailing rack
+when the morning star shines dead
+as on the jag of a mountain crag
+which an earthquake rocks and swings
+an eagle alit one moment may sit
+in the light of its golden wings
+and when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath
+its ardors of rest and of love
+and the crimson pall of eve may fall
+from the depth of heaven above
+with wings folded i rest, on mine airy nest
+as still as a brooding dove
+
+that orbed maiden, with white fire laden
+whom mortals call the moon
+glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor
+by the midnight breezes strewn
+and wherever the beat of her unseen feet
+which only the angels hear
+may have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof
+the stars peep behind her and peer
+and i laugh to see them whirl and flee
+like a swarm of golden bees
+when i widen the rent in my windbuilt tent
+till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas
+like strips of the sky fallen thro' me on high
+are each paved with the moon and these
+
+i bind the sun's throne with a burning zone
+and the moon's with a girdle of pearl
+the volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim
+when the whirlwinds my banner unfurl
+from cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape
+over a torrent sea
+sunbeam-proof, i hang like a roof
+the mountains its columns be
+the triumphal arch thro' which i march
+with hurricane, fire, and snow
+when the powers of the air are chained to my chair
+is the million-colored bow
+the sphere-fire above its soft colors wove
+whilst the moist earth was laughing below
+
+i am the daughter of earth and water
+and the nursling of the sky
+i pass thro' the pores of the ocean and shores
+i change, but i cannot die
+for after the rain, when, with never a stain
+the pavilion of heaven is bare
+and the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
+build up the blue dome of air
+i silently laugh at my own cenotaph
+and out of the caverns of rain
+like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb
+i arise and unbuild it again
+
+
+
+hail to thee, blithe spirit
+bird thou never wert
+that from heaven, or near it
+pourest thy full heart
+in profuse strains of unpremeditated art
+
+higher still and higher
+from the earth thou springest
+like a cloud of fire
+the blue deep thou wingest
+and singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest
+
+in the golden lightning
+of the sunken sun
+o'er which clouds are bright'ning
+thou dost float and run
+like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun
+
+the pale purple even
+melts around thy flight
+like a star of heaven
+in the broad daylight
+thou art unseen, but yet i hear thy shrill delight
+
+keen as are the arrows
+of that silver sphere
+whose intense lamp narrows
+in the white dawn clear
+until we hardly see, we feel, that it is there
+
+all the earth and air
+with thy voice is loud
+as, when night is bare
+from one lonely cloud
+the moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed
+
+what thou art we know not
+what is most like thee
+from rainbow clouds there flow not
+drops so bright to see
+as from thy presence showers a rain of melody
+
+like a poet hidden
+in the light of thought
+singing hymns unbidden
+till the world is wrought
+to sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not
+
+like a high-born maiden
+in a palace-tower
+soothing her love-laden
+soul in secret hour
+with music sweet as love, which overflows her bower
+
+like a glow-worm golden
+in a dell of dew
+scattering unbeholden
+its aerial hue
+among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view
+
+like a rose embowered
+in its own green leaves
+by warm winds deflowered
+till the scent it gives
+makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves
+
+sound of vernal showers
+on the twinkling grass
+rain-awakened flowers
+all that ever was
+joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass
+
+teach us, sprite or bird
+what sweet thoughts are thine
+i have never heard
+praise of love or wine
+that panted forth a flood of rapture so divine
+
+chorus hymeneal
+or triumphal chaunt
+matched with thine would be all
+but an empty vaunt
+a thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want
+
+what objects are the fountains
+of thy happy strain
+what fields, or waves, or mountains
+what shapes of sky or plain
+what love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain
+
+with thy clear keen joyance
+languor cannot be
+shadow of annoyance
+never came near thee
+thou lovest: but ne'er knew love's sad satiety
+
+waking or asleep
+thou of death must deem
+things more true and deep
+than we mortals dream
+or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream
+
+we look before and after
+and pine for what is not
+our sincerest laughter
+with some pain is fraught
+our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought
+
+yet if we could scorn
+hate, and pride, and fear
+if we were things born
+not to a shed a tear
+i know not how thy joy we ever should come near
+
+better than all measures
+of delightful sound
+better than all treasures
+that in books are found
+thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground
+
+teach me half the gladness
+that thy brain must know
+such harmonious madness
+from my lips would flow
+the world should listen then, as i am listening now
+
+
+
+i come from haunts of coot and hern
+i make a sudden sally
+and sparkle out among the fern
+to bicker down a valley
+
+by thirty hills i hurry down
+or slip between the ridges
+by twenty thorps, a little town
+and half a hundred bridges
+
+till last by philip's farm i flow
+to join the brimming river
+for men may come and men may go
+but i go on forever
+
+i chatter over stony ways
+in little sharps and trebles
+i bubble into eddying bays
+i babble on the pebbles
+
+with many a curve my banks i fret
+by many a field and fallow
+and many a fairy foreland set
+with willow-weed and mallow
+
+i chatter, chatter as i flow
+to join the brimming river
+for men may come and men may go
+but i go on forever
+
+i wind about, and in and out
+with here a blossom sailing
+and here and there a lusty trout
+and here and there a grayling
+
+and here and there a foamy flake
+upon me as i travel
+with many a silvery waterbreak
+above the golden gravel
+
+and draw them all along, and flow
+to join the brimming river
+for men may come and men may go
+but i go on forever
+
+i steal by lawns and grassy plots
+i slide by hazel covers
+i move the sweet forget-me-nots
+that grow for happy lovers
+
+i slip, i slide, i gloom, i glance
+among my skimming swallows
+i make the netted sunbeam dance
+against my sandy shallows
+
+i murmur under moon and stars
+in brambly wildernesses
+i linger by my shingly bars
+i loiter round my cresses
+
+and out again i curve and flow
+to join the brimming river
+for men may come and men may go
+but i go on forever
+
+
+
+
+no price is set on the lavish summer
+june may be had by the poorest comer
+
+and what is so rare as a day in june
+then, if ever, come perfect days
+then heaven tries earth if it be in tune
+and over it softly her warm ear lays
+whether we look, or whether we listen
+we hear life murmur, or see it glisten
+every clod feels a stir of might
+an instinct within it that reaches and towers
+and, groping blindly above it for light
+climbs to a soul in grass and flowers
+the flush of life may well be seen
+thrilling back over hills and valleys
+the cowslip startles in meadows green
+the buttercup catches the sun in its chalice
+and there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
+to be some happy creature's palace
+the little bird sits at his door in the sun
+atilt like a blossom among the leaves
+and lets his illumined being o'errun
+with the deluge of summer it receives
+his mate feels the eggs beneath her wings
+and the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings
+he sings to the wide world, and she to her nest
+in the nice ear of nature, which song is the best
+
+now is the high-tide of the year
+and whatever of life hath ebbed away
+comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer
+into every bare inlet and creek and bay
+now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it
+we are happy now because god wills it
+no matter how barren the past may have been
+we sit in the warm shade and feel right well
+how the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell
+we may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
+that skies are clear and grass is growing
+the breeze comes whispering in our ear
+that dandelions are blossoming near
+that maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing
+that the river is bluer than the sky
+that the robin is plastering his house hard by
+and if the breeze kept the good news back
+for other couriers we should not lack
+we could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing
+and hark! how clear bold chanticleer
+warmed with the new wine of the year
+tells all in his lusty crowing
+
+joy comes, grief goes, we know not how
+everything is happy now
+everything is upward striving
+as for grass to be green or skies to be blue
+who knows whither the clouds have fled
+in the unscarred heaven they leave no wake
+and the eyes forget the tears they have shed
+the heart forgets its sorrow and ache
+the soul partakes the season's youth
+and the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
+lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth
+like burnt-out craters healed with snow
+
+
+
+come, let us plant the apple-tree
+cleave the tough greensward with the spade
+wide let its hollow bed be made
+there gently lay the roots, and there
+sift the dark mould with kindly care
+and press it o'er them tenderly
+as round the sleeping infant's feet
+we softly fold the cradle-sheet
+so plant we the apple tree
+
+what plant we in this apple-tree
+buds, which the breath of summer days
+shall lengthen into leafy sprays
+boughs where the thrush with crimson breast
+shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest
+we plant, upon the sunny lea
+a shadow for the noontide hour
+a shelter from the summer shower
+when we plant the apple-tree
+
+what plant we in this apple-tree
+sweets for a hundred flowery springs
+to load the may-wind's restless wings
+when, from the orchard row, he pours
+its fragrance through our open doors
+a world of blossoms for the bee
+flowers for the sick girl's silent room
+for the glad infant sprigs of bloom
+we plant with the apple-tree
+
+what plant we in this apple-tree
+fruits that shall swell in sunny june
+and redden in the august noon
+and drop, when gentle airs come by
+that fan the blue september sky
+while children come, with cries of glee
+and seek them where the fragrant grass
+betrays their bed to those who pass
+at the foot of the apple tree
+
+and when, above this apple tree
+the winter stars are quivering bright
+and winds go howling through the night
+girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth
+shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth
+and guests in prouder homes shall see
+heaped with the grape of cintra's vine
+and golden orange of the line
+the fruit of the apple-tree
+
+the fruitage of this apple-tree
+winds, and our flag of stripe and star
+shall bear to coasts that lie afar
+where men shall wonder at the view
+and ask in what fair groves they grew
+and sojourners beyond the sea
+shall think of childhood's careless day
+and long, long hours of summer play
+in the shade of the apple-tree
+
+each year shall give this apple-tree
+a broader flush of roseate bloom
+a deeper maze of verdurous gloom
+and loosen, when the frost-clouds lower
+the crisp brown leaves in thicker shower
+the years shall come and pass, but we
+shall hear no longer, where we lie
+the summer's songs, the autumn's sigh
+in the boughs of the apple-tree
+
+and time shall waste this apple tree
+oh, when its aged branches throw
+thin shadows on the ground below
+shall fraud and force and iron will
+oppress the weak and helpless still
+what shall the tasks of mercy be
+amid the toils, the strifes, the tears
+of those who live when length of years
+is wasting this apple-tree
+
+the children of that distant day
+thus to some aged man shall say
+and, gazing on its mossy stem
+the gray-haired man shall answer them
+born in the rude but good old times
+on planting the apple-tree
+
+
+
+who is the happy warrior? who is he
+that every man in arms should wish to be
+among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
+upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought
+whose high endeavors are an inward light
+that makes the path before him always bright
+who, with a natural instinct to discern
+what knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn
+abides by this resolve, and stops not there
+but makes his moral being his prime care
+who, doomed to go in company with pain
+and fear, and bloodshed, miserable train
+turns his necessity to glorious gain
+in face of these doth exercise a power
+which is our human nature's highest dower
+controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves
+of their bad influence, and their good receives
+by objects, which might force the soul to abate
+her feeling, rendered more compassionate
+is placable--because occasions rise
+so often that demand such sacrifice
+more skillful in self-knowledge, even more pure
+as tempted more; more able to endure
+as more exposed to suffering and distress
+thence also, more alive to tenderness
+upon that law as on the best of friends
+whence, in a state where men are tempted still
+to evil for a guard against worse ill
+and what in quality or act is best
+doth seldom on a right foundation rest
+he labors good on good to fix, and owes
+to virtue every triumph that he knows
+rises by open means; and there will stand
+on honorable terms, or else retire
+and in himself possess his own desire
+who comprehends his trust, and to the same
+keeps faithful with a singleness of aim
+and therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
+for wealth, or honors, or for worldly state
+whom they must follow; on whose head must fall
+like showers of manna, if they come at all
+whose powers shed round him in the common strife
+or mild concerns of ordinary life
+a constant influence, a peculiar grace
+but who, if he be called upon to face
+some awful moment to which heaven has joined
+great issues, good or bad for human kind
+is happy as a lover; and attired
+with sudden brightness, like a man inspired
+and, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law
+in calmness made, and sees what he foresaw
+or if an unexpected call succeed
+come when it will, is equal to the need
+and faculty for storm and turbulence
+is yet a soul whose master-bias leans
+to homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes
+sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be
+are at his heart; and such fidelity
+it is his darling passion to approve
+more brave for this, that he hath much to love
+conspicuous object in a nation's eye
+or left unthought-of in obscurity
+who, with a toward or untoward lot
+prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not
+plays, in the many games of life, that one
+where what he most doth value must be won
+whom neither shape of danger can dismay
+nor thought of tender happiness betray
+who, not content that former worth stand fast
+looks forward, persevering to the last
+from well to better, daily self-surpast
+who, whether praise of him must walk the earth
+forever, and to noble deeds give birth
+or he must fall, to sleep without his fame
+and leave a dead unprofitable name
+finds comfort in himself and in his cause
+and, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
+his breath in confidence of heaven's applause
+this is the happy warrior; this is he
+that every man in arms should wish to be
+
+
+
+half a league, half a league
+half a league onward
+all in the valley of death
+rode the six hundred
+charge for the guns," he said
+into the valley of death
+rode the six hundred
+
+was there a man dismay'd
+not tho' the soldier knew
+some one had blunder'd
+theirs not to make reply
+theirs not to reason why
+theirs but to do and die
+into the valley of death
+rode the six hundred
+
+cannon to right of them
+cannon to left of them
+cannon in front of them
+volley'd and thunder'd
+storm'd at with shot and shell
+boldly they rode and well
+into the jaws of death
+into the mouth of hell
+rode the six hundred
+
+flash'd all their sabres bare
+flash'd as they turn'd in air
+sabring the gunners there
+charging an army, while
+all the world wonder'd
+plung'd in the battery-smoke
+right thro' the line they broke
+cossack and russian
+reel'd from the sabre-stroke
+shatter'd and sunder'd
+then they rode back, but not
+not the six hundred
+
+cannon to right of them
+cannon to left of them
+cannon behind them
+volley'd and thunder'd
+storm'd at with shot and shell
+while horse and hero fell
+they that had fought so well
+came thro' the jaws of death
+back from the mouth of hell
+all that was left of them
+left of six hundred
+
+when can their glory fade
+o the wild charge they made
+all the world wonder'd
+honor the charge they made
+honor the light brigade
+noble six hundred
+
+
+
+october 19, 1864
+
+up from the south at break of day
+bringing to winchester fresh dismay
+the affrighted air with a shudder bore
+like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door
+the terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar
+telling the battle was on once more
+and sheridan--twenty miles away
+
+and wider still those billows of war
+thundered along the horizon's bar
+and louder yet into winchester rolled
+the roar of that red sea uncontrolled
+making the blood of the listener cold
+as he thought of the stake in that fiery fray
+and sheridan--twenty miles away
+
+but there is a road from winchester town
+a good broad highway leading down
+and there, through the flush of the morning light
+a steed, as black as the steeds of night
+was seen to pass, as with eagle flight
+as if he knew the terrible need
+he stretched away with the utmost speed
+hills rose and fell--but his heart was gay
+with sheridan fifteen miles away
+
+still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south
+the dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth
+or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster
+foreboding to foemen the doom of disaster
+the heart of the steed and the heart of the master
+were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls
+impatient to be where the battle-field calls
+every nerve of the charger was strained to full play
+with sheridan only ten miles away
+
+under his spurning feet the road
+like an arrowy alpine river flowed
+and the landscape sped away behind
+like an ocean flying before the wind
+and the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire
+swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire
+but lo! he is nearing his heart's desire
+he is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray
+with sheridan only five miles away
+
+the first that the general saw were the groups
+of stragglers, and then the retreating troops
+what was done? what to do? a glance told him both
+then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath
+he dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas
+and the wave of retreat checked its course there, because
+the sight of the master compelled it to pause
+with foam and with dust the black charger was gray
+by the flash of his eye and the red nostril's play
+he seemed to the whole great army to say
+from winchester down to save the day
+
+hurrah, hurrah for sheridan
+hurrah, hurrah for horse and man
+and when their statues are placed on high
+under the dome of the union sky
+the american soldier's temple of fame
+there, with the glorious general's name
+be it said in letters both bold and bright
+by carrying sheridan into the fight
+from winchester--twenty miles away
+
+
+
+o little town of bethlehem
+how still we see thee lie
+above thy deep and dreamless sleep
+the silent stars go by
+yet in thy dark streets shineth
+the everlasting light
+the hopes and fears of all the years
+are met in thee to-night
+
+for christ is born of mary
+and, gathered all above
+while mortals sleep, the angels keep
+their watch of wondering love
+o morning stars, together
+proclaim the holy birth
+and praises sing to god the king
+and peace to men on earth
+
+how silently, how silently
+the wondrous gift is given
+so god imparts to human hearts
+the blessings of his heaven
+no ear may hear his coming
+but in this world of sin
+where meek souls will receive him still
+the dear christ enters in
+
+o holy child of bethlehem
+descend to us, we pray
+cast out our sin, and enter in
+be born in us to-day
+we hear the christmas angels
+the great glad tidings tell
+oh, come to us, abide with us
+our lord emmanuel
+
+
+
+this is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign
+sails the unshadowed main
+the venturous bark that flings
+on the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
+in gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings
+and coral reefs lie bare
+where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair
+
+its webs of living gauze no more unfurl
+wrecked is the ship of pearl
+and every chambered cell
+where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell
+as the frail tenant shaped his growing shell
+before thee lies revealed
+its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed
+
+year after year beheld the silent toil
+that spread his lustrous coil
+still, as the spiral grew
+he left the past year's dwelling for the new
+stole with soft step its shining archway through
+built up its idle door
+stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more
+
+thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee
+child of the wandering sea
+cast from her lap, forlorn
+from thy dead lips a clearer note is born
+than ever triton blew from wreathed horn
+while on mine ear it rings
+through the deep caves of thought i hear a voice that sings
+
+build thee more stately mansions, o my soul
+as the swift seasons roll
+leave thy low-vaulted past
+let each new temple, nobler than the last
+shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast
+till thou at length art free
+leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea
+
+
+
+true worth is in _being_, not _seeming
+in doing, each day that goes by
+some little good--not in dreaming
+of great things to do by and by
+for whatever men say in their blindness
+and spite of the fancies of youth
+there's nothing so kingly as kindness
+and nothing so royal as truth
+
+we get back our mete as we measure
+we cannot do wrong and feel right
+nor can we give pain and gain pleasure
+for justice avenges each slight
+the air for the wing of the sparrow
+the bush for the robin and wren
+but alway the path that is narrow
+and straight, for the children of men
+
+the heart of its ills to beguile
+though he who makes courtship to glory
+gives all that he hath for her smile
+for when from her heights he has won her
+alas! it is only to prove
+that nothing's so sacred as honor
+and nothing so loyal as love
+
+we cannot make bargains for blisses
+nor catch them like fishes in nets
+and sometimes the thing our life misses
+helps more than the thing which it gets
+for good lieth not in pursuing
+nor gaining of great nor of small
+but just in the doing, and doing
+as we would be done by, is all
+
+through envy, through malice, through hating
+against the world, early and late
+no jot of our courage abating
+our part is to work and to wait
+and slight is the sting of his trouble
+whose winnings are less than his worth
+for he who is honest is noble
+whatever his fortunes or birth
+
+
+
+who has seen the wind
+neither i nor you
+but when the leaves hang trembling
+the wind is passing through
+
+who has seen the wind
+but when the trees bow down their heads
+the wind is passing by
+
+
+
+the owl and the pussy-cat went to sea
+in a beautiful pea-green boat
+they took some honey, and plenty of money
+wrapped up in a five-pound note
+the owl looked up to the moon above
+and sang to a small guitar
+what a beautiful pussy you are
+you are
+what a beautiful pussy you are
+
+pussy said to the owl, "you elegant fowl
+how wonderful sweet you sing
+oh, let us be married,--too long we have tarried
+but what shall we do for a ring
+they sailed away for a year and a day
+to the land where the bong-tree grows
+and there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood
+with a ring in the end of his nose
+his nose
+with a ring in the end of his nose
+
+your ring?" said the piggy, "i will
+so they took it away, and were married next day
+by the turkey who lives on the hill
+they dined upon mince and slices of quince
+which they ate with a runcible spoon
+and hand in hand on the edge of the sand
+they danced by the light of the moon
+the moon
+they danced by the light of the moon
+
+
+
+the frost looked forth one still, clear night
+and whispered, "now i shall be out of sight
+so through the valley and over the height
+in silence i'll take my way
+i will not go on like that blustering train
+the wind and the snow, the hail and the rain
+that make so much bustle and noise in vain
+but i'll be as busy as they
+
+so he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest
+he lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest
+in diamond beads--and over the breast
+of the quivering lake he spread
+a coat of mail, that it need not fear
+the downward point of many a spear
+that he hung on its margin, far and near
+where a rock could rear its head
+
+he went to the windows of those who slept
+and over each pane like a fairy crept
+wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped
+by the light of the morn were seen
+most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees
+there were bevies of birds and swarms of bees
+there were cities with temples and towers; and these
+all pictured in silver sheen
+
+but he did one thing that was hardly fair
+he peeped in the cupboard, and finding there
+that all had forgotten for him to prepare
+i'll bite this basket of fruit," said he
+and the glass of water they've left for me
+shall 'tchick!' to tell them i'm drinking
+
+
+
+heap high the farmer's wintry hoard
+heap high the golden corn
+no richer gift has autumn poured
+from out her lavish horn
+
+let other lands, exulting, glean
+the apple from the pine
+the orange from its glossy green
+the cluster from the vine
+
+we better love the hardy gift
+our rugged vales bestow
+to cheer us when the storm shall drift
+our harvest-fields with snow
+
+through vales of grass and meads of flowers
+our plows their furrows made
+while on the hills the sun and showers
+of changeful april played
+
+we dropped the seed o'er hill and plain
+beneath the sun of may
+and frightened from our sprouting grain
+the robber crows away
+
+all through the long, bright days of june
+its leaves grew green and fair
+and waved in hot midsummer's noon
+its soft and yellow hair
+
+and now, with autumn's moonlit eyes
+its harvest time has come
+we pluck away the frosted leaves
+and bear the treasure home
+
+there, richer than the fabled gift
+apollo showered of old
+fair hands the broken grain shall sift
+and knead its meal of gold
+
+let vapid idlers loll in silk
+around their costly board
+give us the bowl of samp and milk
+by homespun beauty poured
+
+where'er the wide old kitchen hearth
+sends up its smoky curls
+who will not thank the kindly earth
+and bless our farmer girls
+
+then shame on all the proud and vain
+whose folly laughs to scorn
+the blessing of our hardy grain
+our wealth of golden corn
+
+let earth withhold her goodly root
+let mildew blight her rye
+give to the worm the orchard's fruit
+the wheat-field to the fly
+
+but let the good old crop adorn
+the hills our fathers trod
+still let us, for his golden corn
+send up our thanks to god
+
+
+
+when i consider how my light is spent
+ere half my days, in this dark world and wide
+and that one talent which is death to hide
+lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
+to serve therewith my maker, and present
+my true account, lest he, returning, chide
+i fondly ask. but patience, to prevent
+that murmur, soon replies, "god doth not need
+either man's work or his own gifts. who best
+bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. his state
+is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed
+and post o'er land and ocean without rest
+they also serve who only stand and wait
+
+
+
+where the pools are bright and deep
+where the gray trout lies asleep
+up the river and o'er the lea
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+where the blackbird sings the latest
+where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest
+where the nestlings chirp and flee
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+where the mowers mow the cleanest
+where the hay lies thick and greenest
+there to trace the homeward bee
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+where the hazel bank is steepest
+where the shadow falls the deepest
+where the clustering nuts fall free
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+why the boys should drive away
+little sweet maidens from their play
+or love to banter and fight so well
+that's the thing i never could tell
+
+but this i know, i love to play
+through the meadow, among the hay
+up the water and o'er the lea
+that's the way for billy and me
+
+
+
+the leaves are fading and falling
+the winds are rough and wild
+the birds have ceased their calling
+but let me tell you, my child
+
+though day by day, as it closes
+doth darker and colder grow
+the roots of the bright red roses
+will keep alive in the snow
+
+and when the winter is over
+the boughs will get new leaves
+the quail come back to the clover
+and the swallow back to the eaves
+
+there must be rough, cold weather
+and winds and rains so wild
+not all good things together
+come to us here, my child
+
+so, when some dear joy loses
+its beauteous summer glow
+think how the roots of the roses
+are kept alive in the snow
+
+
+
+what does little birdie say
+in her nest at peep of day
+till the little wings are stronger
+so she rests a little longer
+then she flies away
+
+what does little baby say
+in her bed at peep of day
+baby says, like little birdie
+till the little limbs are stronger
+if she sleeps a little longer
+baby, too, shall fly away
+
+
+
+up the airy mountain
+down the rushy glen
+we daren't go a-hunting
+for fear of little men
+wee folk, good folk
+trooping all together
+green jacket, red cap
+and white owl's feather
+
+down along the rocky shore
+some make their home
+they live on crispy pancakes
+of yellow tide foam
+some in the reeds
+of the black mountain-lake
+with frogs for their watch dogs
+all night awake
+
+high on the hill-top
+the old king sits
+he is now so old and gray
+he's nigh lost his wits
+with a bridge of white mist
+columbkill he crosses
+on his stately journeys
+from slieveleague to rosses
+or going up with music
+on cold, starry nights
+to sup with the queen
+of the gay northern lights
+
+by the craggy hillside
+through the mosses bare
+they have planted thorn trees
+for pleasure here and there
+is any man so daring
+as dig them up in spite
+he shall find their sharpest thorns
+in his bed at night
+
+up the airy mountain
+down the rushy glen
+we daren't go a-hunting
+for fear of little men
+wee folk, good folk
+trooping all together
+green jacket, red cap
+and white owl's feather
+
+
+
+great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world
+with the wonderful water round you curled
+and the wonderful grass upon your breast
+world, you are beautifully drest
+
+the wonderful air is over me
+and the wonderful wind is shaking the tree
+it walks on the water, and whirls the mills
+and talks to itself on the top of the hills
+
+you friendly earth, how far do you go
+with the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow
+with cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles
+and people upon you for thousands of miles
+
+ah! you are so great, and i am so small
+i hardly can think of you, world, at all
+and yet, when i said my prayers today
+a whisper within me seemed to say
+you can love and think, and the earth can not
+
+
+
+be strong
+we are not here to play, to dream, to drift
+we have hard work to do, and loads to lift
+shun not the struggle--face it; 'tis god's gift
+
+be strong
+say not, "the days are evil. who's to blame
+and fold the hands and acquiesce--oh shame
+stand up, speak out, and bravely, in god's name
+
+be strong
+it matters not how deep intrenched the wrong
+how hard the battle goes, the day how long
+faint not--fight on! to-morrow comes the song
+
+
+
+when cats run home and light is come
+and dew is cold upon the ground
+and the far-off stream is dumb
+and the whirring sail goes round
+and the whirring sail goes round
+alone and warming his five wits
+the white owl in the belfry sits
+
+when merry milkmaids click the latch
+and rarely smells the new-mown hay
+and the cock hath sung beneath the thatch
+twice or thrice his roundelay
+twice or thrice his roundelay
+alone and warming his five wits
+the white owl in the belfry sits
+
+
+
+fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait
+cities and fields i walk: i penetrate
+deserts and fields remote, and, passing by
+hovel and mart and palace, soon or late
+i knock unbidden once at every gate
+if sleeping, wake: if feasting, rise before
+i turn away. it is the hour of fate
+and they who follow me reach every state
+mortals desire, and conquer every foe
+save death; but those who doubt or hesitate
+condemned to failure, penury and woe
+seek me in vain and uselessly implore
+i answer not, and i return no more
+
+
+
+they do me wrong who say i come no more
+when once i knock and fail to find you in
+for every day i stand outside your door
+and bid you wake and rise to fight and win
+
+wail not for precious chances passed away
+weep not for golden ages on the wane
+each night i burn the records of the day
+at sunrise every soul is born again
+
+laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped
+to vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb
+my judgments seal the dead past with its dead
+but never bind a moment yet to come
+
+though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep
+i lend an arm to all who say: "i can
+no shamefac'd outcast ever sank so deep
+but yet might rise and be again a man
+
+dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast
+dost reel from righteous retribution's blow
+then turn from blotted archives of the past
+and find the future's pages white as snow
+
+art thou a mourner? rouse thee from thy spell
+art thou a sinner? sins may be forgiven
+each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell
+each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven
+
+
+
+
+sweet and low, sweet and low
+wind of the western sea
+low, low, breathe and blow
+wind of the western sea
+over the rolling waters go
+come from the dying moon, and blow
+blow him again to me
+while my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps
+
+sleep and rest, sleep and rest
+father will come to thee soon
+rest, rest, on mother's breast
+father will come to thee soon
+father will come to his babe in the nest
+silver sails all out of the west
+under the silver moon
+sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep
+
+
+
+blessings on thee, little man
+barefoot boy, with cheek of tan
+with thy turned-up pantaloons
+and thy merry whistled tunes
+with thy red lip, redder still
+kissed by strawberries on the hill
+with the sunshine on thy face
+through thy torn brim's jaunty grace
+from, my heart i give thee joy
+i was once a barefoot boy
+prince thou art,--the grown-up man
+only is republican
+let the million-dollared ride
+barefoot, trudging at his side
+thou hast more than he can buy
+in the reach of ear and eye
+outward sunshine, inward joy
+blessings on thee, barefoot boy
+
+o for boyhood's painless play
+sleep that wakes in laughing day
+health that mocks the doctor's rules
+knowledge never learned of schools
+of the wild bee's morning chase
+of the wild-flower's time and place
+flight of fowl and habitude
+of the tenants of the wood
+how the tortoise bears his shell
+how the woodchuck digs his cell
+and the ground-mole sinks his well
+how the robin feeds her young
+how the oriole's nest is hung
+where the whitest lilies blow
+where the freshest berries grow
+where the groundnut trails its vine
+where the wood-grape's clusters shine
+of the black wasp's cunning way
+mason of his walls of clay
+and the architectural plans
+of gray hornet artisans
+for, eschewing books and tasks
+nature answers all he asks
+hand in hand with her he walks
+face to face with her he talks
+part and parcel of her joy
+blessings on the barefoot boy
+
+o for boyhood's time of june
+crowding years in one brief moon
+when all things i heard or saw
+me, their master, waited for
+i was rich in flowers and trees
+humming-birds and honey-bees
+for my sport the squirrel played
+plied the snouted mole his spade
+for my taste the blackberry cone
+purpled over hedge and stone
+laughed the brook for my delight
+through the day and through the night
+whispering at the garden wall
+talked with me from fall to fall
+mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond
+mine the walnut slopes beyond
+mine, on bending orchard trees
+apples of hesperides
+still as my horizon grew
+larger grew my riches too
+all the world i saw or knew
+seemed a complex chinese toy
+fashioned for a barefoot boy
+
+o for festal dainties spread
+like my bowl of milk and bread
+pewter spoon and bowl of wood
+on the door-stone, gray and rude
+o'er me, like a regal tent
+cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent
+purple-curtained, fringed with gold
+looped in many a wind-swung fold
+while for music came the play
+of the pied frogs' orchestra
+and, to light the noisy choir
+lit the fly his lamp of fire
+i was monarch: pomp and joy
+waited on the barefoot boy
+
+cheerily, then, my little man
+live and laugh, as boyhood can
+though the flinty slopes be hard
+stubble-speared the new-mown sward
+every morn shall lead thee through
+fresh baptisms of the dew
+every evening from thy feet
+shall the cool wind kiss the heat
+all too soon these feet must hide
+in the prison cells of pride
+lose the freedom of the sod
+like a colt's for work be shod
+made to tread the mills of toil
+up and down in ceaseless moil
+happy if their track be found
+never on forbidden ground
+happy if they sink not in
+quick and treacherous sands of sin
+ah! that thou couldst know thy joy
+ere it passes, barefoot boy
+
+
+
+
+there,--my blessing with you
+and these few precepts in thy memory
+see thou character.--give thy thoughts no tongue
+nor any unproportion'd thought his act
+be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar
+the friends thou hast, and their adoption tried
+grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel
+but do not dull thy palm with entertainment
+of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. beware
+of entrance to a quarrel; but being in
+bear't that the opposed may beware of thee
+give every man thine ear, but few thy voice
+take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment
+costly thy habit as thy purse can buy
+but not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy
+for the apparel oft proclaims the man
+neither a borrower nor a lender be
+for loan oft loses both itself and friend
+and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry
+this above all: to thine own self be true
+and it must follow, as the night the day
+thou canst not then be false to any man
+
+
+
+the mountain and the squirrel
+had a quarrel
+and the former called the latter "little prig
+bun replied
+but all sorts of things and weather
+must be taken in together
+to make up a year
+and a sphere
+and i think it no disgrace
+to occupy my place
+if i'm not so large as you
+and not half as spry
+i'll not deny you make
+a very pretty squirrel track
+talents differ; all is well and wisely put
+if i cannot carry forests on my back
+neither can you crack a nut
+
+
+
+suppose, my little lady
+your doll should break her head
+could you make it whole by crying
+till your eyes and nose are red
+and wouldn't it be pleasanter
+to treat it as a joke
+and say you're glad "'twas dolly's
+and not your head that broke
+
+suppose you're dressed for walking
+and the rain comes pouring down
+will it clear off any sooner
+because you scold and frown
+and wouldn't it be nicer
+for you to smile than pout
+and so make sunshine in the house
+when there is none without
+
+suppose your task, my little man
+is very hard to get
+will it make it any easier
+for you to sit and fret
+and wouldn't it be wiser
+than waiting like a dunce
+to go to work in earnest
+and learn the thing at once
+
+suppose that some boys have a horse
+and some a coach and pair
+will it tire you less while walking
+to say, "it isn't fair
+and wouldn't it be nobler
+to keep your temper sweet
+and in your heart be thankful
+you can walk upon your feet
+
+and suppose the world don't please you
+nor the way some people do
+do you think the whole creation
+will be altered just for you
+and isn't it, my boy or girl
+the wisest, bravest plan
+whatever comes, or doesn't come
+to do the best you can
+
+
+
+i like little pussy
+her coat is so warm
+and if i don't hurt her
+she'll do me no harm
+so i'll not pull her tail
+nor drive her away
+very gently will play
+she shall sit by my side
+and i'll give her some food
+and she'll love me because
+i am gentle and good
+
+i'll pat little pussy
+and then she will purr
+and thus show her thanks
+for my kindness to her
+i'll not pinch her ears
+nor tread on her paw
+lest i should provoke her
+to use her sharp claw
+i never will vex her
+nor make her displeased
+for pussy don't like
+to be worried or teased
+
+
+
+over the river and through the wood
+to grandfather's house we go
+the horse knows the way
+to carry the sleigh
+through the white and drifted snow
+
+over the river and through the wood
+oh, how the wind does blow
+it stings the toes
+and bites the nose
+as over the ground we go
+
+over the river and through the wood
+trot fast, my dapple gray
+spring over the ground
+like a hunting hound
+for this is thanksgiving-day
+
+over the river and through the wood
+and straight through the barnyard gate
+we seem to go
+extremely slow
+it is so hard to wait
+
+over the river and through the wood
+now grandmother's cap i spy
+hurrah for the fun
+is the pudding done
+hurrah for the pumpkin pie
+
+
+
+i wandered lonely as a cloud
+that floats on high o'er vales and hills
+when all at once i saw a crowd
+a host, of golden daffodils
+beside the lake, beneath the trees
+fluttering and dancing in the breeze
+
+continuous as the stars that shine
+and twinkle on the milky way
+they stretched in never-ending line
+along the margin of a bay
+ten thousand saw i at a glance
+tossing their heads in sprightly dance
+
+the waves beside them danced; but they
+outdid the sparkling waves in glee
+a poet could not but be gay
+in such a jocund company
+i gazed--and gazed--but little thought
+what wealth the show to me had brought
+
+for oft, when on my couch i lie
+in vacant or in pensive mood
+they flash upon that inward eye
+which is the bliss of solitude
+and then my heart with pleasure fills
+and dances with the daffodils
+
+
+
+i've watched you now a full half-hour
+self-poised upon that yellow flower
+and, little butterfly! indeed
+i know not if you sleep or feed
+more motionless! and then
+how motionless!--not frozen seas
+what joy awaits you, when the breeze
+hath found you out among the trees
+and calls you forth again
+this plot of orchard-ground is ours
+my trees they are, my sister's flowers
+here rest your wings when they are weary
+here lodge as in a sanctuary
+come often to us, fear no wrong
+sit near us on the bough
+we'll talk of sunshine and of song
+and summer days when we were young
+sweet childish days, that were as long
+as twenty days are now
+
+
+
+thou blossom bright with autumn dew
+and colored with the heaven's own blue
+that openest when the quiet light
+succeeds the keen and frosty night
+
+thou comest not when violets lean
+o'er wandering brooks and springs unseen
+or columbines, in purple dressed
+nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest
+
+thou waitest late and com'st alone
+when woods are bare and birds are flown
+and frosts and shortening days portend
+the aged year is near his end
+
+then doth thy sweet and quiet eye
+look through its fringes to the sky
+blue--blue--as if that sky let fall
+a flower from its cerulean wall
+
+i would that thus, when i shall see
+the hour of death draw near to me
+hope, blossoming within my heart
+may look to heaven as i depart
+
+
+
+the outer trenches guarding
+when the heated guns of the camps allied
+grew weary of bombarding
+
+the dark redan, in silent scoff
+lay, grim and threatening, under
+and the tawny mound of the malakoff
+no longer belched its thunder
+
+there was a pause. a guardsman said
+sing while we may, another day
+will bring enough of sorrow
+
+they lay along the battery's side
+below the smoking cannon
+brave hearts, from severn and from clyde
+and from the banks of shannon
+
+they sang of love, and not of fame
+forgot was britain's glory
+each heart recalled a different name
+but all sang "annie laurie
+
+voice after voice caught up the song
+until its tender passion
+rose like an anthem, rich and strong
+their battle-eve confession
+
+dear girl, her name he dared not speak
+but, as the song grew louder
+something upon the soldier's cheek
+washed off the stains of powder
+
+beyond the darkening ocean burned
+the bloody sunset's embers
+while the crimean valleys learned
+how english love remembers
+
+and once again a fire of hell
+rained on the russian quarters
+with scream of shot, and burst of shell
+and bellowing of the mortars
+
+and irish nora's eyes are dim
+for a singer, dumb and gory
+and english mary mourns for him
+who sang of "annie laurie
+
+sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest
+your truth and valor wearing
+the bravest are the tenderest
+the loving are the daring
+
+
+
+she walks in beauty, like the night
+of cloudless climes and starry skies
+and all that's best of dark and bright
+meet in her aspect and her eyes
+thus mellowed to that tender light
+which heaven to gaudy day denies
+
+one shade the more, one ray the less
+had half impaired the nameless grace
+which waves in every raven tress
+or softly lightens o'er her face
+where thoughts serenely sweet express
+how pure, how dear their dwelling-place
+
+and on that cheek, and o'er that brow
+so soft, so calm, yet eloquent
+the smiles that win, the tints that glow
+but tell of days in goodness spent
+a mind at peace with all below
+a heart whose love is innocent
+
+
+
+all are architects of fate
+working in these walls of time
+some with massive deeds and great
+some with ornaments of rhyme
+
+nothing useless is, or low
+each thing in its place is best
+and what seems but idle show
+strengthens and supports the rest
+
+for the structure that we raise
+time is with materials filled
+our to-days and yesterdays
+are the blocks with which we build
+
+truly shape and fashion these
+leave no yawning gaps between
+think not, because no man sees
+such things will remain unseen
+
+in the elder days of art
+builders wrought with greatest care
+each minute and unseen part
+for the gods see everywhere
+
+let us do our work as well
+both the unseen and the seen
+make the house, where gods may dwell
+beautiful, entire, and clean
+
+else our lives are incomplete
+standing in these walls of time
+broken stairways, where the feet
+stumble as they seek to climb
+
+build to-day, then, strong and sure
+with a firm and ample base
+and ascending and secure
+shall to-morrow find its place
+
+thus alone can we attain
+to those turrets, where the eye
+sees the world as one vast plain
+and one boundless reach of sky
+
+
+
+there's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree
+he's singing to me! he's singing to me
+and what does he say, little girl, little boy
+don't you hear? don't you see
+hush! look! in my tree
+i'm as happy as happy can be
+
+and the brown thrush keeps singing, "a nest do you see
+and five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree
+don't meddle! don't touch! little girl, little boy
+or the world will lose some of its joy
+now i'm glad! now i'm free
+and i always shall be
+if you never bring sorrow to me
+
+so the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree
+to you and to me, to you and to me
+and he sings all the day, little girl, little boy
+but long it won't be
+don't you know? don't you see
+unless we are as good as can be
+
+
+
+
+the quality of mercy is not strain'd
+it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
+upon the place beneath. it is twice bless'd
+it blesseth him that gives and him that takes
+the throned monarch better than his crown
+his sceptre shows the force of temporal power
+the attribute to awe and majesty
+wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings
+but mercy is above this sceptred sway
+it is enthroned in the hearts of kings
+it is an attribute to god himself
+and earthly power doth then show likest god's
+when mercy seasons justice. therefore, jew
+though justice be thy plea, consider this
+that, in the course of justice, none of us
+should see salvation: we do pray for mercy
+and that same prayer doth teach us all to render
+the deeds of mercy
+
+
+
+if you've tried and have not won
+never stop for crying
+all's that's great and good is done
+just by patient trying
+
+though young birds, in flying, fall
+still their wings grow stronger
+and the next time they can keep
+up a little longer
+
+though the sturdy oak has known
+many a blast that bowed her
+she has risen again, and grown
+loftier and prouder
+
+if by easy work you beat
+who the more will prize you
+gaining victory from defeat
+that's the test that tries you
+
+
+
+you know we french stormed ratisbon
+a mile or so away
+on a little mound, napoleon
+stood on our storming-day
+with neck out-thrust, you fancy how
+legs wide, arms locked behind
+as if to balance the prone brow
+oppressive with its mind
+just as perhaps he mused, "my plans
+that soar, to earth may fall
+let once my army-leader lannes
+waver at yonder wall
+out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
+a rider, bound on bound
+full-galloping; nor bridle drew
+until he reached the mound
+
+then off there flung in smiling joy
+and held himself erect
+by just his horse's mane, a boy
+you hardly could suspect
+scarce any blood came through
+you looked twice ere you saw his breast
+was all but shot in two
+
+we've got you ratisbon
+the marshall's in the market-place
+and you'll be there anon
+to see your flag-bird flap his vans
+where i, to heart's desire
+perched him!" the chief's eye flashed; his plans
+soared up again like fire
+
+the chief's eye flashed; but presently
+softened itself, as sheathes
+a film the mother-eagle's eye
+when her bruised eaglet breathes
+touched to the quick, he said
+smiling, the boy fell dead
+
+
+
+
+the splendor falls on castle walls
+and snowy summits old in story
+the long light shakes across the lakes
+and the wild cataract leaps in glory
+blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying
+blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying
+
+o hark, o hear! how thin and clear
+and thinner, clearer, farther going
+the horns of elfland faintly blowing
+blow, let us hear the purple glens replying
+blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying
+
+o love, they die in yon rich sky
+they faint on hill or field or river
+our echoes roll from soul to soul
+and grow for ever and for ever
+blow bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying
+and answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying
+
+
+
+
+they say that god lives very high
+but if you look above the pines
+you cannot see our god; and why
+
+and if you dig down in the mines
+you never see him in the gold
+though from him all that's glory shines
+
+god is so good, he wears a fold
+of heaven and earth across his face
+like secrets kept for love untold
+
+but still i feel that his embrace
+slides down by thrills through all things made
+through sight and sound of every place
+
+as if my tender mother laid
+on my shut lips her kisses' pressure
+half waking me at night, and said
+
+
+
+by the flow of the inland river
+where the fleets of iron have fled
+where the blades of grave grass quiver
+asleep are the ranks of the dead
+under the sod and the dew
+waiting the judgment day
+under the one, the blue
+under the other, the gray
+
+these in the robings of glory
+those in the gloom of defeat
+all, with the battle blood gory
+in the dusk of eternity meet
+under the sod and the dew
+waiting the judgment day
+under the laurel, the blue
+under the willow, the gray
+
+from the silence of sorrowful hours
+the desolate mourners go
+lovingly laden with flowers
+alike for the friend and the foe
+under the sod and the dew
+waiting the judgment day
+under the roses, the blue
+under the lilies, the gray
+
+so with an equal splendor
+the morning sun-rays fall
+with a touch impartially tender
+on the blossoms blooming for all
+under the sod and the dew
+waiting the judgment day
+mellowed with gold, the gray
+
+so, when the summer calleth
+on forest and field of grain
+with an equal murmur falleth
+the cooling drip of the rain
+under the sod and the dew
+waiting the judgment day
+wet with the rain, the blue
+wet with the rain, the gray
+
+sadly, but not with upbraiding
+the generous deed was done
+in the storm of the years that are fading
+no braver battle was won
+under the sod and the dew
+waiting the judgment day
+under the blossoms, the blue
+under the garlands, the gray
+
+no more shall the war-cry sever
+or the winding rivers be red
+they banish our anger forever
+when they laurel the graves of our dead
+under the sod and the dew
+waiting the judgment day
+love and tears for the blue
+tears and love for the gray
+
+
+
+a fair little girl sat under a tree
+sewing as long as her eyes could see
+then smoothed her work, and folded it right
+and said, "dear work, good night, good night
+
+such a number of rooks came over her head
+crying "caw, caw," on their way to bed
+she said, as she watched their curious flight
+
+the horses neighed, and the oxen lowed
+the sheep's "bleat, bleat" came over the road
+and all seemed to say, with a quiet delight
+
+she did not say to the sun "good night
+tho' she saw him there like a ball of light
+for she knew he had god's own time to keep
+all over the world, and never could sleep
+
+the tall pink foxglove bowed his head
+the violets curtseyed and went to bed
+and good little lucy tied up her hair
+and said, on her knees, her favorite prayer
+
+and, while on her pillow she softly lay
+she knew nothing more till again it was day
+and all things said to the beautiful sun
+
+
+
+
+resting to sleep
+why look so pale and so sad, as for ever
+wishing to weep
+
+you are too bold
+i must obey my dear father above me
+and do as i'm told
+
+
+
+
+
+breathes there the man with soul so dead
+who never to himself hath said
+this is my own, my native land
+whose heart hath ne'er within him burned
+as home his footsteps he hath turned
+from wandering on a foreign strand
+if such there breathe, go, mark him well
+for him no minstrel raptures swell
+high though his titles, proud his name
+boundless his wealth as wish can claim
+despite those titles, power, and pelf
+the wretch, concentred all in self
+living, shall forfeit fair renown
+and, doubly dying, shall go down
+to the vile dust from whence he sprung
+unwept, unhonored and unsung
+
+
+
+the year's at the spring
+and day's at the morn
+morning's at seven
+the hillside's dew-pearled
+the lark's on the wing
+the snail's on the thorn
+god's in his heaven
+all's right with the world
+
+
+
+twinkle, twinkle, little star
+how i wonder what you are
+up above the world so high
+like a diamond in the sky
+
+when the glorious sun is set
+when the grass with dew is wet
+then you show your little light
+twinkle, twinkle, all the night
+
+in the dark blue sky you keep
+and often through my curtains peep
+for you never shut your eye
+till the sun is in the sky
+
+as your bright and tiny spark
+lights the traveler in the dark
+though i know not what you are
+twinkle, twinkle, little star
+
+
+
+sunset and evening star
+and one clear call for me
+and may there be no moaning of the bar
+when i put out to sea
+
+but such a tide as moving seems asleep
+too full for sound and foam
+when that which drew from out the boundless deep
+turns again home
+
+twilight and evening bell
+and after that the dark
+and may there be no sadness of farewell
+when i embark
+
+for tho' from out our bourne of time and place
+the flood may bear me far
+i hope to see my pilot face to face
+when i have crost the bar
+
+
+
+the tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown
+till the blossoms have grown
+prayed the tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown
+
+the tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung
+till the blossoms have grown
+said the tree, while his leaflets quivering hung
+
+the tree bore his fruit in the midsummer glow
+said the child, "may i gather thy berries now
+take them; all are for thee
+said the tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low
+
+
+
+into the sunshine
+full of the light
+leaping and flashing
+from morn till night
+
+into the moonlight
+whiter than snow
+waving so flower-like
+when the winds blow
+
+into the starlight
+rushing in spray
+happy at midnight
+happy by day
+
+ever in motion
+blithesome and cheery
+still climbing heavenward
+never aweary
+
+glad of all weathers
+still seeming best
+upward or downward
+motion thy rest
+
+full of a nature
+nothing can tame
+changed every moment
+ever the same
+
+ceaseless aspiring
+ceaseless content
+darkness or sunshine
+thy element
+
+glorious fountain
+let my heart be
+fresh, changeful, constant
+upward, like thee
+
+
+
+the good dame looked from her cottage
+at the close of the pleasant day
+and cheerily called to her little son
+outside the door at play
+while there is light to see
+to the hut of the blind old man who lives
+across the dike, for me
+and take these cakes i made for him
+they are hot and smoking yet
+you have time enough to go and come
+before the sun is set
+
+then the good-wife turned to her labor
+humming a simple song
+and thought of her husband, working hard
+at the sluices all day long
+and set the turf a-blazing
+and brought the coarse black bread
+that he might find a fire at night
+and find the table spread
+
+and peter left the brother
+with whom all day he had played
+and the sister who had watched their sports
+in the willow's tender shade
+and told them they'd see him back before
+they saw a star in sight
+though he wouldn't be afraid to go
+in the very darkest night
+for he was a brave, bright fellow
+with eye and conscience clear
+he could do whatever a boy might do
+and he had not learned to fear
+why, he wouldn't have robbed a bird's nest
+nor brought a stork to harm
+though never a law in holland
+had stood to stay his arm
+
+and now with his face all glowing
+and eyes as bright as the day
+with the thoughts of his pleasant errand
+he trudged along the way
+and soon his joyous prattle
+made glad a lonesome place
+alas! if only the blind old man
+could have seen that happy face
+yet he somehow caught the brightness
+which his voice and presence lent
+and he felt the sunshine come and go
+as peter came and went
+
+and now, as the day was sinking
+and the winds began to rise
+the mother looked from her door again
+shading her anxious eyes
+and saw the shadows deepen
+and birds to their homes come back
+but never a sign of peter
+along the level track
+but she said, "he will come at morning
+so i need not fret nor grieve
+though it isn't like my boy at all
+to stay without my leave
+
+but where was the child delaying
+on the homeward way was he
+across the dike while the sun was up
+an hour above the sea
+he was stopping now to gather flowers
+now listening to the sound
+as the angry waters dashed themselves
+against their narrow bound
+and my father tends them carefully
+or they would not hold you long
+you're a wicked sea," said peter
+you would like to spoil our lands and homes
+but our sluices keep you safe
+
+but hark! through the noise of waters
+comes a low, clear, trickling sound
+and the child's face pales with terror
+and his blossoms drop to the ground
+he is up the bank in a moment
+and, stealing through the sand
+he sees a stream not yet so large
+as his slender, childish hand
+unused to fearful scenes
+but, young as he is, he has learned to know
+the dreadful thing that means
+a leak in the dike! the stoutest heart
+grows faint that cry to hear
+and the bravest man in all the land
+turns white with mortal fear
+for he knows the smallest leak may grow
+to a flood in a single night
+and he knows the strength of the cruel sea
+when loosed in its angry might
+
+and the boy! he has seen the danger
+and shouting a wild alarm
+he forces back the weight of the sea
+with the strength of his single arm
+he listens for the joyful sound
+of a footstep passing nigh
+and lays his ear to the ground, to catch
+the answer to his cry
+and he hears the rough winds blowing
+and the waters rise and fall
+but never an answer comes to him
+save the echo of his call
+
+he sees no hope, no succor
+his feeble voice is lost
+yet what shall he do but watch and wait
+though he perish at his post
+so, faintly calling and crying
+till the sun is under the sea
+crying and moaning till the stars
+come out for company
+he thinks of his brother and sister
+asleep in their safe warm bed
+he thinks of his father and mother
+of himself as dying--and dead
+and of how, when the night is over
+they must come and find him at last
+but he never thinks he can leave the place
+where duty holds him fast
+
+the good dame in the cottage
+is up and astir with the light
+for the thought of her little peter
+has been with her all night
+and now she watches the pathway
+as yester eve she had done
+but what does she see so strange and black
+against the rising sun
+her neighbors are bearing between them
+something straight to her door
+her child is coming home, but not
+as he ever came before
+
+and the startled father hears
+and comes and looks the way she looks
+and fears the thing she fears
+till a glad shout from the bearers
+thrills the stricken man and wife
+and god has saved his life
+so, there in the morning sunshine
+they knelt about the boy
+and every head was bared and bent
+in tearful, reverent joy
+
+when the sea roars like a flood
+their boys are taught what a boy can do
+who is brave and true and good
+for every man in that country
+takes his son by the hand
+and tells him of little peter
+whose courage saved the land
+they have many a valiant hero
+remembered through the years
+but never one whose name so oft
+is named with loving tears
+and his deed shall be sung by the cradle
+and told to the child on the knee
+so long as the dikes of holland
+divide the land from the sea
+
+
+
+merrily swinging on briar and weed
+near to the nest of his little dame
+over the mountain-side or mead
+robert of lincoln is telling his name
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+snug and safe is that nest of ours
+hidden among the summer flowers
+chee, chee, chee
+
+robert of lincoln is gaily drest
+wearing a bright black wedding coat
+white are his shoulders and white his crest
+hear him call in his merry note
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+look, what a nice new coat is mine
+sure there was never a bird so fine
+chee, chee, chee
+
+robert of lincoln's quaker wife
+pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings
+passing at home a patient life
+broods in the grass while her husband sings
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+brood, kind creature; you need not fear
+thieves and robbers while i am here
+chee, chee, chee
+
+modest and shy as a nun is she
+one weak chirp is her only note
+braggart and prince of braggarts is he
+pouring boasts from his little throat
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+never was i afraid of man
+catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can
+chee, chee, chee
+
+six white eggs on a bed of hay
+flecked with purple, a pretty sight
+there as the mother sits all day
+robert is singing with all his might
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+nice, good wife, that never goes out
+keeping the house while i frolic about
+chee, chee, chee
+
+soon as the little ones chip the shell
+six wide mouths are open for food
+robert of lincoln bestirs him well
+gathering seeds for the hungry brood
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+this new life is likely to be
+hard for a gay young fellow like me
+chee, chee, chee
+
+robert of lincoln at length is made
+sober with work, and silent with care
+off is his holiday garment laid
+half forgotten that merry air
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+where our nest and our nestlings lie
+chee, chee, chee
+
+summer wanes; the children are grown
+fun and frolic no more he knows
+robert of lincoln's a humdrum crone
+off he flies, and we sing as he goes
+bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link
+spink, spank, spink
+when you can pipe that merry old strain
+robert of lincoln, come back again
+chee, chee, chee
+
+
+
+ring-ting! i wish i were a primrose
+a bright yellow primrose, blowing in the spring
+the stooping boughs above me
+the wandering bee to love me
+the fern and moss to creep across
+and the elm tree for our king
+
+nay--stay! i wish i were an elm tree
+a great, lofty elm tree, with green leaves gay
+the winds would set them dancing
+the sun and moonshine glance in
+the birds would house among the boughs
+and sweetly sing
+
+oh no! i wish i were a robin
+a robin or a little wren, everywhere to go
+through forest, field, or garden
+and ask no leave or pardon
+till winter comes with icy thumbs
+to ruffle up our wing
+
+well--tell! where should i fly to
+where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell
+before a day was over
+home comes the rover
+for mother's kiss--sweeter this
+than any other thing
+
+
+
+not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
+as his corse to the rampart we hurried
+not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
+o'er the grave where our hero we buried
+
+we buried him darkly at dead of night
+the sods with our bayonets turning
+by struggling moonbeam's misty light
+and the lantern dimly burning
+
+no useless coffin enclosed his breast
+nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him
+but he lay like a warrior taking his rest
+with his martial cloak around him
+
+few and short were the prayers we said
+and we spoke not a word of sorrow
+but we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead
+and we bitterly thought of the morrow
+
+we thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed
+and smoothed down his lonely pillow
+that the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head
+and we far away on the billow
+
+lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone
+and o'er his cold ashes upbraid him
+but little he'll reck; if they let him sleep on
+in the grave where a briton has laid him
+
+but half of our heavy task was done
+when the clock tolled the hour for retiring
+and we heard the distant and random gun
+that the foe was sullenly firing
+
+slowly and sadly we laid him down
+from the field of his fame fresh and gory
+we carved not a line, and we raised not a stone
+but we left him alone with his glory
+
+
+
+how many seconds in a minute
+sixty, and no more in it
+
+how many minutes in an hour
+sixty for sun and shower
+
+how many hours in a day
+twenty-four for work and play
+
+how many days in a week
+seven both to hear and speak
+
+how many weeks in a month
+four, as the swift moon runn'th
+
+how many months in a year
+twelve, the almanack makes clear
+
+how many years in an age
+one hundred, says the sage
+
+how many ages in time
+no one knows the rhyme
+
+
+
+here hath been dawning another blue day
+think, wilt thou let it slip useless away
+out of eternity this new day was born
+into eternity, at night, will return
+behold it aforetime no eye ever did
+so soon it forever from all eyes is hid
+here hath been dawning another blue day
+think, wilt thou let it slip useless away
+
+
+
+said the wind to the moon, "i will blow you out
+you stare
+in the air
+like a ghost in a chair
+always looking what i am about
+i hate to be watched--i will blow you out
+
+the wind blew hard, and out went the moon
+so deep
+on a heap
+of clouds, to sleep
+down lay the wind, and slumbered soon
+muttering low, "i've done for that moon
+
+he turned in his bed; she was there again
+on high
+in the sky
+with her one clear eye
+the moon shone white and alive and plain
+said the wind--"i will blow you out again
+
+the wind blew hard, and the moon grew dim
+and my wedge
+i have knocked off her edge
+if only i blow right fierce and grim
+the creature will soon be dimmer than dim
+
+he blew and blew, and she thinned to a thread
+more's enough
+to blow her to snuff
+one good puff more where the last was bred
+and glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread
+
+he blew a great blast, and the thread was gone
+in the air
+nowhere
+was a moonbeam bare
+far off and harmless the shy stars shone
+sure and certain the moon was gone
+
+the wind, he took to his revels once more
+on down
+in town
+like a merry-mad clown
+he leaped and halloed with whistle and roar
+
+he flew in a rage--he danced and blew
+but in vain
+was the pain
+of his bursting brain
+for still the broader the moon-scrap grew
+the broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew
+
+slowly she grew--till she filled the night
+and shone
+on her throne
+in the sky alone
+a matchless, wonderful, silvery light
+radiant and lovely, the queen of the night
+
+with my breath
+good faith
+i blew her to death
+first blew her away right out of the sky
+
+but the moon, she knew nothing about the affair
+for, high
+in the sky
+with her one white eye
+motionless, miles above the air
+she had never heard the great wind blare
+
+
+
+in the heart of a seed
+buried deep, so deep
+a dear little plant
+lay fast asleep
+
+of the raindrop bright
+
+the little plant heard
+and it rose to see
+what the wonderful
+outside world might be
+
+
+
+listen, my children, and you shall hear
+of the midnight ride of paul revere
+on the eighteenth of april, in seventy-five
+hardly a man is now alive
+who remembers that famous day and year
+
+he said to his friend, "if the british march
+by land or sea from the town tonight
+hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
+of the north church tower, as a signal light
+one, if by land, and two, if by sea
+and i on the opposite shore will be
+ready to ride and spread the alarm
+through every middlesex village and farm
+for the country folk to be up and to arm
+
+then he said, "good-night"; and with muffled oar
+silently rowed to the charlestown shore
+just as the moon rose over the bay
+where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay
+the somerset, british man-of-war
+a phantom ship, with each mast and spar
+across the moon like a prison bar
+and a huge black hulk, that was magnified
+by its own reflection in the tide
+
+meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
+wanders and watches with eager ears
+till, in the silence around him, he hears
+the muster of men at the barrack door
+the sound of arms, and the tramp of feet
+and the measured tread of the grenadiers
+marching down to their boats on the shore
+
+then he climbed to the tower of the old north church
+by the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread
+to the belfry chamber overhead
+and startled the pigeons from their perch
+on the sombre rafters, that round him made
+masses and moving shapes of shade
+by the trembling ladder, steep and tall
+to the highest window in the wall
+where he paused to listen, and look down
+a moment on the roofs of the town
+and the moonlight flowing over all
+
+beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead
+in their night encampment on the hill
+wrapped in silence so deep and still
+that he could hear, like a sentinel's tread
+the watchful night wind, as it went
+creeping along from tent to tent
+and seeming to whisper, "all is well
+a moment only he feels the spell
+of the place and hour, and the secret dread
+of the lonely belfry and the dead
+for suddenly all his thoughts are bent
+on a shadowy something far away
+where the river widens to meet the bay
+a line of black, that bends and floats
+on the rising tide, like a bridge of boats
+
+meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride
+booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
+on the opposite shore walked paul revere
+now he patted his horse's side
+now gazed on the landscape far and near
+then impetuous stamped the earth
+and turned and tightened his saddle girth
+but mostly he watched with eager search
+the belfry tower of the old north church
+as it rose above the graves on the hill
+lonely and spectral, and sombre and still
+and lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
+a glimmer, and then a gleam of light
+he springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns
+but lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
+a second lamp in the belfry burns
+
+a harry of hoofs in a village street
+a shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark
+and beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
+struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet
+that was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light
+the fate of a nation was riding that night
+and the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight
+kindled the land into flame with its heat
+he has left the village and mounted the steep
+and beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep
+is the mystic, meeting the ocean tides
+and under the alders, that skirt its edge
+now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge
+is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides
+
+it was twelve by the village clock
+when he crossed the bridge into medford town
+he heard the crowing of the cock
+and the barking of the farmer's dog
+and felt the damp of the river fog
+that rises after the sun goes down
+
+it was one by the village clock
+when he galloped into lexington
+he saw the gilded weathercock
+swim in the moonlight as he passed
+and the meeting house windows, blank and bare
+gaze at him with a spectral glare
+as if they already stood aghast
+at the bloody work they would look upon
+
+it was two by the village clock
+when he came to the bridge in concord town
+he heard the bleating of the flock
+and the twittering of birds among the trees
+and felt the breath of the morning breeze
+blowing over the meadows brown
+and one was safe and asleep in his bed
+who at the bridge would be first to fall
+who that day would be lying dead
+pierced by a british musket ball
+
+you know the rest. in the books you have read
+how the british regulars fired and fled
+how the farmers gave them ball for ball
+from behind each fence and farmyard wall
+chasing the red coats down the lane
+then crossing the fields to emerge again
+under the trees at the turn of the road
+and only pausing to fire and load
+
+so through the night rode paul revere
+and so through the night went his cry of alarm
+to every middlesex village and farm
+a cry of defiance, and not of fear
+a voice in the darkness, a knock at the door
+and a word that shall echo forever-more
+for borne on the night wind of the past
+through all our history to the last
+in the hour of darkness and peril and need
+the people will waken and listen to hear
+the hurrying hoof beats of that steed
+and the midnight message of paul revere
+
+
+
+in flanders fields the poppies grow
+between the crosses, row on row
+that mark our place; and in the sky
+the larks, still bravely singing, fly
+scarce heard amid the guns below
+
+we are the dead. short days ago
+we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow
+loved and were loved; and now we lie
+in flanders fields
+
+take up our quarrel with the foe
+to you, from failing hands, we throw
+the torch. be yours to hold it high
+if ye break faith with us who die
+we shall not sleep, though poppies blow
+in flanders fields
+
+
+
+in flanders fields the cannon boom
+and fitful flashes light the gloom
+while up above, like eagles, fly
+the fierce destroyers of the sky
+with stains the earth wherein you lie
+is redder than the poppy bloom
+in flanders fields
+
+sleep on, ye brave. the shrieking shell
+the quaking trench, the startled yell
+the fury of the battle hell
+shall wake you not; for all is well
+sleep peacefully; for all is well
+
+your flaming torch aloft we bear
+with burning heart an oath we swear
+to keep the faith, to fight it through
+to crush the foe, or sleep with you
+in flanders fields
+
+
+
+the little toy dog is covered with dust
+but sturdy and stanch he stands
+and the little toy soldier is red with rust
+and his musket moulds in his hands
+time was when the little toy dog was new
+and the soldier was passing fair
+and that was the time when our little boy blue
+kissed them and put them there
+
+so toddling off to his trundle-bed
+he dreamt of the pretty toys
+and as he was dreaming, an angel song
+awakened our little boy blue
+oh, the years are many, the years are long
+but the little toy friends are true
+
+ay, faithful to little boy blue they stand
+each in the same old place
+awaiting the touch of a little hand
+the smile of a little face
+and they wonder, as waiting these long years through
+in the dust of that little chair
+what has become of our little boy blue
+since he kissed them and put them there
+
+
+
+to him who in the love of nature holds
+communion with her visible forms, she speaks
+a various language; for his gayer hours
+she has a voice of gladness, and a smile
+and eloquence of beauty, and she glides
+into his darker musings with a mild
+and healing sympathy, that steals away
+their sharpness, ere he is aware. when thoughts
+of the last bitter hoar come like a blight
+over thy spirit, and sad images
+of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall
+and breathless darkness, and the narrow house
+make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart
+go forth, under the open sky, and list
+to nature's teachings, while from all around
+earth and her waters, and the depths of air
+comes a still voice--yet a few days, and thee
+the all-beholding sun shall see no more
+in all his course; nor yet in the cold ground
+where thy pale form was laid with many tears
+nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
+thy image. earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
+thy growth, to be resolved to earth again
+and, lost each human trace, surrendering up
+thine individual being, shalt thou go
+to mix forever with the elements
+to be a brother to the insensible rock
+and to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
+turns with his share, and treads upon. the oak
+shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould
+yet not to thine eternal resting-place
+shalt thou retire alone--nor couldst thou wish
+couch more magnificent. thou shalt lie down
+with patriarchs of the infant world--with kings
+the powerful of the earth--the wise, the good
+fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past
+all in one mighty sepulchre. the hills
+rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun,--the vales
+stretching in pensive quietness between
+the venerable woods--rivers that move
+in majesty, and the complaining brooks
+that make the meadows green; and, poured round all
+old ocean's gray and melancholy waste
+are but the solemn decorations all
+of the great tomb of man. the golden sun
+the planets, all the infinite host of heaven
+are shining on the sad abodes of death
+through the still lapse of ages. all that tread
+the globe are but a handful to the tribes
+that slumber in its bosom. take the wings
+of morning, pierce the barcan wilderness
+or lose thyself in the continuous woods
+where rolls the oregon, and hears no sound
+save his own dashings--yet, the dead are there
+and millions in those solitudes, since first
+the flight of years began, have laid them down
+in their last sleep--the dead reign there alone
+so shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
+in silence from the living, and no friend
+take note of thy departure? all that breathe
+will share thy destiny. the gay will laugh
+when thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
+plod on, and each one as before will chase
+his favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
+their mirth and their employments, and shall come
+and make their bed with thee. as the long train
+of ages glide away, the sons of men
+the youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
+in the full strength of years, matron, and maid
+and the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man
+shall one by one be gathered to thy side
+by those who in their turn shall follow them
+
+so live, that when thy summons comes to join
+the innumerable caravan which moves
+to the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
+his chamber in the silent halls of death
+thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night
+scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
+by an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
+like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
+about him, and lies down to pleasant dreams
+
+
+
+it ain't the funniest thing a man can do
+existing in a country when it's new
+nature, who moved in first--a good long while
+has things already somewhat her own style
+and she don't want her woodland splendors battered
+her rustic furniture broke up and scattered
+her paintings, which long years ago were done
+by that old splendid artist-king, the sun
+torn down and dragged in civilization's gutter
+or sold to purchase settlers' bread and butter
+she don't want things exposed from porch to closet
+and so she kind o' nags the man who does it
+she carries in her pockets bags of seeds
+as general agent of the thriftiest weeds
+she sends her blackbirds, in the early morn
+to superintend his fields of planted corn
+she gives him rain past any duck's desire
+then maybe several weeks of quiet fire
+she sails mosquitoes--leeches perched on wings
+to poison him with blood-devouring stings
+she loves her ague-muscle to display
+and shake him up--say every other day
+with, thoughtful, conscientious care she makes
+those travelin' poison-bottles, rattlesnakes
+she finds time, 'mongst her other family cares
+to keep in stock good wild-cats, wolves, and bears
+
+well, when i first infested this retreat
+things to my view looked frightful incomplete
+but i had come with heart-thrift in my song
+and brought my wife and plunder right along
+i hadn't a round trip ticket to go back
+and if i had there wasn't no railroad track
+and drivin' east was what i couldn't endure
+i hadn't started on a circular tour
+
+my girl-wife was as brave as she was good
+and helped me every blessed way she could
+she seemed to take to every rough old tree
+as sing'lar as when first she took to me
+she kep' our little log-house neat as wax
+and once i caught her fooling with my axe
+she learned a hundred masculine things to do
+she aimed a shot-gun pretty middlin' true
+although in spite of my express desire
+she always shut her eyes before she'd fire
+she hadn't the muscle (though she _had_ the heart
+in out-door work to take an active part
+though in our firm of duty and endeavor
+she wasn't no silent partner whatsoever
+when i was logging, burning, choppin' wood
+she'd linger round and help me all she could
+and keep me fresh-ambitious all the while
+and lifted tons just with her voice and smile
+with no desire my glory for to rob
+she used to stan' around and boss the job
+and when first-class success my hands befell
+would proudly say, "_we_ did that pretty well
+she _was_ delicious, both to hear and see
+that pretty wife-girl that kep' house for me
+
+well, neighborhoods meant counties in those days
+the roads didn't have accommodating ways
+and maybe weeks would pass before she'd see
+and much less talk with--any one but me
+the indians sometimes showed their sun-baked faces
+but they didn't teem with conversational graces
+some ideas from the birds and trees she stole
+but 'twasn't like talking with a human soul
+and finally i thought that i could trace
+a half heart-hunger peering from her face
+then she would drive it back and shut the door
+of course that only made me see it more
+making a steady effort not to pine
+and recognize the seeds of sorrow in it
+no misery makes a close observer mourn
+like hopeless grief with hopeful courage borne
+there's nothing sets the sympathies to paining
+like a complaining woman uncomplaining
+it always draws my breath out into sighs
+to see a brave look in a woman's eyes
+
+well, she went on, as plucky as could be
+fighting the foe she thought i did not see
+and using her heart-horticultural powers
+to turn that forest to a bed of flowers
+you cannot check an unadmitted sigh
+and so i had to soothe her on the sly
+and secretly to help her draw her load
+and soon it came to be an up-hill road
+hard work bears hard upon the average pulse
+even with satisfactory results
+but when effects are scarce, the heavy strain
+falls dead and solid on the heart and brain
+and when we're bothered, it will oft occur
+we seek blame-timber; and i lit on her
+and looked at her with daily lessening favor
+for what i knew she couldn't help, to save her
+and discord, when he once had called and seen us
+came round quite often, and edged in between us
+
+one night, when i came home unusual late
+too hungry and too tired to feel first-rate
+her supper struck me wrong (though i'll allow
+she hadn't much to strike with, anyhow
+and when i went to milk the cows, and found
+they'd wandered from their usual feeding ground
+and maybe'd left a few long miles behind 'em
+which i must copy, if i meant to find 'em
+flash-quick the stay-chains of my temper broke
+and in a, trice these hot words i had spoke
+and drove 'em in; you'd nothing else to do
+the heft of all our life on me must fall
+you just lie round and let me do it all
+
+that speech--it hadn't been gone a half a minute
+before i saw the cold black poison in it
+and i'd have given all i had, and more
+to've only safely got it back in-door
+i'm now what most folks "well-to-do" would call
+i feel to-day as if i'd give it all
+provided i through fifty years might reach
+and kill and bury that half-minute speech
+
+she handed back no words, as i could hear
+she didn't frown; she didn't shed a tear
+half proud, half crushed, she stood and looked me o'er
+like some one she had never seen before
+but such a sudden anguish-lit surprise
+i never viewed before in human eyes
+it sometimes wakes me like a midnight scream
+
+next morning, when, stone-faced, but heavy-hearted
+with dinner pail and sharpened axe i started
+away for my day's work--she watched the door
+and followed me half way to it or more
+and i was just a-turning round at this
+and asking for my usual good-by kiss
+but on her lip i saw a proudish curve
+and in her eye a shadow of reserve
+and she had shown--perhaps half unawares
+some little independent breakfast airs
+and so the usual parting didn't occur
+although her eyes invited me to her
+or rather half invited me, for she
+didn't advertise to furnish kisses free
+you always had--that is, i had--to pay
+full market price, and go more'n half the way
+so, with a short "good-by," i shut the door
+and left her as i never had before
+but when at noon my lunch i came to eat
+put up by her so delicately neat
+choicer, somewhat, than yesterday's had been
+and some fresh, sweet-eyed pansies she'd put in
+it seemed as if her kiss with me she'd sent
+then i became once more her humble lover
+and said, "to-night i'll ask forgiveness of her
+
+i went home over-early on that eve
+having contrived to make myself believe
+by various signs i kind o' knew and guessed
+a thunder-storm was coming from the west
+how many honest ones will take its part
+a dozen first-class reasons said 'twas right
+that i should strike home early on that night
+
+half out of breath, the cabin door i swung
+with tender heart-words trembling on my tongue
+but all within looked desolate and bare
+my house had lost its soul,--she was not there
+a penciled note was on the table spread
+and these are something like the words it said
+i watched them pretty close; don't scold me, dear
+and where they are, i think i nearly know
+i heard the bell not very long ago
+i've hunted for them all the afternoon
+i'll try once more--i think i'll find them soon
+dear, if a burden i have been to you
+and haven't helped you as i ought to do
+let old-time memories my forgiveness plead
+i've tried to do my best--i have indeed
+darling, piece out with love the strength i lack
+and have kind words for me when i get back
+
+scarce did i give this letter sight and tongue
+some swift-blown rain-drops to the window clung
+and from the clouds a rough, deep growl proceeded
+my thunder-storm had come, now 'twasn't needed
+i rushed out-door. the air was stained with black
+night had come early, on the storm-cloud's back
+and everything kept dimming to the sight
+save when the clouds threw their electric light
+when for a flash, so clean-cut was the view
+i'd think i saw her--knowing 'twas not true
+through my small clearing dashed wide sheets of spray
+as if the ocean waves had lost their way
+scarcely a pause the thunder-battle made
+in the bold clamor of its cannonade
+and she, while i was sheltered, dry, and warm
+was somewhere in the clutches of this storm
+she who, when storm-frights found her at her best
+had always hid her white face on my breast
+
+my dog, who'd skirmished round me all the day
+now crouched and whimpering, in a corner lay
+i dragged him by the collar to the wall
+i pressed his quivering muzzle to a shawl
+matched eyes with me, as if to read my mind
+then with a yell went tearing through the wood
+i followed him, as faithful as i could
+no pleasure-trip was that, through flood and flame
+we raced with death: we hunted noble game
+all night we dragged the woods without avail
+the ground got drenched--we could not keep the trail
+three times again my cabin home i found
+half hoping she might be there, safe and sound
+but each time 'twas an unavailing care
+my house had lost its soul; she was not there
+
+when, climbing--the wet trees, next morning-sun
+laughed at the ruin that the night had done
+bleeding and drenched, by toil and sorrow bent
+back to what used to be my home i went
+but as i neared our little clearing-ground
+listen!--i heard the cow-bell's tinkling sound
+the cabin door was just a bit ajar
+it gleamed upon my glad eyes like a star
+she made them guide her homeward through the storm
+such pangs of joy i never felt before
+
+yes, she had come--and gone again. she lay
+with all her young life crushed and wrenched away
+lay, the heart-ruins of oar home among
+not far from where i killed her with my tongue
+the rain-drops glittered 'mid her hair's long strands
+the forest thorns had torn her feet and hands
+and 'midst the tears--brave tears--that one could trace
+upon the pale but sweetly resolute face
+i once again the mournful words could read
+
+and now i'm mostly done; my story's o'er
+part of it never breathed the air before
+to volunteer heart-history to a crowd
+and scatter 'mongst them confidential tears
+but you'll protect an old man with his years
+and wheresoe'er this story's voice can reach
+this is the sermon i would have it preach
+
+boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds
+you can't do that way when you're flying words
+thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead
+but god himself can't kill them when they're said
+yon have my life-grief: do not think a minute
+it sheds advice: whoe'er will take and live it
+is welcome to the pain it cost to give it
+
+
+
+i ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice
+an' things 'at girls are skeered uv i think are awful nice
+i'm pretty brave, i guess; an' yet i hate to go to bed
+for, when i'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said
+mother tells me "happy dreams!" and takes away the light
+an' leaves me lying all alone an' seein' things at night
+
+sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door
+sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor
+sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round
+so softly an' so creepylike they never make a sound
+sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white
+but the color ain't no difference when you see things at night
+
+once, when i licked a feller 'at had just moved on our street
+an' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat
+i woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row
+a-lookin' at me cross-eyed an' p'intin' at me--so
+oh, my! i was so skeered that time i never slep' a mite
+it's almost alluz when i'm bad i see things at night
+
+lucky thing i ain't a girl, or i'd be skeered to death
+bein' i'm a boy, i duck my head an' hold my breath
+an' i am, oh! so sorry i'm a naughty boy, an' then
+i promise to be better an' i say my prayers again
+gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right
+when a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night
+
+an' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin
+i try to skwush the tempter's voice 'at urges me within
+an' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at's big an' nice
+i want to--but i do not pass my plate f'r them things twice
+no, ruther let starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight
+than i should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night
+
+
+
+oh, the raggedy man! he works fer pa
+an' he's the goodest man ever you saw
+he comes to our house every day
+an' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay
+an' he opens the shed--an' we all ist laugh
+when he drives out our little old wobblely calf
+an' nen--ef our hired girl says he can
+he milks the cows fer 'lizabuth ann
+ain't he a' awful good raggedy man
+raggedy! raggedy! raggedy man
+
+w'y, the raggedy man--he's ist so good
+he splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood
+an' nen he spades in our garden, too
+an' does most things 'at _boys_ can't do
+he clumbed clean up in our big tree
+an' shocked a' apple down fer me
+an' 'nother 'n', too, fer 'lizabuth ann
+an' 'nother 'n', too, fer the raggedy man
+ain't he a' awful kind raggedy man
+raggedy! raggedy! raggedy man
+
+an' the raggedy man one time say he
+pick' roast' rambos from a' orchard-tree
+an' et 'em--all ist roas' an' hot
+an' it's so, too!--'cause a corn-crib got
+afire one time an' all burn' down
+on "the smoot farm," 'bout four mile from town
+on "the smoot farm"! yes--an' the hired han
+ain't he the beanin'est raggedy man
+raggedy! raggedy! raggedy man
+
+the raggedy man's so good an' kind
+he'll be our "horsey," an' "haw" an' mind
+ever'thing 'at you make him do
+an' won't run off--'less you want him to
+i drived him wunst 'way down our lane
+an' he got skeered, when it 'menced to rain
+an' ist rared up an' squealed and run
+purt' nigh away!--an' it's all in fun
+nen he skeered ag'in at a' old tin can
+whoa! y' old runaway raggedy man
+raggedy! raggedy! raggedy man
+
+an' the raggedy man, he knows most rhymes
+an' tells 'em, ef i be good, sometimes
+knows 'bout giants, an' griffuns, an' elves
+an' the squidgicum-squees 'at swallers the'rselves
+an', wite by the pump la our pasture-lot
+he showed me the hole 'at the wunks is got
+turn into me, er 'lizabuth ann
+er ma, er pa, er the raggedy man
+ain't he a funny old raggedy man
+raggedy! raggedy! raggedy man
+
+an' wunst when the raggedy man come late
+an' pigs ist root' thue the garden-gate
+he 'tend like the pigs 'uz bears an' said
+an' race' an' chase' em, an' they'd ist run
+when he pint his hoe at 'em like it's a gun
+an' go "bang!-bang!" nen 'tend he stan
+an' load up his gun ag'in! raggedy man
+he's an old bear-shooter raggedy man
+raggedy! raggedy! raggedy man
+
+an' sometimes the raggedy man lets on
+we're little prince-children, an' old king's gone
+to get more money, an' lef us there
+and robbers is ist thick ever'where
+an' nen-ef we all won't cry, fer shore
+the raggedy man he'll come and "splore
+the castul-halls," an' steal the "gold
+and steal us, too, an' grab an' hold
+an' pack us off to his old "cave"!-an
+haymow's the "cave" o' the raggedy man
+raggedy! raggedy! raggedy man
+
+the raggedy man--one time, when he
+wuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me
+says "when you're big like your pa is
+air you go' to keep a fine store like his
+an' be a rich merchunt--an' wear fine clothes
+er what air you go' to be, goodness knows
+an' nen he laughed at 'lizabuth ann
+an' i says "'m go' to be a raggedy man
+i'm ist go' to be a nice raggedy man
+raggedy! raggedy! raggedy man
+
+
+
+maud muller, on a summer's day
+raked the meadow sweet with hay
+
+beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth
+of simple beauty and rustic health
+
+singing, she wrought, and her merry glee
+the mock-bird echoed from his tree
+
+but when she glanced to the far-off town
+white from its hill-slope looking down
+
+the sweet song died, and a vague unrest
+and a nameless longing filled her breast
+
+a wish, that she hardly dared to own
+for something better than she had known
+
+the judge rode slowly down the lane
+smoothing his horse's chestnut mane
+
+he drew his bridle in the shade
+of the apple-trees, to greet the maid
+
+and asked a draught from the spring that flowed
+through the meadow across the road
+
+she stooped where the cool spring bubbled up
+and filled for him her small tin cup
+
+and blushed as she gave it, looking down
+on her feet so bare, and her tattered gown
+
+from a fairer hand was never quaffed
+
+he spoke of the grass and flowers and trees
+of the singing birds and the humming' bees
+
+then talked of the haying, and wondered whether
+the cloud in the west would bring foul weather
+
+and maud forgot her brier-torn gown
+and her graceful ankles bare and brown
+
+and listened, while a pleased surprise
+looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes
+
+at last, like one who for delay
+seeks a vain excuse, he rode away
+
+maud muller looked and sighed: "ah, me
+that i the judge's bride might be
+
+and praise and toast me at his wine
+
+my brother should sail a painted boat
+
+and the baby should have a new toy each day
+
+and all should bless me who left our door
+
+the judge looked back as he climbed the hill
+and saw maud muller standing still
+
+ne'er hath it been my lot to meet
+
+show her wise and good as she is fair
+
+like her, a harvester of hay
+
+nor weary lawyers with endless tongues
+
+and health and quiet and loving words
+
+but he thought of his sisters proud and cold
+and his mother vain of her rank and gold
+
+so, closing his heart, the judge rode on
+and maud was left in the field alone
+
+but the lawyers smiled that afternoon
+when he hummed in court an old love-tune
+
+and the young girl mused beside the well
+till the rain on the unraked clover fell
+
+he wedded a wife of richest dower
+who lived for fashion, as he for power
+
+yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow
+he watched a picture come and go
+
+and sweet maud muller's hazel eyes
+looked out in their innocent surprise
+
+oft, when the wine in his glass was red
+he longed for the wayside well instead
+
+and closed his eyes on his garnished rooms
+to dream of meadows and clover-blooms
+
+and the proud man sighed, with a secret pain
+
+where the barefoot maiden raked her hay
+
+she wedded a man unlearned and poor
+and many children played round her door
+
+but care and sorrow, and childbirth pain
+left their traces on heart and brain
+
+and oft, when the summer sun shone hot
+on the new-mown hay in the meadow lot
+
+and she heard the little spring brook fall
+over the roadside, through the wall
+
+in the shade of the apple-tree again
+she saw a rider draw his rein
+
+and, gazing down with timid grace
+she felt his pleased eyes read her face
+
+sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
+stretched away into stately halls
+
+the weary wheel to a spinnet turned
+the tallow candle an astral burned
+
+and for him who sat by the chimney lug
+dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug
+
+a manly form at her side she saw
+and joy was duty and love was law
+
+then she took up her burden of life again
+saying only, "it might have been
+
+alas for maiden, alas for judge
+for rich repiner and household drudge
+
+god pity them both! and pity us all
+who vainly the dreams of youth recall
+
+for of all sad words of tongue or pen
+the saddest are these: "it might have been
+
+ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies
+deeply buried from human eyes
+
+and, in the hereafter, angels may
+roll the stone from its grave away
+
+
+
+we were hunting for wintergreen berries
+one may-day, long gone by
+out on the rocky cliff's edge
+sister had hair like the sunbeams
+black as a crow's wing, mine
+sister had blue, dove's eyes
+wicked, black eyes are mine
+why, see how my eyes are faded
+and my hair, it is white as snow
+and thin, too! don't you see it is
+i tear it sometimes; so
+there, don't hold my hands, maggie
+i don't feel like tearing it now
+but--where was i in my story
+oh, i was telling you how
+we were looking for wintergreen berries
+and the moss-grown rocks were slippery
+with the rains of yesterday
+but i was cross that morning
+though the sun shone ever so bright
+and when sister found the most berries
+i was angry enough to fight
+and when she laughed at my pouting
+we were little things, you know
+i clinched my little fist up tight
+and struck her the biggest blow
+i struck her--i tell you--i struck her
+and she fell right over below
+there, there, maggie, i won't rave now
+you needn't hold me so
+she went right over, i tell you
+down, down to the depths below
+there where the waters flow
+she fell right over, moaning
+that, when i looked down affrighted
+it drove me _mad--mad
+only her golden hair streaming
+out on the rippling wave
+only her little hand reaching
+up, for someone to save
+and she sank down in the darkness
+i never saw her again
+and this is a chaos of blackness
+and darkness and grief since then
+no more playing together
+down on the pebbly strand
+nor building our dolls stone castles
+with halls and parlors grand
+no more fishing with bent pins
+in the little brook's clear waves
+no more holding funerals
+o'er dead canaries' graves
+no more walking together
+to the log schoolhouse each morn
+no more vexing the master
+with putting his rules to scorn
+no more feeding of white lambs
+with milk from the foaming pail
+no more playing "see-saw
+over the fence of rail
+no more telling of stories
+after we've gone to bed
+nor talking of ghosts and goblins
+till we fairly shiver with dread
+no more whispering fearfully
+and hugging each other tight
+when the shutters shake and the dogs howl
+in the middle of the night
+no more saying "our father
+kneeling by mother's knee
+for, maggie, i _struck_ sister
+and mother is dead, you see
+maggie, sister's an angel
+isn't she? isn't it true
+for angels have golden tresses
+and eyes like sister's, blue
+now _my_ hair isn't golden
+my eyes aren't blue, you see
+now tell me, maggie, if i were to die
+could they make an angel of me
+you say, "oh, yes"; you think so
+well, then, when i come to die
+we'll play up there, in god's garden
+now, maggie, you needn't eye me
+because i'm talking so queer
+because i'm talking so strangely
+you needn't have the least fear
+somehow i'm feeling to-night, maggie
+as i never felt before
+i'm sure, i'm sure of it, maggie
+i never shall rave any more
+maggie, you know how these long years
+i've heard her calling, so sad
+it always drives me _mad
+how the winter wind shrieks down the chimney
+how the south wind wails at the casement
+but most of all when the may-days
+come back, with the flowers and the sun
+how the night-bird, singing, all lonely
+you know how it sets me raving
+for _she_ moaned, "_oh, bessie!_" just so
+that time i _struck_ little sister
+on the may-day long ago
+now, maggie, i've something to tell you
+you know may-day is here
+well, this very morning, at sunrise
+the robins chirped "bessie!" so clear
+all day long the wee birds singing
+perched on the garden wall
+called "bessie, oh, bessie!" so sweetly
+i couldn't feel sorry at all
+now, maggie, i've something to tell you
+let me lean up to you close
+do you see how the sunset has flooded
+the heavens with yellow and rose
+do you see o'er the gilded cloud mountains
+sister's golden hair streaming out
+do you see her little hand beckoning
+do you hear her little voice calling out
+yes, sister, i'm coming; i'm coming
+to play in god's garden at last
+
+
+it takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home
+a heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam
+afore ye really 'preciate the things ye left behind
+an' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind
+it don't make any differunce how rich ye get t' be
+how much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury
+it ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king
+until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped 'round everything
+
+home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute
+afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it
+within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then
+right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men
+and gradjerly, as time goes on ye find ye wouldn't part
+with anything they ever used--they've grown into yer heart
+the old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
+ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumbmarks on the door
+
+ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit and sigh
+an' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that death is nigh
+an' in the stillness o' the night t' see death's angel come
+an' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave her sweet voice dumb
+fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an' when yer tears are dried
+ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified
+an' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories
+o' her that was an' is no more--ye can't escape from these
+
+ye've got t' sing and dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play
+an' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day
+even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year
+afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear
+who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes' t' run
+the way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun
+ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome
+it takes a heap o' livin' in a house f' make it home
+
+
+
+whenever i walk to suffern along the erie track
+i go by a poor old farm-house with its shingles broken and black
+i suppose i've passed it a hundred times, but i always stop for a minute
+and look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it
+
+i've never seen a haunted house, but i hear there are such things
+that they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings
+i know that house isn't haunted and i wish it were, i do
+for it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two
+
+this house on the road to suffern needs a dozen panes of glass
+and somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass
+it needs new paint and shingles and vines should be trimmed and tied
+but what it needs most of all is some people living inside
+
+if i had a bit of money and all my debts were paid
+i'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade
+i'd buy that place and fix it up the way that it used to be
+and i'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free
+
+now a new home standing empty with staring window and door
+looks idle perhaps and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store
+but there's nothing mournful about it, it cannot be sad and lone
+for the lack of something within it that it has never known
+
+but a house that has done what a house should do, a house that has
+sheltered life
+that has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife
+a house that has echoed a baby's laugh and helped up his stumbling feet
+is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet
+
+so whenever i go to suffern along the erie track
+i never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back
+yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen
+apart
+for i can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken
+heart
+
+
+
+like liquid gold the wheat field lies
+a marvel of yellow and russet and green
+that ripples and runs, that floats and flies
+with the subtle shadows, the change, the sheen
+that play in the golden hair of a girl
+a ripple of amber--a flare
+of light sweeping after--a curl
+in the hollows like swirling feet
+of fairy waltzers, the colors run
+to the western sun
+through the deeps of the ripening wheat
+
+broad as the fleckless, soaring sky
+mysterious, fair as the moon-led sea
+the vast plain flames on the dazzled eye
+under the fierce sun's alchemy
+the slow hawk stoops
+to his prey in the deeps
+the sunflower droops
+to the lazy wave; the wind sleeps
+then swirling in dazzling links and loops
+a riot of shadow and shine
+a glory of olive and amber and wine
+to the westering sun the colors run
+through the deeps of the ripening wheat
+
+o glorious land! my western land
+outspread beneath the setting sun
+once more amid your swells, i stand
+and cross your sod-lands dry and dun
+i hear the jocund calls of men
+who sweep amid the ripened grain
+with swift, stern reapers; once again
+the evening splendor floods the plain
+the crickets' chime
+makes pauseless rhyme
+and toward the sun
+the colors run
+before the wind's feet
+in the wheat
+
+
+
+i walked through the woodland meadows
+where sweet the thrushes sing
+and i found on a bed of mosses
+a bird with a broken wing
+i healed its wound, and each morning
+it sang its old sweet strain
+but the bird with a broken pinion
+never soared as high again
+
+i found a young life broken
+by sin's seductive art
+and touched with a christlike pity
+i took him to my heart
+he lived with a noble purpose
+and struggled not in vain
+but the life that sin had stricken
+never soared as high again
+
+but the bird with a broken pinion
+kept another from the snare
+and the life that sin had stricken
+raised another from despair
+each loss has its compensation
+there is healing for every pain
+but the bird with a broken pinion
+never soars as high again
+
+
+
+it was in the days when claverhouse
+was scouring moor and glen
+to change, with fire and bloody sword
+the faith of scottish men
+
+they had made a covenant with the lord
+firm in their faith to bide
+nor break to him their plighted word
+whatever might betide
+
+the sun was well-nigh setting
+when o'er the heather wild
+and up the narrow mountain-path
+alone there walked a child
+
+he was a bonny, blithesome lad
+sturdy and strong of limb
+a father's pride, a mother's love
+were fast bound up in him
+
+his bright blue eyes glanced fearless round
+his step was firm and light
+what was it underneath his plaid
+his little hands grasped tight
+
+it was bannocks which, that very morn
+his mother made with care
+from out her scanty store of meal
+and now, with many a prayer
+
+had sent by jamie her ane boy
+a trusty lad and brave
+to good old pastor tammons roy
+now hid in yonder cave
+
+and for whom the bloody claverhouse
+had hunted long in vain
+and swore they would not leave that glen
+till old tam roy was slain
+
+so jamie douglas went his way
+with heart that knew no fear
+he turned the great curve in the rock
+nor dreamed that death was near
+
+and there were bloody claverhouse men
+who laughed aloud with glee
+when trembling now within their power
+the frightened child they see
+
+he turns to flee, but all in vain
+they drag him back apace
+to where their cruel leader stands
+and set them face to face
+
+the cakes concealed beneath his plaid
+soon tell the story plain
+exclaimed the angry man
+
+and i will let you go
+but jamie shook his yellow curls
+and stoutly answered--"no
+
+and there upon the stones
+the old gaunt wolf and carrion crow
+shall battle for your bones
+
+and in his brawny, strong right hand
+he lifted up the child
+and held him where the clefted rocks
+formed a chasm deep and wild
+
+so deep it was, the trees below
+like stunted bushes seemed
+poor jamie looked in frightened maze
+it seemed some horrid dream
+
+he looked up at the blue sky above
+then at the men near by
+had _they_ no little boys at home
+that they could let him die
+
+but no one spoke and no one stirred
+or lifted hand to save
+from such a fearful, frightful death
+the little lad so brave
+
+so drop me down then, if you will
+it is nae so deep as hell
+
+a childish scream, a faint, dull sound
+oh! jamie douglas true
+long, long within that lonely cave
+shall tam roy wait for you
+
+long for your welcome coming
+waits the mother on the moor
+and watches and calls, "come, jamie, lad
+through the half-open door
+
+no more adown the rocky path
+you come with fearless tread
+or, on moor or mountain, take
+the good man's daily bread
+
+but up in heaven the shining ones
+a wondrous story tell
+of a child snatched up from a rocky gulf
+that is nae so deep as hell
+
+and there before the great white throne
+forever blessed and glad
+his mother dear and old tam roy
+shall meet their bonny lad
+
+
+never mind me, uncle jared, never mind my bleeding breast
+they are charging in the valley and you're needed with the rest
+all the day long from its dawning till you saw your kinsman fall
+you have answered fresh and fearless to our brave commander's call
+and i would not rob my country of your gallant aid to-night
+though your presence and your pity stay my spirit in its flight
+
+all along that quivering column see the death steed trampling down
+men whose deeds this day are worthy of a kingdom and a crown
+prithee hasten, uncle jared, what's the bullet in my breast
+to that murderous storm of fire raining tortures on the rest
+see! the bayonets flash and falter--look! the foe begins to win
+see! oh, see our falling comrades! god! the ranks are closing in
+
+hark! there's quickening in the distance and a thundering in the air
+like the roaring of a lion just emerging from his lair
+there's a cloud of something yonder fast unrolling like a scroll
+quick! oh, quick! if it be succor that can save the cause a soul
+look! a thousand thirsty bayonets are flashing down the vale
+and a thousand thirsty riders dashing onward like a gale
+
+raise me higher, uncle jared, place the ensign in my hand
+i am strong enough to float it while you cheer that flying band
+louder! louder! shout for freedom with prolonged and vigorous breath
+shout for liberty and union, and the victory over death
+see! they catch the stirring numbers and they swell them to the breeze
+cap and plume and starry banner waving proudly through the trees
+
+mark our fainting comrades rally, see that drooping column rise
+i can almost see the fire newly kindled in their eyes
+fresh for conflict, nerved to conquer, see them charging on the foe
+face to face with deadly meaning--shot and shell and trusty blow
+see the thinned ranks wildly breaking--see them scatter to the sun
+i can die, uncle jared, for the glorious day is won
+
+but there's something, something pressing with a numbness on my heart
+and my lips with mortal dumbness fail the burden to impart
+oh i tell you, uncle jared, there is something back of all
+that a soldier cannot part with when he heeds his country's call
+ask the mother what, in dying, sends her yearning spirit back
+over life's rough, broken marches, where she's pointed out the track
+
+ask the dear ones gathered nightly round the shining household hearth
+what to them is dearer, better, than the brightest things of earth
+ask that dearer one whose loving, like a ceaseless vestal flame
+sets my very soul a-glowing at the mention of her name
+ask her why the loved in dying feels her spirit linked with his
+in a union death but strengthens, she will tell you what it is
+
+and there's something, uncle jared, you may tell her if you will
+that the precious flag she gave me, i have kept unsullied still
+and--this touch of pride forgive me--where death sought our gallant host
+where our stricken lines were weakest, there it ever waved the most
+bear it back and tell her fondly, brighter, purer, steadier far
+
+but forbear, dear uncle jared, when there's something more to tell
+when her lips with rapid blanching bid you answer how i fell
+teach your tongue the trick of slighting, though 'tis faithful to the rest
+lest it say her brother's bullet is the bullet in my breast
+but if it must be that she learn it despite your tenderest care
+
+life is ebbing, uncle jared, my enlistment endeth here
+death, the conqueror, has drafted--i can no more volunteer
+but i hear the roll call yonder and i go with willing feet
+through the shadows of the valley where victorious armies meet
+raise the ensign, uncle jared, let its dear folds o'er me fall
+strength and union for my country--and god's banner over all
+
+
+every coin of earthly treasure
+we have lavished upon earth
+for our simple worldly pleasure
+may be reckoned something worth
+for the spending was not losing
+tho' the purchase were but small
+it has perished with the using
+we have had it,--that is all
+
+all the gold we leave behind us
+when we turn to dust again
+tho' our avarice may blind us
+we have gathered quite in vain
+since we neither can direct it
+by the winds of fortune tost
+nor in other worlds expect it
+what we hoarded we have lost
+
+but each merciful oblation
+seed of pity wisely sown
+what we gave in self-negation
+we may safely call our own
+for the treasure freely given
+is the treasure that we hoard
+since the angels keep in heaven
+what is lent unto the lord
+
+
+
+whence come those shrieks so wild and shrill
+that cut, like blades of steel, the air
+causing the creeping blood to chill
+with the sharp cadence of despair
+
+again they come, as if a heart
+were cleft in twain by one quick blow
+and every string had voice apart
+to utter its peculiar woe
+
+whence came they? from yon temple, where
+an altar, raised for private prayer
+now forms the warrior's marble bed
+who warsaw's gallant armies led
+
+the dim funereal tapers throw
+a holy luster o'er his brow
+and burnish with their rays of light
+the mass of curls that gather bright
+above the haughty brow and eye
+of a young boy that's kneeling by
+
+what hand is that, whose icy press
+clings to the dead with death's own grasp
+but meets no answering caress
+no thrilling fingers seek its clasp
+it is the hand of her whose cry
+rang wildly, late, upon the air
+when the dead warrior met her eye
+outstretched upon the altar there
+
+with pallid lip and stony brow
+she murmurs forth her anguish now
+but hark! the tramp of heavy feet
+is heard along the bloody street
+nearer and nearer yet they come
+with clanking arms and noiseless drum
+now whispered curses, low and deep
+around the holy temple creep
+the gate is burst; a ruffian band
+rush in, and savagely demand
+with brutal voice and oath profane
+the startled boy for exile's chain
+
+the mother sprang with gesture wild
+and to her bosom clasped her child
+then, with pale cheek and flashing eye
+shouted with fearful energy
+too near the body of my dead
+nor touch the living boy; i stand
+between him and your lawless band
+take _me_, and bind these arms--these hands
+with russia's heaviest iron bands
+and drag me to siberia's wild
+to perish, if 'twill save my child
+
+tearing the pale boy from her side
+and in his ruffian grasp he bore
+his victim to the temple door
+will land or gold redeem my son
+take heritage, take name, take all
+but leave him free from russian thrall
+take these!" and her white arms and hands
+she stripped of rings and diamond bands
+and tore from braids of long black hair
+the gems that gleamed like starlight there
+her cross of blazing rubies, last
+down at the russian's feet she cast
+he stooped to seize the glittering store
+up springing from the marble floor
+the mother, with a cry of joy
+snatched to her leaping heart the boy
+but no! the russian's iron grasp
+again undid the mother's clasp
+forward she fell, with one long cry
+of more than mortal agony
+
+but the brave child is roused at length
+and, breaking from the russian's hold
+he stands, a giant in the strength
+of his young spirit, fierce and bold
+proudly he towers; his flashing eye
+so blue, and yet so bright
+seems kindled from the eternal sky
+so brilliant is its light
+
+his curling lips and crimson cheeks
+foretell the thought before he speaks
+with a full voice of proud command
+he turned upon the wondering band
+
+this hour has made the boy a man
+i knelt before my slaughtered sire
+nor felt one throb of vengeful ire
+i wept upon his marble brow
+yes, wept! i was a child; but now
+my noble mother, on her knee
+hath done the work of years for me
+
+he drew aside his broidered vest
+and there, like slumbering serpent's crest
+the jeweled haft of poniard bright
+glittered a moment on the sight
+think ye my noble father's glaive
+would drink the life-blood of a slave
+the pearls that on the handle flame
+would blush to rubies in their shame
+the blade would quiver in thy breast
+ashamed of such ignoble rest
+no! thus i rend the tyrant's chain
+and fling him back a boy's disdain
+
+a moment, and the funeral light
+flashed on the jeweled weapon bright
+another, and his young heart's blood
+leaped to the floor, a crimson flood
+quick to his mother's side he sprang
+and on the air his clear voice rang
+the choice was death or slavery
+up, mother, up! look on thy son
+his freedom is forever won
+and now he waits one holy kiss
+to bear his father home in bliss
+one last embrace, one blessing,--one
+to prove thou knowest, approvest thy son
+what! silent yet? canst thou not feel
+my warm blood o'er thy heart congeal
+speak, mother, speak! lift up thy head
+what! silent still? then art thou dead
+rejoice with thee,--and thus--to die
+one long, deep breath, and his pale head
+lay on his mother's bosom,--dead
+
+
+
+i wrote some lines once on a time
+in wondrous merry mood
+and thought, as usual, men would say
+they were exceeding good
+
+they were so queer, so very queer
+i laughed as i would die
+albeit, in the general way
+
+i called my servant, and he came
+how kind it was of him
+to mind a slender man like me
+he of the mighty limb
+
+and, in my humorous way
+i added (as a trifling jest
+
+he took the paper, and i watched
+and saw him peep within
+at the first line he read, his face
+was all upon the grin
+
+he read the next; the grin grew broad
+and shot from ear to ear
+he read the third; a chuckling noise
+i now began to hear
+
+the fourth; he broke into a roar
+the fifth; his waistband split
+the sixth; he burst five buttons off
+and tumbled in a fit
+
+ten days and nights, with sleepless eye
+i watched that wretched man
+and since, i never dare to write
+as funny as i can
+
+
+
+the shades of night were falling fast
+as through an alpine village passed
+a youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice
+a banner with the strange device
+excelsior
+
+his brow was sad his eye beneath
+flashed like a falchion from its sheath
+and like a silver clarion rung
+the accents of that unknown tongue
+excelsior
+
+in happy homes he saw the light
+of household fires gleam warm and bright
+above, the spectral glaciers shone
+and from his lips escaped a groan
+excelsior
+
+the roaring torrent is deep and wide
+and loud the clarion voice replied
+excelsior
+
+thy weary head upon this breast
+a tear stood in his bright blue eye
+but still he answered, with a sigh
+excelsior
+
+beware the awful avalanche
+this was the peasant's last good-night
+a voice replied, far up the height
+excelsior
+
+at break of day, as heavenward
+the pious monks of saint bernard
+uttered the oft-repeated prayer
+a voice cried through the startled air
+excelsior
+
+a traveller, by the faithful hound
+half-buried in the snow was found
+still grasping in his hand of ice
+that banner with the strange device
+excelsior
+
+there in the twilight cold and gray
+lifeless, but beautiful, he lay
+and from the sky, serene and far
+a voice fell, like a falling star
+excelsior
+
+
+
+the muffled drum's sad roll has beat
+the soldier's last tattoo
+no more on life's parade shall meet
+that brave and fallen few
+on fame's eternal camping ground
+their silent tents are spread
+and glory guards with solemn round
+the bivouac of the dead
+
+no rumor of the foe's advance
+now swells upon the wind
+no troubled thought at midnight haunts
+of loved ones left behind
+no vision of the morrow's strife
+the warrior's dream alarms
+no braying horn or screaming fife
+at dawn shall call to arms
+
+their shivered swords are red with rust
+their plumèd heads are bowed
+their haughty banner, trailed in dust
+is now their martial shroud
+and plenteous funeral tears have washed
+the red stains from each brow
+and the proud forms, by battle gashed
+are free from anguish now
+
+the neighing troop, the flashing blade
+the bugle's stirring blast
+the charge, the dreadful cannonade
+the din and shout are passed
+nor war's wild note, nor glory's peal
+shall thrill with fierce delight
+those breasts that nevermore shall feel
+the rapture of the fight
+
+like a fierce northern hurricane
+that sweeps his great plateau
+flushed with the triumph yet to gain
+came down the serried foe
+who heard the thunder of the fray
+break o'er the field beneath
+knew well the watchword of that day
+was "victory or death
+
+full many a mother's breath hath swept
+o'er angostura's plain
+and long the pitying sky hath wept
+above its moulder'd slain
+the raven's scream, or eagle's flight
+or shepherd's pensive lay
+alone now wake each solemn height
+that frowned o'er that dread fray
+
+sons of the "dark and bloody ground
+ye must not slumber there
+where stranger steps and tongues resound
+along the heedless air
+your own proud land's heroic soil
+shall be your fitter grave
+she claims from war its richest spoil
+the ashes of her brave
+
+thus 'neath their parent turf they rest
+far from the gory field
+borne to a spartan mother's breast
+on many a bloody shield
+the sunshine of their native sky
+smiles sadly on them here
+and kindred eyes and hearts watch by
+the heroes' sepulcher
+
+rest on, embalmed and sainted dead
+dear as the blood ye gave
+no impious footsteps here shall tread
+the herbage of your grave
+nor shall your glory be forgot
+while fame her record keeps
+or honor points the hallowed spot
+where valor proudly sleeps
+
+yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
+in deathless song shall tell
+when many a vanished year hath flown
+the story how ye fell
+nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight
+nor time's remorseless doom
+can dim one ray of holy light
+that gilds your glorious tomb
+
+
+
+come to me, o ye children
+for i hear you at your play
+and the questions that perplexed me
+have vanished quite away
+
+ye open the eastern windows
+that look towards the sun
+where thoughts are singing swallows
+and the brooks of morning run
+
+in your hearts are the birds and the sunshine
+in your thoughts the brooklet's flow
+but in mine is the wind of autumn
+and the first fall of the snow
+
+ah! what would the world be to us
+if the children were no more
+we should dread the desert behind us
+worse than the dark before
+
+what the leaves are to the forest
+with light and air for food
+ere their sweet and tender juices
+have been hardened into wood
+
+that to the world are children
+through them it feels the glow
+of a brighter and sunnier climate
+than reaches the trunks below
+
+come to me, o ye children
+and whisper in my ear
+what the birds and the winds are singing
+in your sunny atmosphere
+
+for what are all our contrivings
+and the wisdom of our books
+when compared with your caresses
+and the gladness of your looks
+
+ye are better than all the ballads
+that ever were sung or said
+for ye are living poems
+and all the rest are dead
+
+
+
+
+there was a sound of revelry by night
+and belgium's capital had gathered then
+her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
+the lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men
+a thousand hearts beat happily; and when
+music arose with its voluptuous swell
+soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again
+and all went merry as a marriage bell
+but hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell
+
+did ye not hear it?--no; 'twas but the wind
+or the car rattling o'er the stony street
+on with the dance! let joy be unconfined
+no sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
+to chase the glowing hours with flying feet
+but, hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more
+as if the clouds its echo would repeat
+and nearer, clearer, deadlier than before
+arm! arm! it is--it is the cannon's opening roar
+
+ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro
+and gathering tears, and tremblings of distress
+and cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
+blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness
+and there were sudden partings, such as press
+the life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
+which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess
+if ever more should meet those mutual eyes
+since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise
+
+and there was mounting in hot haste: the steed
+the mustering squadron, and the clattering car
+went pouring forward with impetuous speed
+and swiftly forming in the ranks of war
+and the deep thunder, peal on peal afar
+and near, the beat of the alarming drum
+roused up the soldier ere the morning star
+while thronged the citizens with terror dumb
+or whispering with white lips, "the foe! they come! they come
+
+last noon beheld them full of lusty life
+last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay
+the midnight brought the signal sound of strife
+the morn the marshaling in arms,--the day
+battle's magnificently stern array
+the thunder clouds close o'er it, which when rent
+the earth is covered thick with other clay
+which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent
+rider and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blent
+
+
+
+this is the land where hate should die
+no feuds of faith, no spleen of race
+no darkly brooding fear should try
+beneath our flag to find a place
+lo! every people here has sent
+its sons to answer freedom's call
+their lifeblood is the strong cement
+that builds and binds the nation's wall
+
+this is the land where hate should die
+though dear to me my faith and shrine
+respect the creeds that are not mine
+he little loves his land who'd cast
+upon his neighbor's word a doubt
+or cite the wrongs of ages past
+from present rights to bar him out
+
+this is the land where hate should die
+this is the land where strife should cease
+where foul, suspicious fear should fly
+before the light of love and peace
+then let us purge from poisoned thought
+that service to the state we give
+and so be worthy as we ought
+of this great land in which we live
+
+
+
+and its organ was the finest and the biggest in the town
+and the chorus--all the papers favorably commented on it
+for 'twas said each female member had a forty-dollar bonnet
+
+now in the "amen corner" of the church sat brother eyer
+who persisted every sabbath-day in singing with the choir
+he was poor but genteel-looking, and his heart as snow was white
+and his old face beamed with sweetness when he sang with all his might
+
+his voice was cracked and broken, age had touched his vocal chords
+and nearly every sunday he would mispronounce the words
+of the hymns, and 'twas no wonder, he was old and nearly blind
+and the choir rattling onward always left him far behind
+
+the chorus stormed and blustered, brother eyer sang too slow
+and then he used the tunes in vogue a hundred years ago
+at last the storm-cloud burst, and the  church was told, in fine
+that the brother must stop singing, or the choir would resign
+
+then the pastor called together in the vestry-room one day
+seven influential members who subscribe more than they pay
+and having asked god's guidance in a printed pray'r or two
+they put their heads together to determine what to do
+
+they debated, thought, suggested, till at last "dear brother york
+who last winter made a million on a sudden rise in pork
+rose and moved that a committee wait at once on brother eyer
+and proceed to rake him lively "for disturbin' of the choir
+
+said he: "in that 'ere organ i've invested quite a pile
+and we'll sell it if we cannot worship in the latest style
+our philadelphy tenor tells me 'tis the hardest thing
+fer to make god understand him when the brother tries to sing
+
+we pay the steepest sal'ry to our pastor, brother brown
+but if we must humor ignorance because it's blind and old
+if the choir's to be pestered, i will seek another fold
+
+of course the motion carried, and one day a coach and four
+with the latest style of driver, rattled up to eyer's door
+and the sleek, well-dress'd committee, brothers sharkey, york and lamb
+as they crossed the humble portal took good care to miss the jamb
+
+they found the choir's great trouble sitting in his old arm chair
+and the summer's golden sunbeams lay upon his thin white hair
+he was singing "rock of ages" in a cracked voice and low
+but the angels understood him, 'twas all he cared to know
+
+said york: "we're here, dear brother, with the vestry's approbation
+to discuss a little matter that affects the congregation
+
+that it was to relieve us, that is, do the singing for us
+if we rupture the agreement, it is very plain, dear brother
+it will leave our congregation and be gobbled by another
+
+the latest tunes are all the rage; the old ones stand for naught
+and so we have decided--are you list'ning, brother eyer
+that you'll have to stop your singin' for it flurrytates the choir
+
+the old man slowly raised his head, a sign that he did hear
+and on his cheek the trio caught the glitter of a tear
+his feeble hands pushed back the locks white as the silky snow
+as he answered the committee in a voice both sweet and low
+
+i'm sorry i disturb the choir, perhaps i'm doing wrong
+but when my heart is filled with praise, i can't keep back a song
+
+in the far-off heav'nly temple, where the master i shall greet
+yes, i wonder when i try to sing the songs of god up high'r
+if the angel band will church me for disturbing heaven's choir
+
+a silence filled the little room; the old man bowed his head
+the carriage rattled on again, but brother eyer was dead
+yes, dead! his hand had raised the veil the future hangs before us
+and the master dear had called him to the everlasting chorus
+
+the choir missed him for a while, but he was soon forgot
+a few church-goers watched the door; the old man entered not
+far away, his voice no longer cracked, he sang his heart's desires
+where there are no church committees and no fashionable choirs
+
+
+
+the sweetest lives are those to duty wed
+whose deeds, both great and small
+are close knit strands of an unbroken thread
+whose love ennobles all
+the world may sound no trumpet, ring no bells
+the book of life, the shining record tells
+thy love shall chant its own beatitudes
+after its own life-working. a child's kiss
+set on thy singing lips shall make thee glad
+a poor man served by thee shall make thee rich
+a sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong
+thou shalt be served thyself by every sense
+of service thou renderest
+
+
+
+i saw him once before
+as he passed by the door
+and again
+the pavement stones resound
+as he totters o'er the ground
+with his cane
+
+they say that in his prime
+ere the pruning-knife of time
+cut him down
+not a better man was found
+by the crier on his round
+through the town
+
+but now he walks the streets
+and he looks at all he meets
+sad and wan
+and he shakes his feeble head
+that it seems as if he said
+
+the mossy marbles rest
+on the lips that he has prest
+in their bloom
+and the names he loved to hear
+have been carved for many a year
+on the tomb
+
+my grandmamma has said
+poor old lady, she is dead
+long ago
+that he had a roman nose
+and his cheek was like a rose
+in the snow
+
+but now his nose is thin
+and it rests upon his chin
+like a staff
+and a crook is in his back
+and a melancholy crack
+in his laugh
+
+i know it is a sin
+for me to sit and grin
+at him here
+but the old three-cornered hat
+and the breeches, and all that
+are so queer
+
+and if i should live to be
+the last leaf upon the tree
+in the spring
+let them smile, as i do now
+at the old forsaken bough
+where i cling
+
+
+
+she's up there--old glory--where lightnings are sped
+she dazzles the nations with ripples of red
+and she'll wave for us living, or droop o'er us dead
+the flag of our country forever
+
+she's up there--old glory--how bright the stars stream
+and the stripes like red signals of liberty gleam
+and we dare for her, living, or dream the last dream
+
+she's up there--old glory--no tyrant-dealt scars
+no blur on her brightness, no stain on her stars
+the brave blood of heroes hath crimsoned her bars
+she's the flag of our country forever
+
+
+
+the melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year
+of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear
+heaped in the hollows of the grove, the withered leaves lie dead
+they rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread
+the robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub the jay
+and from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day
+
+where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood
+in brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood
+alas! they all are in their graves; the gentle race of flowers
+are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours
+the rain is falling where they lie; but the cold november rain
+calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again
+
+the wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago
+and the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow
+but on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood
+and the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood
+till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men
+and the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade and glen
+
+and now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come
+to call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home
+when the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still
+and twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill
+the south wind searches for the flowers, whose fragrance late he bore
+and sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more
+
+and then i think of one who in her youthful beauty died
+the fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side
+in the cold, moist earth we laid her when the forest cast the leaf
+and we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief
+yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours
+so gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers
+
+
+
+the rich man's son inherits lands
+and piles of brick, and stone, and gold
+and he inherits soft white hands
+and tender flesh that fears the cold
+nor dares to wear a garment old
+a heritage, it seems to me
+one scarce would wish to hold in fee
+
+the rich man's son inherits cares
+the bank may break, the factory burn
+a breath may burst his bubble shares
+and soft white hands could hardly earn
+a living that would serve his turn
+a heritage, it seems to me
+one scarce would wish to hold in fee
+
+the rich man's son inherits wants
+his stomach craves for dainty fare
+with sated heart, he hears the pants
+of toiling hinds with brown arms bare
+and wearies in his easy-chair
+a heritage, it seems to me
+one scarce would wish to hold in fee
+
+what doth the poor man's son inherit
+stout muscles and a sinewy heart
+a hardy frame, a hardier spirit
+king of two hands, he does his part
+in every useful toil and art
+a heritage, it seems to me
+a king might wish to hold in fee
+
+what doth the poor man's son inherit
+wishes o'erjoyed with humble things
+a rank, adjudged by toil-won merit
+content that from employment springs
+a heart that in his labor sings
+a heritage, it seems to me
+a king might wish to hold in fee
+
+what doth the poor man's son inherit
+a patience learned of being poor
+courage, if sorrow come, to bear it
+a fellow-feeling that is sure
+to make the outcast bless his door
+a heritage, it seems to me
+a king might wish to hold in fee
+
+o rich man's son! there is a toil
+that with all others level stands
+large charity doth never soil
+but only whiten, soft white hands
+this is the best crop from thy lands
+a heritage it seems to me
+worth being rich to hold in fee
+
+o poor man's son! scorn not thy state
+there is worse weariness than thine
+in merely being rich and great
+toil only gives the soul to shine
+and makes rest fragrant and benign
+a heritage, it seems to me
+worth being poor to hold in fee
+
+both heirs to some six feet of sod
+are equal in the earth at last
+both, children of the same dear god
+prove title to your heirship vast
+by record of a well-filled past
+a heritage, it seems to me
+well worth a life to hold in fee
+
+
+
+oh, east is east, and west is west, and never the twain shall meet
+till earth and sky stand presently at god's great judgment seat
+but there is neither east nor west, border, nor breed, nor birth
+when two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends
+of the earth
+
+kamal is out with twenty men to raise the border side
+and he has lifted the colonel's mare that is the colonel's pride
+he has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day
+and turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away
+then up and spoke the colonel's son that led a troop of the guides
+then up and spoke mahommed khan, the son of the ressaldar
+at dust he harries the abazai--at dawn he is into bonair
+but he must go by fort bukloh to his own place to fare
+so if ye gallop to fort bukloh as fast as a bird can fly
+by the favor of god ye may cut him off ere he win to the tongue of jagai
+but if he be passed the tongue of jagai, right swiftly turn ye then
+for the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown with kamal's
+there is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn
+between
+and ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen
+the colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he
+with the mouth of a bell and the heart of hell, and the head of the
+gallows-tree
+the colonel's son to the fort has won, they bid him stay to eat
+who rides at the tail of a border thief, he sits not long at his meat
+he's up and away from fort bukloh as fast as he can fly
+till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the tongue of jagai
+till he was aware of his father's mare with kamal upon her back
+and when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack
+he has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide
+it's up and over the tongue of jagai, as blown dust-devils go
+the dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe
+the dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above
+but the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a
+glove
+there was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn
+between
+and thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen
+they have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn
+the dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn
+the dun he fell at a water-course--in a woful heap fell he
+and kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free
+he has knocked the pistol out of his hand--small room was there to strive
+there was not a rock of twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree
+but covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee
+if i had raised my bridle-hand, as i have held it low
+the little jackals that flee so fast, were feasting all in a row
+if i had bowed my head on my breast, as i have held it high
+the kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly
+lightly answered the colonel's son: "do good to bird and beast
+but count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast
+if there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away
+belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay
+they will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered
+grain
+the thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are
+slain
+but if thou thinkest the price be fair,--thy brethren wait to sup
+the hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, howl, dog, and call them up
+and if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack
+give me my father's mare again, and i'll fight my own way back
+kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet
+may i eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath
+what dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with death
+lightly answered the colonel's son: "i hold by the blood of my clan
+take up the mare of my father's gift--by god, she has carried a man
+the red mare ran to the colonel's son, and nuzzled against his breast
+so she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded rein
+my broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain
+the colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end
+a friend
+thy father has sent his son to me, i'll send my son to him
+with that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest
+he trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest
+and thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder rides
+till death or i cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed
+thy life is his--thy fate is to guard him with thy head
+so thou must eat the white queen's meat, and all her foes are thine
+and thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the border-line
+and thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power
+belike they will raise thee to ressaldar when i am hanged in peshawur
+they have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no
+fault
+they have taken the oath of the brother-in-blood on leavened bread and
+they have taken the oath of the brother-in-blood  on fire and fresh-cut
+on the hilt and the haft of the khyber knife, and the wondrous names of
+the colonel's son he rides the mare and kamal's boy the dun
+and two have come back to fort bukloh where there went forth but one
+and when they drew to the quarter-guard, full twenty swords flew clear
+there was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer
+sides
+last night ye had struck at a border thief--to-night 'tis a man of the
+guides
+
+oh, east is east, and west is west, and never the two shall meet
+till earth and sky stand presently at god's great judgment seat
+but there is neither east nor west, border, nor breed, nor birth
+when two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends
+of the earth
+
+
+
+it was many and many a year ago
+in a kingdom by the sea
+that a maiden there lived whom you may know
+by the name of annabel lee
+and this maiden she lived with no other thought
+than to love and be loved by me
+
+i was a child, and she was a child
+in this kingdom by the sea
+but we loved with a love that was more than love
+i and my annabel lee
+with a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
+coveted her and me
+
+and this was the reason that, long ago
+in this kingdom by the sea
+a wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
+my beautiful annabel lee
+so that her highborn kinsmen came
+and bore her away from me
+to shut her up in a sepulchre
+in this kingdom by the sea
+
+the angels, not half so happy in heaven
+went envying her and me
+yes! that was the reason (as all men know
+in this kingdom by the sea
+that the wind came out of the cloud by night
+chilling and killing my annabel lee
+
+but our love it was stronger by far than the love
+of those who were older than we
+of many far wiser than we
+and neither the angels in heaven above
+nor the demons down under the sea
+can ever dissever my soul from the soul
+of the beautiful annabel lee
+
+for the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
+of the beautiful annabel lee
+and the stars never rise, but i feel the bright eyes
+of the beautiful annabel lee
+and so all the night-tide, i lie down by the side
+of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride
+in her sepulchre there by the sea
+in her tomb by the sounding sea
+
+
+
+there fell an april shower, one night
+next morning, in the garden-bed
+the crocuses stood straight and gold
+
+there fell an april shower, one night
+next morning, thro' the woodland spread
+the mayflowers, pink and sweet as youth
+
+there fell an april shower, one night
+next morning, sweetly, overhead
+the blue-birds sung, the blue-birds sung
+
+
+
+i come, i come! ye have called me long
+i come o'er the mountains, with light and song
+ye may trace my step o'er the waking earth
+by the winds which tell of the violet's birth
+by the primrose stars in the shadowy grass
+by the green leaves opening as i pass
+
+i have breathed on the south, and the chestnut flowers
+by thousands have burst from the forest bowers
+and the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
+are veiled with wreaths as italian plains
+but it is not for me, in my hour of bloom
+to speak of the ruin or the tomb
+
+i have looked o'er the hills of the stormy north
+and the larch has hung all his tassels forth
+the fisher is out on the sunny sea
+and the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free
+and the pine has a fringe of softer green
+and the moss looks bright, where my step has been
+
+i have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh
+and called out each voice of the deep blue sky
+from the night-bird's lay through the starry time
+in the groves of the soft hesperian clime
+to the swan's wild note by the iceland lakes
+when the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks
+
+from the streams and founts i have loosed the chain
+they are sweeping on to the silvery main
+they are flashing down from the mountain brows
+they are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs
+they are bursting fresh from their sparry caves
+and the earth resounds with the joy of waves
+
+
+
+has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys
+if there has take him out, without making a noise
+hang the almanac's cheat and the catalogue's spite
+old time is a liar! we're twenty tonight
+
+we're twenty! we're twenty! who says we are more
+he's tipsy--young jackanapes!--show him the door
+where the snowflakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze
+
+was it snowing i spoke of? excuse the mistake
+look close--you will see not a sign of a flake
+we want some new garlands for those we have shed
+and these are white roses in place of the red
+
+we've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told
+of talking (in public) as if we were old
+that boy we call "doctor," and this we call "judge
+it's a neat little fiction--of course it's all fudge
+
+that fellow's the "speaker"--the one on the right
+that's our "member of congress," we say when we chaff
+there's the "reverend" what's-his-name?--don't make me laugh
+
+that boy with the grave mathematical look
+made believe he had written a wonderful book
+and the royal society thought it was _true
+so they chose him right in; a good joke it was, too
+
+there's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain
+that could harness a team with a logical chain
+when he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire
+we called him "the justice," but now he's "the squire
+
+and there's a nice youngster of excellent pith
+fate tried to conceal him by naming him smith
+but he shouted a song for the brave and the free
+just read on his medal, "my country," "of thee
+
+you hear that boy laughing? you think he's all fun
+but the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done
+the children laugh loud as they troop to his call
+and the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all
+
+yes, we're boys--always playing with tongue or with pen
+and i sometimes have asked, shall we ever be men
+shall we always be youthful and laughing and gay
+till the last dear companion drops smiling away
+
+then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray
+the stars of its winter, the dews of its may
+and when we have done with our life-lasting toys
+
+
+
+the day is cold, and dark, and dreary
+it rains, and the wind is never weary
+the vine still clings to the mouldering wall
+but at every gust the dead leaves fall
+and the day is dark and dreary
+
+my life is cold, and dark, and dreary
+it rains, and the wind is never weary
+my thoughts still cling to the mouldering past
+but the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
+and the days are dark and dreary
+
+be still, sad heart! and cease repining
+behind the clouds is the sun still shining
+thy fate is the common fate of all
+into each life some rain must fall
+some days must be dark and dreary
+
+
+
+of the "house by the side of the way
+our master had neither a house nor a home
+but he walked with the crowd day by day
+and i think, when i read of the poet's desire
+that a house by the road would be good
+but service is found in its tenderest form
+when we walk with the crowd in the road
+
+so i say, let me walk with the men in the road
+let me seek out the burdens that crush
+let me speak a kind word of good cheer to the weak
+who are falling behind in the rush
+there are wounds to be healed, there are breaks we must mend
+there's a cup of cold water to give
+and the man in the road by the side of his friend
+is the man who has learned to live
+
+then tell me no more of the house by the road
+there is only one place i can live
+it's there with the men who are toiling along
+who are needing the cheer i can give
+it is pleasant to live in the house by the way
+and be a friend, as the poet has said
+but the master is bidding us, "bear ye their load
+for your rest waiteth yonder ahead
+
+i could not remain in the house by the road
+and watch as the toilers go on
+their faces beclouded with pain and with sin
+so burdened, their strength nearly gone
+i'll go to their side, i'll speak in good cheer
+i'll help them to carry their load
+and i'll smile at the man in the house by the way
+as i walk with the crowd in the road
+
+out there in the road that goes by the house
+where the poet is singing his song
+i'll walk and i'll work midst the heat of the day
+and i'll help falling brothers along
+too busy to live in the house by the way
+too happy for such an abode
+and my heart sings its praise to the master of all
+who is helping me serve in the road
+
+
+
+could we but draw back the curtains
+that surround each other's lives
+see the naked heart and spirit
+know what spur the action gives
+often we should find it better
+purer than we judged we should
+we should love each other better
+if we only understood
+
+could we judge all deeds by motives
+see the good and bad within
+often we should love the sinner
+all the while we loathe the sin
+could we know the powers working
+to o'erthrow integrity
+we should judge each other's errors
+with more patient charity
+
+if we knew the cares and trials
+knew the effort all in vain
+and the bitter disappointment
+understood the loss and gain
+would the grim, eternal roughness
+seem--i wonder--just the same
+should we help where now we hinder
+should we pity where we blame
+
+ah! we judge each other harshly
+knowing not life's hidden force
+knowing not the fount of action
+is less turbid at its source
+seeing not amid the evil
+all the golden grains of good
+oh! we'd love each other better
+if we only understood
+
+
+she sat on the sliding cushion
+the dear, wee woman of four
+her feet, in their shiny slippers
+hung dangling over the floor
+she meant to be good; she had promised
+and so, with her big, brown eyes
+she stared at the meeting-house windows
+and counted the crawling flies
+
+she looked far up at the preacher
+but she thought of the honey bees
+droning away at the blossoms
+that whitened the cherry trees
+she thought of a broken basket
+where, curled in a dusky heap
+lay snuggled and fast asleep
+
+such soft warm bodies to cuddle
+such queer little hearts to beat
+such swift, round tongues to kiss
+such sprawling, cushiony feet
+she could feel in her clasping fingers
+the touch of a satiny skin
+and a cold wet nose exploring
+the dimples under her chin
+
+then a sudden ripple of laughter
+ran over the parted lips
+so quick that she could not catch it
+with her rosy finger-tips
+the people whispered, "bless the child
+as each one waked from a nap
+but the dear, wee woman hid her face
+for shame in her mother's lap
+
+
+it was an old, old, old, old lady
+and a boy that was half past three
+and the way that they played together
+was beautiful to see
+
+she couldn't go running and jumping
+and the boy, no more could he
+for he was a thin little fellow
+with a thin little twisted knee
+
+they sat in the yellow sunlight
+out under the maple-tree
+and the game that they played i'll tell you
+just as it was told to me
+
+it was hide-and-go-seek they were playing
+though you'd never have known it to be
+with an old, old, old, old lady
+and a boy with a twisted knee
+
+the boy would bend his face down
+on his one little sound right knee
+and he'd guess where she was hiding
+in guesses one, two, three
+
+he would cry, and laugh with glee
+it wasn't the china-closet
+but he still had two and three
+
+in the chest with the queer old key
+and she said: "you are _warm_ and _warmer
+but you're not quite right," said she
+
+where mamma's things used to be
+so it must be the clothes-press, gran'ma
+and he found her with his three
+
+then she covered her face with her fingers
+that were wrinkled and white and wee
+and she guessed where the boy was hiding
+with a one and a two and a three
+
+and they never had stirred from their places
+right under the maple-tree
+this old, old, old, old lady
+and the boy with the lame little knee
+this dear, dear, dear old lady
+and the boy who was half past three
+
+
+
+they said, "the master is coming
+to honor the town to-day
+and none can tell at what house or home
+the master will choose to stay
+and i thought while my heart beat wildly
+what if he should come to mine
+how would i strive to entertain
+and honor the guest divine
+
+and straight i turned to toiling
+to make my house more neat
+i swept, and polished, and garnished
+and decked it with blossoms sweet
+i was troubled for fear the master
+might come ere my work was done
+and i hasted and worked the faster
+and watched the hurrying sun
+
+but right in the midst of my duties
+a woman came to my door
+she had come to tell me her sorrows
+and my comfort and aid to implore
+and i said, "i cannot listen
+nor help you any, to-day
+i have greater things to attend to
+and the pleader turned away
+
+but soon there came another
+a cripple, thin, pale and gray
+and said, "oh, let me stop and rest
+a while in your house, i pray
+i have traveled far since morning
+i am hungry, and faint, and weak
+my heart is full of misery
+and comfort and help i seek
+
+and i cried, "i am grieved and sorry
+but i cannot help you to-day
+i look for a great and noble guest
+and the cripple went away
+and the day wore onward swiftly
+and my task was nearly done
+and a prayer was ever in my heart
+that the master to me might come
+
+and i thought i would spring to meet him
+and serve him with utmost care
+when a little child stood by me
+with a face so sweet and fair
+sweet, but with marks of teardrops
+and his clothes were tattered and old
+a finger was bruised and bleeding
+and his little bare feet were cold
+
+and i said, "i'm sorry for you
+you are sorely in need of care
+but i cannot stop to give it
+you must hasten otherwhere
+and at the words, a shadow
+swept o'er his blue-veined brow
+but i am too busy now
+
+at last the day was ended
+and my toil was over and done
+my house was swept and garnished
+and i watched in the dark--alone
+watched--but no footfall sounded
+no one paused at my gate
+no one entered my cottage door
+i could only pray--and wait
+
+i waited till night had deepened
+and the master had not come
+my labor had been for nothing
+and i bowed my head and i wept
+my heart was sore with longing
+yet--in spite of it all--i slept
+
+then the master stood before me
+and his face was grave and fair
+and craved your pity and care
+three times you sent me onward
+unhelped and uncomforted
+and the blessing you might have had was lost
+and your chance to serve has fled
+
+how could i know it was thee
+my very soul was shamed and bowed
+in the depths of humility
+and he said, "the sin is pardoned
+but the blessing is lost to thee
+for comforting not the least of mine
+you have failed to comfort me
+
+
+
+i wish there were some wonderful place
+called the land of beginning again
+where all our mistakes and all our heartaches
+and all our poor, selfish griefs
+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 a lost trail
+and i wish that the one whom our blindness had done
+the greatest injustice of all
+could be at the gate like the old friend that waits
+for the comrade he's gladdest to hail
+
+we would find the things we intended to do
+but forgot and remembered too late
+little praises unspoken, little promises broken
+and all of the thousand and one
+little duties neglected that might have perfected
+the days of 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 moments of victory here
+would find the grasp of our loving handclasp
+more than penitent lips could explain
+
+for what had been hardest we'd know 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
+and i think that the laughter is most what we're after
+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 our poor, selfish griefs
+could be dropped, like a ragged old coat, at the door
+and never put on again
+
+
+
+prop yer eyes wide open, joey
+fur i've brought you sumpin' great
+apples? no, a derned sight better
+don't you take no int'rest? wait
+flowers, joe--i know'd you'd like 'em
+ain't them scrumptious? ain't them high
+tears, my boy? wot's them fur, joey
+there--poor little joe--don't cry
+
+i was skippin' past a winder
+w'ere a bang-up lady sot
+all amongst a lot of bushes
+each one climbin' from a pot
+every bush had flowers on it
+pretty? mebbe not! oh, no
+wish you could 'a seen 'em growin
+it was such a stunnin' show
+
+well, i thought of you, poor feller
+lyin' here so sick and weak
+never knowin' any comfort
+and i puts on lots o' cheek
+could i ax you for a rose
+for my little brother, missus
+never seed one, i suppose
+
+then i told her all about you
+how i bringed you up--poor joe
+sich a imp you was, you know
+till you got that awful tumble
+jist as i had broke yer in
+blackin' boots for honest tin
+
+how that tumble crippled of you
+so's you couldn't hyper much
+joe, it hurted when i seen you
+fur the first time with yer crutch
+joe, she up and went to cuttin
+that's the how of this bokay
+
+say! it seems to me, ole feller
+you is quite yourself to-night
+kind o' chirk--it's been a fortnit
+sense yer eyes has been so bright
+better? well, i'm glad to hear it
+yes, they're mighty pretty, joe
+smellin' of 'em's made you happy
+well, i thought it would, you know
+
+never see the country, did you
+flowers growin' everywhere
+some time when you're better, joey
+mebbe i kin take you there
+flowers in heaven? 'm--i s'pose so
+dunno much about it, though
+ain't as fly as wot i might be
+on them topics, little joe
+
+but i've heerd it hinted somewheres
+that in heaven's golden gates
+things is everlastin' cheerful
+b'lieve that's what the bible states
+likewise, there folks don't git hungry
+so good people, w'en they dies
+finds themselves well fixed forever
+joe my boy, wot ails yer eyes
+
+thought they looked a little sing'ler
+oh, no! don't you have no fear
+heaven was made fur such as you is
+joe, wot makes you look so queer
+here--wake up! oh, don't look that way
+joe! my boy! hold up yer head
+here's yer flowers--you dropped em, joey
+oh, my god, can joe be dead
+
+
+
+saint augustine! well hast thou said
+that of our vices we can frame
+a ladder, if we will but tread
+beneath our feet each deed of shame
+
+all common things, each day's events
+that with the hour begin and end
+our pleasures and our discontents
+are rounds by which we may ascend
+
+the low desire, the base design
+that makes another's virtues less
+the revel of the ruddy wine
+and all occasions of excess
+
+the longing for ignoble things
+the strife for triumph more than truth
+the hardening of the heart, that brings
+irreverence for the dreams of youth
+
+all thoughts of ill; all evil deeds
+that have their root in thoughts of ill
+whatever hinders or impedes
+the action of the nobler will
+
+all these must first be trampled down
+beneath our feet, if we would gain
+in the bright fields of fair renown
+the right of eminent domain
+
+we have not wings, we cannot soar
+but we have feet to scale and climb
+by slow degrees, by more and more
+the cloudy summits of our time
+
+the mighty pyramids of stone
+that wedge-like cleave the desert airs
+when nearer seen, and better known
+are but gigantic flights of stairs
+
+the distant mountains, that uprear
+their solid bastions to the skies
+are crossed by pathways, that appear
+as we to higher levels rise
+
+the heights by great men reached and kept
+were not attained by sudden flight
+but they, while their companions slept
+were toiling upward in the night
+
+standing on what too long we bore
+with shoulders bent and downcast eyes
+we may discern--unseen before
+a path to higher destinies
+
+nor deem the irrevocable past
+as wholly wasted, wholly vain
+if, rising on its wrecks, at last
+to something nobler we attain
+
+
+
+when i compare
+what i have lost with what i have gained
+what i have missed with what attained
+little room do i find for pride
+
+i am aware
+how many days have been idly spent
+how like an arrow the good intent
+has fallen short or been turned aside
+
+but who shall dare
+to measure loss and gain in this wise
+defeat may be victory in disguise
+the lowest ebb in the turn of the tide
+
+
+
+
+a fellow near kentucky's clime
+cries, "boatman, do not tarry
+and i'll give thee a silver dime
+to row us o'er the ferry
+
+this dark and stormy water
+and she john thompson's daughter
+
+with great precipitation
+and should he find us here to-night
+i'd lose my reputation
+
+his horsemen hard have pressed me
+and who will cheer my bonny bride
+if yet they shall arrest me
+
+out spoke the boatman then in time
+i'll go not for your silver dime
+but--for your manly spirit
+
+in danger shall not tarry
+for though a storm is coming on
+i'll row you o'er the ferry
+
+by this the wind more fiercely rose
+the boat was at the landing
+and with the drenching rain their clothes
+grew wet where they were standing
+
+but still, as wilder rose the wind
+and as the night grew drearer
+just back a piece came the police
+their tramping sounded nearer
+
+i'll leave the light of loving eyes
+but not my father's money
+
+and still they hurried in the race
+of wind and rain unsparing
+john thompson reached the landing-place
+his wrath was turned to swearing
+
+for by the lightning's angry flash
+his child he did discover
+one lovely hand held all the cash
+and one was round her lover
+
+across the stormy water
+my daughter, oh, my daughter
+
+the gold he piled went with his child
+and he was left there, minus
+
+
+
+my grandfather's clock was too tall for the shelf
+so it stood ninety years on the floor
+it was taller by half than the old man himself
+though it weighed not a pennyweight more
+it was bought on the morn of the day that he was born
+and was always his treasure and pride
+but it stopped short ne'er to go again
+when the old man died
+
+in watching its pendulum swing to and fro
+many hours had he spent while a boy
+and in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
+and to share both his grief and his joy
+for it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door
+with a blooming and beautiful bride
+but it stopped short never to go again
+when the old man died
+
+my grandfather said that of those he could hire
+not a servant so faithful he found
+for it wasted no time and had but one desire
+at the close of each week to be wound
+and it kept in its place, not a frown upon its face
+and its hands never hung by its side
+but it stopped short never to go again
+when the old man died
+
+
+
+hush! my dear, lie still and slumber
+holy angels guard thy bed
+heavenly blessings without number
+gently falling on thy head
+
+sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment
+house and home, thy friends provide
+all without thy care or payment
+all thy wants are well supplied
+
+how much better thou'rt attended
+than the son of god could be
+when from heaven he descended
+and became a child like thee
+
+soft and easy is thy cradle
+coarse and hard thy saviour lay
+when his birthplace was a stable
+and his softest bed was hay
+
+blessed babe! what glorious features
+spotless fair, divinely bright
+must he dwell with brutal creatures
+how could angels bear the sight
+
+was there nothing but a manger
+cursed sinners could afford
+to receive the heavenly stranger
+did they thus affront their lord
+
+soft, my child: i did not chide thee
+though my song might sound too hard
+and her arm shall be thy guard
+
+telling wonders from the sky
+where they sought him, there they found him
+with his virgin mother by
+
+see the lovely babe a-dressing
+lovely infant, how he smiled
+when he wept, his mother's blessing
+soothed and hush'd the holy child
+
+lo, he slumbers in a manger
+where the hornèd oxen fed
+peace, my darling, here's no danger
+there's no ox anear thy bed
+
+trust and love him all thy days
+then go dwell forever near him
+see his face, and sing his praise
+
+
+
+if all the skies were sunshine
+our faces would be fain
+to feel once more upon them
+the cooling splash of rain
+
+if all the world were music
+our hearts would often long
+for one sweet strain of silence
+to break the endless song
+
+if life were always merry
+our souls would seek relief
+and rest from weary laughter
+in the quiet arms of grief
+
+
+
+in a valley, centuries ago
+grew a little fern leaf, green and slender
+veining delicate and fibers tender
+waving when the wind crept down so low
+rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it
+playful sunbeams darted in and found it
+drops of dew stole down by night and crowned it
+but no foot of man e'er came that way
+earth was young and keeping holiday
+
+monster fishes swam the silent main
+stately forests waved their giant branches
+mountains hurled their snowy avalanches
+mammoth creatures stalked across the plain
+nature reveled in grand mysteries
+but the little fern was not like these
+did not number with the hills and trees
+only grew and waved its sweet, wild way
+no one came to note it day by day
+
+earth, one time, put on a frolic mood
+heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion
+of the strong, dread currents of the ocean
+moved the hills and shook the haughty wood
+crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay
+covered it, and hid it safe away
+oh, the long, long centuries since that day
+oh, the changes! oh, life's bitter cost
+since the little useless fern was lost
+
+useless? lost? there came a thoughtful man
+searching nature's secrets far and deep
+from a fissure in a rocky steep
+he withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran
+fairy pencilings, a quaint design
+leafage, veining, fibers, clear and fine
+and the fern's life lay in every line
+so, i think, god hides some souls away
+sweetly to surprise us the last day
+
+
+
+cleon hath ten thousand acres
+cleon dwelleth in a palace
+cleon hath a dozen fortunes
+yet the poorer of the twain is
+
+cleon, true, possesseth acres
+half the charms to me it yieldeth
+money cannot buy
+cleon harbors sloth and dullness
+he in velvet, i in fustian
+
+cleon is a slave to grandeur
+cleon fees a score of doctors
+wealth-surrounded, care-environed
+cleon fears to die
+death may come--he'll find me ready
+
+cleon sees no charms in nature
+cleon hears no anthems ringing
+nature sings to me forever
+state for state, with all attendants
+
+
+
+great were the hearts and strong the minds
+of those who framed in high debate
+the immortal league of love that binds
+our fair, broad empire, state with state
+
+and deep the gladness of the hour
+when, as the auspicious task was done
+in solemn trust the sword of power
+was given to glory's unspoiled son
+
+that noble race is gone--the suns
+of fifty years have risen and set
+but the bright links, those chosen ones
+so strongly forged, are brighter yet
+
+wide--as our own free race increase
+wide shall extend the elastic chain
+and bind in everlasting peace
+state after state, a mighty train
+
+
+
+a parody on "curfew shall not ring tonight
+
+slow the kansas sun was setting
+o'er the wheat fields far away
+streaking all the air with cobwebs
+at the close of one hot day
+and the last rays kissed the forehead
+of a man and maiden fair
+he with whiskers short and frowsy
+she with red and glistening hair
+he with shut jaws stern and silent
+she, with lips all cold and white
+struggled to keep back the murmur
+
+and i have a real lover
+though he's rather young and green
+but he has a horse and buggy
+and a cow and thirty hens
+boys that start out poor, dear papa
+make the best of honest men
+but if towser sees and bites him
+fills his eyes with misty light
+he will never come again, pa
+towser must be tied to-night
+
+like a carving knife through chicken
+as it hunts the tender part
+two of them are ripe to-day
+towser must be loose to watch them
+or they'll all be stole away
+i have hoed them late and early
+in dim morn and evening light
+now they're grown i must not lose them
+towser'll not be tied to-night
+
+then the old man ambled forward
+opened wide the kennel-door
+towser bounded forth to meet him
+as he oft had done before
+and the farmer stooped and loosed him
+from the dog-chain short and stout
+to himself he softly chuckled
+but the maiden at the window
+saw the cruel teeth show white
+in an undertone she murmured
+
+then the maiden's brow grew thoughtful
+and her breath came short and quick
+till she spied the family clothesline
+and she whispered, "that's the trick
+from the kitchen door she glided
+with a plate of meat and bread
+towser wagged his tail in greeting
+knowing well he would be fed
+in his well-worn leather collar
+tied she then the clothesline tight
+all the time her white lips saying
+
+but the front gate's free and open
+when john henry lifts the latch
+for the clothesline tight is fastened
+to the harvest apple tree
+you can run and watch the melons
+but the front gate you can't see
+then her glad ears hear a buggy
+and her eyes grow big and bright
+while her young heart says in gladness
+
+up the path the young man saunters
+with his eye and cheek aglow
+for he loves the red-haired maiden
+and he aims to tell her so
+bessie's roguish little brother
+in a fit of boyish glee
+had untied the slender clothesline
+from the harvest apple tree
+then old towser heard the footsteps
+raised his bristles, fixed for fight
+
+then old towser bounded forward
+passed the open kitchen door
+bessie screamed and quickly followed
+but john henry's gone before
+down the path he speeds most quickly
+for old towser sets the pace
+and the maiden close behind them
+shows them she is in the race
+then the clothesline, can she get it
+and her eyes grow big and bright
+and she springs and grasps it firmly
+
+oftentimes a little minute
+forms the destiny of men
+you can change the fate of nations
+by the stroke of one small pen
+towser made one last long effort
+caught john henry by the pants
+but john henry kept on running
+for he thought that his last chance
+but the maiden held on firmly
+and the rope was drawn up tight
+but old towser kept the garments
+for he was not tied that night
+
+then the father hears the racket
+with long strides he soon is there
+when john henry and the maiden
+crouching, for the worst prepare
+at his feet john tells his story
+shows his clothing soiled and torn
+and his face so sad and pleading
+yet so white and scared and worn
+touched the old man's heart with pity
+filled his eyes with misty light
+towser shall be tied to-night
+
+
+o liberty, thou child of law
+god's seal is on thy brow
+o law, her mother first and last
+god's very self art thou
+two flowers alike, yet not alike
+on the same stem that grow
+two friends who cannot live apart
+yet seem each other's foe
+one, the smooth river's mirrored flow
+which decks the world with green
+and one, the bank of sturdy rock
+which hems the river in
+o daughter of the timeless past
+o hope the prophets saw
+god give us law in liberty
+and liberty in law
+
+
+
+beneath the hot midsummer sun
+the men had marched all day
+and now beside a rippling stream
+upon the grass they lay
+tiring of games and idle jest
+as swept the hours along
+they cried to one who mused apart
+
+are those my mother used to sing
+for me long years ago
+to every mother's son of us
+a mother's songs are dear
+
+then sweetly rose the singer's voice
+amid unwonted calm
+a follower of the lamb
+and shall i fear to own his cause
+the very stream was stilled
+and hearts that never throbbed with fear
+with tender thoughts were filled
+
+ended the song, the singer said
+as to his feet he rose
+god grant us sweet repose
+the soldier bent his head
+then, glancing round, with smiling lips
+
+sweet as the bugle call
+let angels prostrate fall
+ah, wondrous was the old tune's spell
+as on the soldiers sang
+man after man fell into line
+and loud the voices rang
+
+the songs are done, the camp is still
+naught but the stream is heard
+but, ah! the depths of every soul
+by those old hymns are stirred
+and up from many a bearded lip
+in whispers soft and low
+rises the prayer that mother taught
+her boy long years ago
+
+
+we all look on with anxious eyes
+when father carves the duck
+and mother almost always sighs
+when father carves the duck
+then all of us prepare to rise
+and hold our bibs before our eyes
+and be prepared for some surprise
+when father carves the duck
+
+he braces up and grabs the fork
+whene'er he carves the duck
+and won't allow a soul to talk
+until he carves the duck
+the fork is jabbed into the sides
+across the breast the knife he slides
+while every careful person hides
+from flying chips of duck
+
+the platter's always sure to slip
+when father carves the duck
+and how it makes the dishes skip
+potatoes fly amuck
+the squash and cabbage leap in space
+we get some gravy in our face
+and father mutters hindoo grace
+whene'er he carves a duck
+
+we then have learned to walk around
+the dining room and pluck
+from off the window-sills and walls
+our share of father's duck
+while father growls and blows and jaws
+and swears the knife was full of flaws
+and mother laughs at him because
+he couldn't carve a duck
+
+
+
+i was sitting in my study
+writing letters when i heard
+mamma mustn't be 'isturbed
+
+want some ozzer fing to do
+witing letters, is 'ou, mamma
+tan't i wite a letter too
+
+run and play with kitty, now
+tan if 'ou will show me how
+
+i would paint my darling's portrait
+as his sweet eyes searched my face
+hair of gold and eyes of azure
+form of childish, witching grace
+
+but the eager face was clouded
+as i slowly shook my head
+till i said, "i'll make a letter
+of you, darling boy, instead
+
+so i parted back the tresses
+from his forehead high and white
+and a stamp in sport i pasted
+
+then i said, "now, little letter
+go away and bear good news
+and i smiled as down the staircase
+clattered loud the little shoes
+
+leaving me, the darling hurried
+down to mary in his glee
+i'se a letter, mary--see
+
+no one heard the little prattler
+as once more he climbed the stair
+reached his little cap and tippet
+standing on the entry stair
+
+no one heard the front door open
+no one saw the golden hair
+as it floated o'er his shoulders
+in the crisp october air
+
+down the street the baby hastened
+till he reached the office door
+is there room for any more
+
+papa lives with god, 'ou know
+mamma sent me for a letter
+does 'ou fink 'at i tan go
+
+but the clerk in wonder answered
+
+fain the clerk would have detained him
+but the pleading face was gone
+and the little feet were hastening
+by the busy crowd swept on
+
+suddenly the crowd was parted
+people fled to left and right
+as a pair of maddened horses
+at the moment dashed in sight
+
+no one saw the baby figure
+no one saw the golden hair
+till a voice of frightened sweetness
+rang out on the autumn air
+
+stood the beauteous vision there
+then the little face lay lifeless
+covered o'er with golden hair
+
+reverently they raised my darling
+brushed away the curls of gold
+saw the stamp upon the forehead
+growing now so icy cold
+
+not a mark the face disfigured
+showing where a hoof had trod
+but the little life was ended
+
+
+will you listen to me
+who stole four eggs i laid
+and the nice nest i made
+
+such a thing i'd never do
+i gave you a wisp of hay
+but didn't take your nest away
+not i," said the cow, "moo-oo
+such a thing i'd never do
+
+will you listen to me
+who stole four eggs i laid
+and the nice nest i made
+
+i wouldn't be so mean, anyhow
+i gave the hairs the nest to make
+but the nest i did not take
+not i," said the dog, "bow-wow
+i'm not so mean, anyhow
+
+will you listen to me
+who stole four eggs i laid
+and the nice nest i made
+
+i wouldn't treat a poor bird so
+i gave the wool the nest to line
+but the nest was none of mine
+baa! baa!" said the sheep; "oh, no
+i wouldn't treat a poor bird so
+
+what thief took away
+a bird's nest to-day
+
+said little mary green
+of anything so mean
+
+said little alice neal
+how sad the bird would feel
+
+a little boy hung down his head
+and went and hid behind the bed
+for he stole that pretty nest
+from poor little yellow-breast
+and he felt so full of shame
+he didn't like to tell his name
+
+
+
+i, who was always counted, they say
+rather a bad stick anyway
+splintered all over with dodges and tricks
+known as "the worst of the deacon's six
+i, the truant, saucy and bold
+the one black sheep in my father's fold
+went over the hill on a winter's day
+
+tom could save what twenty could earn
+but _givin'_ was somethin' he ne'er would learn
+isaac could half o' the scriptur's speak
+committed a hundred verses a week
+never forgot, an' never slipped
+but "honor thy father and mother," he skipped
+
+as for susan, her heart was kind
+an' good--what there was of it, mind
+nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice
+nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice
+for one she loved; an' that 'ere one
+was herself, when all was said an' done
+an' charley an' 'becca meant well, no doubt
+but anyone could pull 'em about
+an' all o' our folks ranked well, you see
+save one poor fellow, an' that was me
+an' when, one dark an' rainy night
+a neighbor's horse went out o' sight
+they hitched on me, as the guilty chap
+that carried one end o' the halter-strap
+an' i think, myself, that view of the case
+wasn't altogether out o' place
+my mother denied it, as mothers do
+but i am inclined to believe 'twas true
+though for me one thing might be said
+that i, as well as the horse, was led
+and the worst of whisky spurred me on
+or else the deed would have never been done
+but the keenest grief i ever felt
+was when my mother beside me knelt
+an' cried, an' prayed, till i melted down
+as i wouldn't for half the horses in town
+i kissed her fondly, then an' there
+an' swore henceforth to be honest and square
+
+i served my sentence--a bitter pill
+some fellows should take who never will
+and then i decided to go "out west
+concludin' 'twould suit my health the best
+where, how i prospered, i never could tell
+but fortune seemed to like me well
+an' somehow every vein i struck
+was always bubbling over with luck
+an', better than that, i was steady an' true
+an' put my good resolutions through
+but i wrote to a trusty old neighbor, an' said
+an' died a christian; 'twill please 'em more
+than if i had lived the same as before
+
+but when this neighbor he wrote to me
+i had a resurrection straightway
+an' started for her that very day
+and when i arrived where i was grown
+i took good care that i shouldn't be known
+but i bought the old cottage, through and through
+of someone charley had sold it to
+and held back neither work nor gold
+to fix it up as it was of old
+the same big fire-place, wide and high
+flung up its cinders toward the sky
+the old clock ticked on the corner-shelf
+i wound it an' set it a-goin' myself
+an' if everything wasn't just the same
+neither i nor money was to blame
+
+one blowin', blusterin' winter's day
+with a team an' cutter i started away
+my fiery nags was as black as coal
+i hitched, an' entered the poor-house door
+a poor old woman was scrubbin' the floor
+she rose to her feet in great surprise
+and looked, quite startled, into my eyes
+i saw the whole of her trouble's trace
+in the lines that marred her dear old face
+you're adopted along o' your horse thief son
+
+she didn't faint; she knelt by my side
+an' thanked the lord, till i fairly cried
+an' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant an' gay
+an' maybe she wasn't wrapped up that day
+an' maybe our cottage wasn't warm an' bright
+an' maybe it wasn't a pleasant sight
+to see her a-gettin' the evenin's tea
+an' frequently stoppin' an' kissin' me
+an' maybe we didn't live happy for years
+in spite of my brothers' and sisters' sneers
+who often said, as i have heard
+that they wouldn't own a prison-bird
+for all of 'em owe me more or less
+but i've learned one thing; an' it cheers a man
+in always a-doin' the best he can
+that whether on the big book, a blot
+gets over a fellow's name or not
+whenever he does a deed that's white
+it's credited to him fair and right
+an' when you hear the great bugle's notes
+an' the lord divides his sheep and goats
+however they may settle my case
+wherever they may fix my place
+my good old christian mother, you'll see
+will be sure to stand right up for me
+with _over the hill from the poor-house
+
+
+
+i was mighty good-lookin' when i was young
+peart an' black-eyed an' slim
+with fellers a-courtin' me sunday nights
+
+the likeliest one of 'em all was he
+chipper an' han'som' an' trim
+but i tossed up my head an' made fun o' the crowds
+
+i said i hadn't no 'pinion o' men
+an' i wouldn't take stock in him
+but they kep' up a-comin' in spite o' my talk
+
+i got so tired o' havin' 'em roun
+i made up my mind i'd settle down
+an' take up with him
+
+so we was married one sunday in church
+
+
+o'grady lived in shanty row
+the neighbors often said
+they wished that tim would move away
+or that his goat was dead
+he kept the neighborhood in fear
+and the children always vexed
+they couldn't tell jist whin or where
+the goat would pop up next
+
+ould missis casey stood wan day
+the dirty clothes to rub
+upon the washboard, when she dived
+headforemosht o'er the tub
+she lit upon her back an' yelled
+as she was lying flat
+o'grady's goat doon that
+
+pat doolan's woife hung out the wash
+upon the line to dry
+she wint to take it in at night
+but stopped to have a cry
+the sleeves av two red flannel shirts
+that once were worn by pat
+were chewed off almost to the neck
+o'grady's goat doon that
+
+they had a party at mccune's
+an' they wor having foon
+whin suddinly there was a crash
+an' ivrybody roon
+the iseter soup fell on the floor
+an' nearly drowned the cat
+the stove was knocked to smithereens
+o'grady's goat doon that
+
+moike dyle was coortin' biddy shea
+both standin' at the gate
+an' they wor just about to kiss
+aich oother sly and shwate
+they coom togither loike two rams
+an' mashed their noses flat
+they niver shpake whin they goes by
+o'grady's goat doon that
+
+o'hoolerhan brought home a keg
+av dannymite wan day
+to blow a cistern in his yard
+an' hid the stuff away
+but suddinly an airthquake coom
+o'hoolerhan, house an' hat
+an' ivrything in sight wint up
+o'grady's goat doon that
+
+an' there was dooley's savhin's bank
+that held the byes' sphare cash
+one day the news came doon the sthreet
+the bank had gone to smash
+an' ivrybody 'round was dum
+wid anger and wid fear
+fer on the dhoor they red the whords
+
+the folks in grady's naborhood
+all live in fear and fright
+they think it's certain death to go
+around there after night
+an' in their shlape they see a ghost
+upon the air afloat
+an' wake thimselves by shoutin' out
+
+
+
+bethpeor; but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day
+
+by nebo's lonely mountain
+on this side jordan's wave
+in a vale in the land of moab
+there lies a lonely grave
+and no man knows that sepulchre
+and no man saw it e'er
+for the angels of god upturn'd the sod
+and laid the dead man there
+
+that was the grandest funeral
+that ever pass'd on earth
+but no man heard the trampling
+or saw the train go forth
+noiselessly as the daylight
+comes back when night is done
+and the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
+grows into the great sun
+
+noiselessly as the springtime
+her crown of verdure weaves
+and all the trees on all the hills
+open their thousand leaves
+so without sound of music
+or voice of them that wept
+silently down from the mountain's crown
+the great procession swept
+
+perchance the bald old eagle
+on gray beth-peor's height
+out of his lonely eyrie
+look'd on the wondrous sight
+perchance the lion, stalking
+still shuns that hallow'd spot
+for beast and bird have seen and heard
+that which man knoweth not
+
+but when the warrior dieth
+his comrades in the war
+with arms reversed and muffled drum
+follow his funeral car
+they show the banners taken
+they tell his battles won
+and after him lead his masterless steed
+while peals the minute gun
+
+amid the noblest of the land
+we lay the sage to rest
+and give the bard an honor'd place
+with costly marble drest
+in the great minster transept
+where lights like glories fall
+and the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings
+along the emblazon'd wall
+
+this was the truest warrior
+that ever buckled sword
+this was the most gifted poet
+that ever breathed a word
+and never earth's philosopher
+traced with his golden pen
+on the deathless page, truths half so sage
+as he wrote down for men
+
+and had he not high honor
+the hillside for a pall
+to lie in state while angels wait
+with stars for tapers tall
+and the dark rock-pines like tossing plumes
+over his bier to wave
+and god's own hand, in that lonely land
+to lay him in the grave
+
+in that strange grave without a name
+whence his uncoffin'd clay
+shall break again, o wondrous thought
+before the judgment day
+and stand with glory wrapt around
+on the hills he never trod
+and speak of the strife that won our life
+with the incarnate son of god
+
+o lonely grave in moab's land
+o dark beth-peor's hill
+speak to these curious hearts of ours
+and teach them to be still
+god hath his mysteries of grace
+ways that we cannot tell
+he hides them deep like the hidden sleep
+of him he loved so well
+
+
+
+alone in the dreary, pitiless street
+with my torn old dress, and bare, cold feet
+all day have i wandered to and fro
+hungry and shivering, and nowhere to go
+the night's coming on in darkness and dread
+and the chill sleet beating upon my bare head
+oh! why does the wind blow upon me so wild
+is it because i am nobody's child
+
+just over the way there's a flood of light
+and warmth, and beauty, and all things bright
+beautiful children, in robes so fair
+are caroling songs in their rapture there
+i wonder if they, in their blissful glee
+would pity a poor little beggar like me
+wandering alone in the merciless street
+naked and shivering, and nothing to eat
+
+oh! what shall i do when the night comes down
+in its terrible blackness all over the town
+shall i lay me down 'neath the angry sky
+on the cold, hard pavement, alone to die
+when the beautiful children their prayers have said
+and their mammas have tucked them up snugly in bed
+for no dear mother on me ever smiled
+why is it, i wonder, i'm nobody's child
+
+no father, no mother, no sister, not one
+in all the world loves me--e'en the little dogs run
+when i wander too near them; 'tis wondrous to see
+how everything shrinks from a beggar like me
+perhaps 'tis a dream; but sometimes, when i lie
+gazing far up in the dark blue sky
+watching for hours some large bright star
+i fancy the beautiful gates are ajar
+
+and a host of white-robed, nameless things
+come fluttering o'er me on gilded wings
+a hand that is strangely soft and fair
+caresses gently my tangled hair
+and a voice like the carol of some wild bird
+the sweetest voice that was ever heard
+calls me many a dear, pet name
+till my heart and spirit are all aflame
+
+they tell me of such unbounded love
+and bid me come to their home above
+and then with such pitiful, sad surprise
+they look at me with their sweet, tender eyes
+and it seems to me, out of the dreary night
+i am going up to that world of light
+and away from the hunger and storm so wild
+i am sure i shall then be somebody's child
+
+
+
+like a dream, it all comes o'er me as i hear the christmas bells
+like a dream it floats before me, while the christmas anthem swells
+like a dream it bears me onward in the silent, mystic flow
+to a dear old sunny christmas in the happy long ago
+
+and my thoughts go backward, backward, and the years that intervene
+are but as the mists and shadows when the sunlight comes between
+and all earthly wealth and splendor seem but as a fleeting show
+as there comes to me the picture of a christmas long ago
+
+i can see the great, wide hearthstone and the holly hung about
+i can see the smiling faces, i can hear the children shout
+i can feel the joy and gladness that the old room seem to fill
+e'en the shadows on the ceiling--i can see them dancing still
+
+i can see the little stockings hung about the chimney yet
+i can feel my young heart thrilling lest the old man should forget
+ah! that fancy! were the world mine, i would give it, if i might
+to believe in old st. nicholas, and be a child to-night
+
+just to hang my little stocking where it used to hang, and feel
+for one moment all the old thoughts and the old hopes o'er me steal
+but, oh! loved and loving faces, in the firelight's dancing glow
+there will never come another like that christmas long ago
+
+for the old home is deserted, and the ashes long have lain
+in the great, old-fashioned fireplace that will never shine again
+friendly hands that then clasped ours now are folded 'neath the snow
+gone the dear ones who were with us on that christmas long ago
+
+let the children have their christmas--let them have it while they may
+life is short and childhood's fleeting, and there'll surely come a day
+when st. nicholas will sadly pass on by the close-shut door
+missing all the merry faces that had greeted him of yore
+
+when no childish step shall echo through the quiet, silent room
+when no childish smile shall brighten, and no laughter lift the gloom
+when the shadows that fall 'round us in the fire-light's fitful glow
+shall be ghosts of those who sat there in the christmas long ago
+
+
+one sweetly solemn thought
+comes to me o'er and o'er
+i am nearer home to-day
+than i've ever been before
+
+nearer my father's house
+where the many mansions be
+nearer the great white throne
+nearer the jasper sea
+
+nearer the bound of life
+where we lay our burdens down
+nearer leaving the cross
+nearer gaining the crown
+
+but lying darkly between
+winding down through the night
+is the dim and unknown stream
+that leads at last to the light
+
+closer and closer my steps
+come to the dark abysm
+closer death to my lips
+presses the awful chrism
+
+father, perfect my trust
+strengthen the might of my faith
+let me feel as i would when i stand
+on the rock of the shore of death
+
+feel as i would when my feet
+are slipping o'er the brink
+for it may be i am nearer home
+nearer now than i think
+
+
+
+grandma told me all about it
+told me so i could not doubt it
+how she danced, my grandma danced, long ago
+how she held her pretty head
+how her dainty skirts she spread
+how she turned her little toes
+smiling little human rose
+
+grandma's hair was bright and shining
+dimpled cheeks, too! ah! how funny
+bless me, now she wears a cap
+my grandma does, and takes a nap every single day
+yet she danced the minuet long ago
+now she sits there rocking, rocking
+always knitting grandpa's stocking
+every girl was taught to knit long ago
+but her figure is so neat
+and her ways so staid and sweet
+i can almost see her now
+bending to her partner's bow, long ago
+
+grandma says our modern jumping
+rushing, whirling, dashing, bumping
+would have shocked the gentle people long ago
+no, they moved with stately grace
+everything in proper place
+gliding slowly forward, then
+slowly courtesying back again
+
+modern ways are quite alarming, grandma says
+but boys were charming
+girls and boys i mean, of course--long ago
+sweetly modest, bravely shy
+what if all of us should try just to feel
+like those who met in the stately minuet, long ago
+with the minuet in fashion
+who could fly into a passion
+all would wear the calm they wore long ago
+and if in years to come, perchance
+i tell my grandchild of our dance
+i should really like to say
+we did it in some such way, long ago
+
+
+
+roger's my dog--come here, you scamp
+jump for the gentleman--mind your eye
+over the table--look out for the lamp
+the rogue is growing a little old
+five years we've tramped through wind and weather
+and slept outdoors when nights were cold
+and ate, and drank--and starved together
+
+we've learned what comfort is, i tell you
+a bed on the floor, a bit of rosin
+a fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow
+the paw he holds up there has been frozen
+plenty of catgut for my fiddle
+then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle
+and roger and i set up for kings
+
+no, thank you, sir, i never drink
+roger and i are exceedingly moral
+aren't we, roger? see him wink
+well, something hot then, we won't quarrel
+he's thirsty, too--see him nod his head
+what a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk
+he understands every word that's said
+and he knows good milk from water and chalk
+
+the truth is, sir, now i reflect
+i've been so sadly given to grog
+i wonder i've not lost the respect
+but he sticks by through thick and thin
+and this old coat with its empty pockets
+and rags that smell of tobacco and gin
+he'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets
+
+there isn't another creature living
+would do it, and prove, through every disaster
+so fond, so faithful, and so forgiving
+to such a miserable, thankless master
+no, sir! see him wag his tail and grin
+by george! it makes my old eyes water
+that is, there's something in this gin
+that chokes a fellow, but no matter
+
+we'll have some music, if you're willing
+and roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, sir
+shall march a little.--start, you villain
+paws up! eyes front! salute your officer
+your cap while the gentleman gives a trifle
+to aid a poor old patriot soldier
+
+march! halt! now show how the rebel shakes
+when he stands up to hear his sentence
+now tell me how many drams it takes
+to honor a jolly new acquaintance
+five yelps--that's five; he's mighty knowing
+the night's before us, fill the glasses
+quick, sir! i'm ill, my brain is going
+some brandy,--thank you;--there,--it passes
+
+why not reform? that's easily said
+but i've gone through such wretched treatment
+sometimes forgetting the taste of bread
+and scarce remembering what meat meant
+that my poor stomach's past reform
+and there are times when, mad with thinking
+i'd sell out heaven for something warm
+to prop a horrible inward sinking
+
+is there a way to forget to think
+at your age, sir, home, fortune, friends
+a dear girl's love,--but i took to drink
+the same old story; you know how it ends
+if you could have seen these classic features
+you needn't laugh, sir; i was not then
+such a burning libel on god's creatures
+i was one of your handsome men
+
+if you had seen her, so fair, so young
+whose head was happy on this breast
+if you could have heard the songs i sung
+when the wine went round, you wouldn't have guess'd
+that ever i, sir, should be straying
+from door to door, with fiddle and dog
+ragged and penniless, and playing
+to you to-night for a glass of grog
+
+she's married since,--a parson's wife
+better the soberest, prosiest life
+than a blasted home and a broken heart
+i have seen her--once; i was weak and spent
+on the dusty road; a carriage stopped
+but little she dreamed as on she went
+who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped
+
+you've set me talking, sir; i'm sorry
+it makes me wild to think of the change
+what do you care for a beggar's story
+is it amusing? you find it strange
+i had a mother so proud of me
+if the happy spirits in heaven can see
+the ruin and wretchedness here below
+
+another glass, and strong, to deaden
+this pain; then roger and i will start
+i wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden
+aching thing, in place of a heart
+he is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could
+no doubt, remembering things that were
+a virtuous kennel, with plenty of food
+and himself a sober, respectable cur
+
+i'm better now; that glass was warming
+you rascal! limber your lazy feet
+we must be fiddling and performing
+for supper and bed, or starve in the street
+not a very gay life to lead, you think
+but soon we shall go where lodgings are free
+and the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink
+the sooner, the better for roger and me
+
+
+
+oh, a wonderful stream is the river of time
+as it runs through the realm of tears
+with a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme
+and a boundless sweep and a surge sublime
+as it blends with the ocean of years
+
+how the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow
+and the summers, like buds between
+and the year in the sheaf--so they come and they go
+on the river's breast, with its ebb and flow
+as it glides in the shadow and sheen
+
+there's a magical isle up the river of time
+where the softest of airs are playing
+there's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime
+and a song as sweet as a vesper chime
+and the junes with the roses are staying
+
+and the name of that isle is the long ago
+and we bury our treasures there
+there are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow
+there are heaps of dust--but we love them so
+there are trinkets and tresses of hair
+
+there are fragments of song that nobody sings
+and a part of an infant's prayer
+there's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings
+there are broken vows and pieces of rings
+and the garments that she used to wear
+
+there are hands that are waved, when the fairy shore
+by the mirage is lifted in air
+and we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar
+sweet voices we heard in the days gone before
+when the wind down the river is fair
+
+oh, remembered for aye be the blessed isle
+all the day of our life till night
+when the evening comes with its beautiful smile
+and our eyes are closing to slumber awhile
+may that "greenwood" of soul be in sight
+
+
+note: the last line of this poem needs explanation. "greenwood" is the
+name of a cemetery in brooklyn, n.y. "greenwood of soul" means the
+soul's resting place, or heaven
+
+
+in an attic bare and cheerless, jim the newsboy dying lay
+on a rough but clean straw pallet, at the fading of the day
+scant the furniture about him but bright flowers were in the room
+crimson phloxes, waxen lilies, roses laden with perfume
+on a table by the bedside open at a well-worn page
+where the mother had been reading lay a bible stained by age
+now he could not hear the verses; he was flighty, and she wept
+with her arms around her youngest, who close to her side had crept
+
+blacking boots and selling papers, in all weathers day by day
+brought upon poor jim consumption, which was eating life away
+and this cry came with his anguish for each breath a struggle cost
+papers, mister? morning papers?" then the cry fell to a moan
+which was changed a moment later to another frenzied tone
+it grows late, jack! night is coming. evening papers, here they are
+
+soon a mission teacher entered, and approached the humble bed
+then poor jim's mind cleared an instant, with his cool hand on his head
+ma's been reading of the saviour, and through him i see my way
+he is with me! jack, i charge you of our mother take good care
+when jim's gone! hark! boots or papers, which will i be over there
+black yer boots, sir? shine 'em right up! papers! read god's book instead
+better'n papers that to die on! jack--" one gasp, and jim was dead
+
+floating from that attic chamber came the teacher's voice in prayer
+and it soothed the bitter sorrow of the mourners kneeling there
+he commended them to heaven, while the tears rolled down his face
+thanking god that jim had listened to sweet words of peace and grace
+ever 'mid the want and squalor of the wretched and the poor
+kind hearts find a ready welcome, and an always open door
+for the sick are in strange places, mourning hearts are everywhere
+and such need the voice of kindness, need sweet sympathy and prayer
+
+
+
+break, break, break
+on thy cold gray stones, o sea
+and i would that my tongue could utter
+the thoughts that arise in me
+
+o well for the fisherman's boy
+that he shouts with his sister at play
+o well for the sailor lad
+that he sings in his boat on the bay
+
+and the stately ships go on
+to their haven under the hill
+but o for the touch of a vanished hand
+and the sound of a voice that is still
+
+break, break, break
+at the foot of thy crags, o sea
+but the tender grace of a day that is dead
+will never come back to me
+
+
+
+don't kill the birds, the pretty birds
+that sing about your door
+soon as the joyous spring has come
+and chilling storms are o'er
+the little birds, how sweet they sing
+oh! let them joyous live
+and never seek to take the life
+that you can never give
+
+don't kill the birds, the pretty birds
+that play among the trees
+should we dispense with these
+the little birds, how fond they play
+do not disturb their sport
+but let them warble forth their songs
+till winter cuts them short
+
+don't kill the birds, the happy birds
+that bless the fields and grove
+so innocent to look upon
+they claim our warmest love
+the happy birds, the tuneful birds
+how pleasant 'tis to see
+no spot can be a cheerless place
+where'er their presence be
+
+
+
+i've got a letter, parson, from my son away out west
+an' my old heart is heavy as an anvil in my breast
+to think the boy whose future i had once so nicely planned
+should wander from the right and come to such a bitter end
+
+i told him when he left us, only three short years ago
+he'd find himself a-plowing in a mighty crooked row
+he'd miss his father's counsel and his mother's prayers, too
+but he said the farm was hateful, an' he guessed he'd have to go
+
+i know there's big temptations for a youngster in the west
+but i believed our billy had the courage to resist
+an' when he left i warned him of the ever waitin' snares
+that lie like hidden serpents in life's pathway everywheres
+
+but bill, he promised faithful to be careful, an' allowed
+that he'd build a reputation that'd make us mighty proud
+but it seems as how my counsel sort o' faded from his mind
+and now he's got in trouble of the very worstest kind
+
+his letters came so seldom that i somehow sort o' knowed
+that billy was a-trampin' of a mighty rocky road
+but never once imagined he would bow my head in shame
+and in the dust would woller his old daddy's honored name
+
+he writes from out in denver, an' the story's mighty short
+i jess can't tell his mother!--it'll crush her poor old heart
+an' so i reckoned, parson, you might break the news to her
+bill's in the legislature but he doesn't say what fur
+
+
+an old man going a lone highway
+came, at the evening cold and gray
+to a chasm vast and deep and wide
+the old man crossed in the twilight dim
+the sullen stream had no fear for him
+but he turned when safe on the other side
+and built a bridge to span the tide
+
+your journey will end with the ending day
+yon never again will pass this way
+you've crossed the chasm, deep and wide
+why build this bridge at evening tide
+
+the builder lifted his old gray head
+a youth whose feet must pass this way
+this chasm that has been as naught to me
+to that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be
+he, too, must cross in the twilight dim
+good friend, i am building this bridge for him
+
+
+
+our band is few, but true and tried
+our leader frank and bold
+the british soldier trembles
+when marion's name is told
+our fortress is the good green wood
+our tent the cypress tree
+we know the forest round us
+as seamen know the sea
+we know its walls of thorny vines
+its glades of reedy grass
+its safe and silent islands
+within the dark morass
+
+woe to the english soldiery
+that little dread us near
+on them shall light at midnight
+a strange and sudden fear
+when, waking to their tents on fire
+they grasp their arms in vain
+and they who stand to face us
+are beat to earth again
+and they who fly in terror deem
+a mighty host behind
+and hear the tramp of thousands
+upon the hollow wind
+
+then sweet the hour that brings release
+from danger and from toil
+we talk the battle over
+and share the battle's spoil
+the woodland rings with laugh and shout
+as if a hunt were up
+and woodland flowers are gathered
+to crown the soldier's cup
+with merry songs we mock the wind
+that in the pine-top grieves
+and slumber long and sweetly
+on beds of oaken leaves
+
+well knows the fair and friendly moon
+the band that marion leads
+the glitter of their rifles
+the scampering of their steeds
+across the moonlight plains
+that lifts their tossing manes
+a moment in the british camp
+a moment--and away
+back to the pathless forest
+before the peep of day
+
+grave men there are by broad santee
+grave men with hoary hairs
+their hearts are all with marion
+for marion are their prayers
+and lovely ladies greet our band
+with kindliest welcoming
+with smiles like those of summer
+and tears like those of spring
+for them we wear these trusty arms
+and lay them down no more
+till we have driven the briton
+forever from our shore
+
+
+
+the minstrel-boy to the war is gone
+in the ranks of death you'll find him
+his father's sword he has girded on
+and his wild harp slung behind him
+one sword, at least, thy rights shall guard
+one faithful harp shall praise thee
+the minstrel fell!--but the foeman's chain
+could not bring his proud soul under
+the harp he loved ne'er spoke again
+for he tore its chords asunder
+and said, "no chains shall sully thee
+thou soul of love and bravery
+thy songs were made for the pure and free
+they shall never sound in slavery
+
+
+
+our old brown homestead reared its walls
+from the wayside dust aloof
+where the apple-boughs could almost cast
+their fruitage on its roof
+and the cherry-tree so near it grew
+that when awake i've lain
+in the lonesome nights, i've heard the limbs
+as they creaked against the pane
+and those orchard trees, o those orchard trees
+i've seen my little brothers rocked
+in their tops by the summer breeze
+
+the sweet-brier under the window-sill
+which the early birds made glad
+and the damask rose by the garden fence
+were all the flowers we had
+i've looked at many a flower since then
+exotics rich and rare
+that to other eyes were lovelier
+but not to me so fair
+o those roses bright, o those roses bright
+i have twined them with my sister's locks
+that are hid in the dust from sight
+
+we had a well, a deep old well
+where the spring was never dry
+and the cool drops down from the mossy stones
+were falling constantly
+and there never was water half so sweet
+as that in my little cup
+drawn up to the curb by the rude old sweep
+which my father's hand set up
+and that deep old well, o that deep old well
+i remember yet the splashing sound
+of the bucket as it fell
+
+our homestead had an ample hearth
+where at night we loved to meet
+there my mother's voice was always kind
+and her smile was always sweet
+and there i've sat on my father's knee
+and watched his thoughtful brow
+with my childish hand in his raven hair
+that hair is silver now
+but that broad hearth's light, o that broad hearth's light
+and my father's look, and my mother's smile
+they are in my heart to-night
+
+
+
+we were crowded in the cabin
+not a soul would dare to sleep
+it was midnight on the waters
+and a storm was on the deep
+
+to be shattered by the blast
+and to hear the rattling trumpet
+thunder, "cut away the mast
+
+so we shuddered there in silence
+for the stoutest held his breath
+while the hungry sea was roaring
+and the breakers talked with death
+
+as thus we sat in darkness
+each one busy with his prayers
+as he staggered down the stairs
+
+but his little daughter whispered
+as she took his icy hand
+just the same as on the land
+
+then we kissed the little maiden
+and we spoke in better cheer
+and we anchored safe in harbor
+when the morn was shining clear
+
+
+
+whene'er a noble deed is wrought
+whene'er is spoken a noble thought
+our hearts, in glad surprise
+to higher levels rise
+
+the tidal wave of deeper souls
+into our inmost being rolls
+and lifts us unawares
+out of all meaner cares
+
+honor to those whose words or deeds
+thus help us in our daily needs
+and by their overflow
+raise us from what is low
+
+thus thought i, as by night i read
+of the great army of the dead
+the trenches cold and damp
+the starved and frozen camp
+
+the wounded from the battle-plain
+in dreary hospitals of pain
+the cheerless corridors
+the cold and stony floors
+
+lo! in that house of misery
+a lady with a lamp i see
+pass through the glimmering gloom
+and flit from room to room
+
+and slow, as in a dream of bliss
+the speechless sufferer turns to kiss
+her shadow, as it falls
+upon the darkening walls
+
+as if a door in heaven should be
+opened and then closed suddenly
+the vision came and went
+the light shone and was spent
+
+on england's annals, through the long
+hereafter of her speech and song
+that light its rays shall cast
+from portals of the past
+
+a lady with a lamp shall stand
+in the great history of the land
+a noble type of good
+heroic womanhood
+
+nor even shall be wanting here
+the palm, the lily, and the spear
+the symbols that of yore
+saint filomena bore
+
+
+
+the feast is o'er! now brimming wine
+in lordly cup is seen to shine
+before each eager guest
+and silence fills the crowded hall
+as deep as when the herald's call
+thrills in the loyal breast
+
+then up arose the noble host
+and, smiling, cried: "a toast! a toast
+to all our ladies fair
+here before all, i pledge the name
+of staunton's proud and beauteous dame
+the ladye gundamere
+
+then to his feet each gallant sprung
+and joyous was the shout that rung
+as stanley gave the word
+and every cup was raised on high
+nor ceased the loud and gladsome cry
+till stanley's voice was heard
+
+and lowly bent his haughty head
+now each in turn must play his part
+and pledge the lady of his heart
+like gallant knight and true
+
+then one by one each guest sprang up
+and drained in turn the brimming cup
+and named the loved one's name
+and each, as hand on high he raised
+his lady's grace or beauty praised
+her constancy and fame
+
+on him are fixed those countless eyes
+a gallant knight is he
+envied by some, admired by all
+far famed in lady's bower and hall
+the flower of chivalry
+
+st. leon raised his kindling eye
+and lifts the sparkling cup on high
+deep graven on this grateful heart
+till memory be dead
+
+when lighter passions long have past
+so holy 'tis and true
+to one, whose love hath longer dwelt
+more deeply fixed, more keenly felt
+than any pledged by you
+
+each guest upstarted at the word
+and laid a hand upon his sword
+with fury flashing eye
+and stanley said: "we crave the name
+proud knight, of this most peerless dame
+whose love you count so high
+
+st. leon paused, as if he would
+not breathe her name in careless mood
+thus lightly to another
+then bent his noble head, as though
+to give that word the reverence due
+and gently said: "my mother
+
+
+
+o for one hour of youthful joy
+give back my twentieth spring
+i'd rather laugh a bright-haired boy
+than reign a gray-beard king
+
+off with the spoils of wrinkled age
+away with learning's crown
+tear out life's wisdom-written page
+and dash its trophies down
+
+one moment let my life-blood stream
+from boyhood's fount of flame
+give me one giddy, reeling dream
+of life all love and fame
+
+my listening angel heard the prayer
+and, calmly smiling, said
+thy hasty wish hath sped
+
+to bid thee fondly stay
+while the swift seasons hurry back
+to find the wished-for day
+
+ah! truest soul of womankind
+without thee what were life
+one bliss i cannot leave behind
+i'll take--my--precious--wife
+
+the angel took a sapphire pen
+and wrote in rainbow dew
+and be a husband, too
+
+before the change appears
+remember, all their gifts have fled
+with those dissolving years
+
+my fond paternal joys
+i could not bear to leave them all
+i'll take--my--girl--and--boys
+
+the smiling angel dropped his pen
+the man would be a boy again
+and be a father too
+
+and so i laughed--my laughter woke
+the household with its noise
+and wrote my dream, when morning broke
+to please the gray-haired boys
+
+
+
+the bells of mount vernon are ringing to-day
+and what say their melodious numbers
+to the flag blooming air? list, what do they say
+
+the world's monument stands the potomac beside
+and what says the shaft to the river
+death crowns him a hero forever
+
+the bards crown the heroes and children rehearse
+the songs that give heroes to story
+and what say the bards to the children? "no verse
+can yet measure washington's glory
+
+and freedom shall triumph forever
+and time must long wait the true song of his birth
+who sleeps by the beautiful river
+
+
+
+april! april! are you here
+oh, how fresh the wind is blowing
+see! the sky is bright and clear
+oh, how green the grass is growing
+april! april! are you here
+
+april! april! is it you
+see how fair the flowers are springing
+sun is warm and brooks are clear
+oh, how glad the birds are singing
+april! april! is it you
+
+april! april! you are here
+though your smiling turn to weeping
+though your skies grow cold and drear
+though your gentle winds are sleeping
+april! april! you are here
+
+
+
+oh, such a commotion under the ground
+when march called, "ho, there! ho
+such spreading of rootlets far and wide
+such whispering to and fro
+and, "are you ready?" the snowdrop asked
+then, "ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came
+of laughter soft and low
+from the millions of flowers under the ground
+yes--millions--beginning to grow
+
+o, the pretty brave things! through the coldest days
+imprisoned in walls of brown
+they never lost heart though the blast shrieked loud
+and the sleet and the hail came down
+
+but patiently each wrought her beautiful dress
+or fashioned her beautiful crown
+and now they are coming to brighten the world
+still shadowed by winter's frown
+and well may they cheerily laugh, "ha! ha
+in a chorus soft and low
+the millions of flowers hid under the ground
+yes--millions--beginning to grow
+
+
+god makes sech nights, all white an' still
+fur 'z you can look or listen
+moonshine an' snow on field an' hill
+all silence an' all glisten
+
+zekle crep' up quite unbeknown
+an' peeked in thru the winder
+an' there sot huldy all alone
+
+a fireplace filled the room's one side
+with half a cord o' wood in
+there warn't no stoves (tell comfort died
+to bake ye to a puddin
+
+the wa'nut logs shot sparkles out
+towards the pootiest, bless her
+an' leetle flames danced all about
+the chiny on the dresser
+
+agin the chimbley crook-necks hung
+an' in amongst 'em rusted
+the ole queen's-arm thet gran'ther young
+fetched back from concord busted
+
+the very room, coz she was in
+seemed warm from floor to ceilin
+an' she looked full ez rosy agin
+ez the apples she was peelin
+
+on sech a blessed cretur
+a dogrose blushin' to a brook
+ain't modester nor sweeter
+
+he was six foot o' man, a 1
+clear grit an' human natur
+none couldn't quicker pitch a ton
+nor dror a furrer straighter
+
+he'd sparked it with full twenty gals
+hed squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em
+fust this one, an' then thet, by spells
+all is, he couldn't love 'em
+
+but long o' her his veins 'ould run
+all crinkly like curled maple
+the side she breshed felt full o' sun
+ez a south slope in ap'il
+
+she thought no v'ice hed sech a swing
+ez hisn in the choir
+my! when he made ole hunderd ring
+she _knowed_ the lord was nigher
+
+an' she'd blush scarlet, right in prayer
+when her new meetin'-bunnit
+felt somehow thru its crown a pair
+o' blue eyes sot upun it
+
+thet night, i tell ye, she looked _some
+she seemed to 've gut a new soul
+for she felt sartin-sure he'd come
+down to her very shoe-sole
+
+she heered a foot, an' knowed it tu
+a-raspin' on the scraper
+all ways to once her feelin's flew
+like sparks in burnt-up paper
+
+he kin' o' l'itered on the mat
+some doubtfle o' the sekle
+his heart kep' goin' pity-pat
+but hern went pity zekle
+
+an' yit she gin her cheer a jerk
+ez though she wished him furder
+an' on her apples kep' to work
+parin' away like murder
+
+agin to-morrer's i'nin
+
+to say why gals acts so or so
+or don't, 'ould be presumin
+mebby to mean _yes_ an' say _no
+comes nateral to women
+
+he stood a spell on one foot fust
+then stood a spell on t'other
+an' on which one he felt the wust
+he couldn't ha' told ye nuther
+
+says he, "i'd better call agin
+says she, "think likely, mister
+thet last work pricked him like a pin
+an'--wal, he up an' kist her
+
+when ma bimeby upon 'em slips
+huldy sot pale ez ashes
+all kin' o' smily roun' the lips
+an' teary roun' the lashes
+
+for she was jes' the quiet kind
+whose naturs never vary
+like streams that keep a summer mind
+snowhid in jenooary
+
+the blood clost roun' her heart felt glued
+too tight for all expressin
+tell mother see how metters stood
+an' gin 'em both her blessin
+
+then her red come back like the tide
+down to the bay o' fundy
+an' all i know is they was cried
+in meetin' come nex' sunday
+
+
+
+it was the twilight hour
+behind the western hill the sun had sunk
+leaving the evening sky aglow with crimson light
+the air is filled with fragrance and with sound
+high in the tops of shadowy vine-wreathed trees
+grave parent-birds were twittering good-night songs
+to still their restless brood
+across the way
+a noisy little brook made pleasant
+music on the summer air
+and farther on, the sweet, faint sound
+of whippoorwill falls rose on the air, and fell
+like some sweet chant at vespers
+the air is heavy
+with the scent of mignonette and rose
+and from the beds of flowers the tall
+white lilies point like angel fingers upward
+casting on the air an incense sweet
+that brings to mind the old, old story
+of the alabaster box that loving mary
+broke upon the master's feet
+
+upon his vine-wreathed porch
+an old white-headed man sits dreaming
+happy, happy dreams of days that are no more
+and listening to the quaint old song
+with which his daughter lulled her child to rest
+
+the darkness deepens
+lord, with me abide
+
+and as he listens to the sounds that fill the
+summer air, sweet, dreamy thoughts
+of his "lost youth" come crowding thickly up
+and, for a while, he seems a boy again
+with feet all bare
+he wades the rippling brook, and with a boyish shout
+gathers the violets blue, and nodding ferns
+that wave a welcome from the other side
+with those he wreathes
+the sunny head of little nell, a neighbor's child
+companion of his sorrows and his joys
+sweet, dainty nell, whose baby life
+seemed early linked with his
+and whom he loved with all a boy's devotion
+
+long years have flown
+no longer boy and girl, but man and woman grown
+they stand again beside the brook, that murmurs
+ever in its course, nor stays for time nor man
+and tell the old, old story
+and promise to be true till life for them shall end
+
+again the years roll on
+and they are old. the frost of age
+has touched the once-brown hair
+and left it white as are the chaliced lilies
+children, whose rosy lips once claimed
+a father's blessing and a mother's love
+have grown to man's estate, save two
+whom god called early home to wait
+for them in heaven
+
+and then the old man thinks
+how on a night like this, when faint
+and sweet as half-remembered dreams
+old whippoorwill falls did murmur soft
+its evening psalms, when fragrant lilies
+pointed up the way her christ had gone
+god called the wife and mother home
+and bade him wait
+oh! why is it so hard for
+man to wait? to sit with folded hands
+apart, amid the busy throng
+and hear the buzz and hum of toil around
+to see men reap and bind the golden sheaves
+of earthly fruits, while he looks idly on
+and knows he may not join
+but only wait till god has said, "enough
+and calls him home
+
+and thus the old man dreams
+and then awakes; awakes to hear
+the sweet old song just dying
+on the pulsing evening air
+
+and comforts flee
+lord of the helpless
+oh, abide with me
+
+
+
+god said: i am tired of kings
+i suffer them no more
+up to my ear the morning brings
+the outrage of the poor
+
+think ye i have made this ball
+a field of havoc and war
+where tyrants great and tyrants small
+might harry the weak and poor
+
+my angel--his name is freedom
+choose him to be your king
+he shall cut pathways east and west
+and fend you with his wing
+
+i will never have a noble
+no lineage counted great
+fishers and choppers and plowmen
+shall constitute a state
+
+and ye shall succor man
+help them who cannot help again
+beware from right to swerve
+
+
+
+the rosy clouds float overhead
+the sun is going down
+and now the sandman's gentle tread
+comes stealing through the town
+and, as he shakes his hand
+straightway there lies on babies' eyes
+his gift of shining sand
+blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes and brown
+as shuts the rose, they softly close
+when he goes through the town
+
+from sunny beaches far away
+yes, in another land
+he gathers up, at break of day
+his store of shining sand
+no tempests beat that shore remote
+no ships may sail that way
+his little boat alone may float
+within that lovely bay
+blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes and brown
+as shuts the rose, they softly close
+when he goes through the town
+
+he smiles to see the eyelids close
+above the happy eyes
+and every child right well he knows
+oh, he is very wise
+but if, as he goes through the land
+a naughty baby cries
+his other hand takes dull gray sand
+to close the wakeful eyes
+blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes and brown
+as shuts the rose, they softly close
+when he goes through the town
+
+so when you hear the sandman's song
+sound through the twilight sweet
+be sure you do not keep him long
+a-waiting in the street
+lie softly down, dear little head
+rest quiet, busy hands
+till by your bed when good-night's said
+he strews the shining sands
+blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes and brown
+as shuts the rose, they softly close
+when he goes through the town
+
+
+
+ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky
+the flying cloud, the frosty light
+the year is dying in the night
+ring out, wild bells, and let him die
+
+ring out the old, ring in the new
+ring, happy bells, across the snow
+the year is going, let him go
+ring out the false, ring in the true
+
+ring out the grief that saps the mind
+for those that here we see no more
+ring out the feud of rich and poor
+ring in redress to all mankind
+
+ring out a slowly dying cause
+and ancient forms of party strife
+ring in the nobler modes of life
+with sweeter manners, purer laws
+
+ring out false pride in place and blood
+the civic slander and the spite
+ring in the love of truth and right
+ring in the common love of good
+
+ring out old shapes of foul disease
+ring out the narrowing lust of gold
+ring out the thousand wars of old
+ring in the thousand years of peace
+
+ring in the valiant man and free
+the larger heart, the kindlier hand
+ring out the darkness of the land
+ring in the christ that is to be
+
+
+
+among the legends sung or said
+along our rocky shore
+the wishing bridge of marblehead
+may well be sung once more
+
+an hundred years ago (so ran
+the old-time story) all
+good wishes said above its span
+would, soon or late, befall
+
+if pure and earnest, never failed
+the prayers of man or maid
+for him who on the deep sea sailed
+for her at home who stayed
+
+once thither came two girls from school
+and wished in childish glee
+and one would be a queen and rule
+and one the world would see
+
+time passed; with change of hopes and fears
+and in the selfsame place
+two women, gray with middle years
+stood wondering, face to face
+
+with wakened memories, as they met
+they queried what had been
+said one, "i am a queen
+
+where, lacking crown and throne
+i rule by loving services
+and patient toil alone
+
+the other said: "the great world lies
+beyond me as it laid
+o'er love's and duty's boundaries
+my feet have never strayed
+
+its common sounds i hear
+my widowed mother's sick-bed room
+sufficeth for my sphere
+
+of travel far and wide
+and in a dreamy pilgrimage
+we wander side by side
+
+my book becomes to me
+a magic glass: my watch i keep
+but all the world i see
+
+while fancy's privilege
+is mine to walk the earth at will
+thanks to the wishing bridge
+
+the other cried, "and say
+god gives the wishes of our youth
+but in his own best way
+
+
+
+these are the things i hold divine
+a trusting chi id's hand laid in mine
+rich brown earth and wind-tossed trees
+the taste of grapes and the drone of bees
+a rhythmic gallop, long june days
+a rose-hedged lane and lovers' lays
+the welcome smile on neighbors' faces
+cool, wide hills and open places
+breeze-blown fields of silver rye
+the wild, sweet note of the plover's cry
+fresh spring showers and scent of box
+the soft, pale tint of the garden phlox
+lilacs blooming, a drowsy noon
+a flight of geese and an autumn moon
+rolling meadows and storm-washed heights
+a fountain murmur on summer nights
+a dappled fawn in the forest hush
+simple words and the song of a thrush
+rose-red dawns and a mate to share
+with comrade soul my gypsy fare
+a waiting fire when the twilight ends
+a gallant heart and the voice of friends
+
+
+
+the bravest battle that ever was fought
+shall i tell you where and when
+on the map of the world you will find it not
+
+nay, not with cannon or battle shot
+with sword or nobler pen
+nay, not with eloquent words or thought
+from mouths of wonderful men
+
+but deep in the walled-up woman's heart
+of woman that would not yield
+but bravely, silently, bore her part
+lo, there is that battle field
+
+no marshaling troup, no bivouac song
+no banner to gleam or wave
+but oh! these battles, they last so long
+from babyhood to the grave
+
+yet, faithful as a bridge of stars
+she fights in her walled-up town
+fights on and on in the endless wars
+then, silent, unseen, goes down
+
+oh, ye with banner and battle shot
+and soldiers to shout and praise
+i tell you the kingliest victories fought
+were fought in those silent ways
+
+oh, spotless in a world of shame
+with splendid and silent scorn
+go back to god as white as you came
+the kingliest warrior born
+
+
+
+what to a novice she could say
+of courtship, love and matrimony
+quoth echo plainly,--'matter-o'-money
+
+a dashing damsel, gay and pert
+a pattern of inconstancy
+or selfish, mercenary flirt
+quoth echo, sharply,--'nary flirt
+
+that long has lured the dear deceiver
+she promise to amend her life
+and sin no more; can i believe her
+quoth echo, very promptly;--'leave her
+
+on me should venture to bestow it
+pray should i act the wiser part
+to take the treasure or forgo it
+quoth echo, with decision,--'go it
+
+to bind her fate in hymen's fetter
+she vow she means to die a maid
+in answer to my loving letter
+quoth echo, rather coolly,--'let her
+
+i find my heart entwined about
+with cupid's dear, delicious chain
+so closely that i can't get out
+quoth echo, laughingly,--'get out
+
+as pure and fair as heaven can make her
+will share my labor and my rest
+till envious death shall overtake her
+quoth echo (sotto voce),-'take her
+
+
+
+life! i know not what thou art
+but know that thou and i must part
+and when, or how, or where we met
+i own to me's a secret yet
+
+life! we've been long together
+through pleasant and through cloudy weather
+perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear
+
+then steal away; give little warning
+choose thine own time
+say not good night, but in some brighter clime
+bid me good morning
+
+
+
+in the hush and the lonely silence
+of the chill october night
+some wizard has worked his magic
+with fairy fingers light
+
+the leaves of the sturdy oak trees
+are splendid with crimson and red
+and the golden flags of the maple
+are fluttering overhead
+
+through the tangle of faded grasses
+there are trailing vines ablaze
+and the glory of warmth and color
+gleams through the autumn haze
+
+like banners of marching armies
+that farther and farther go
+down the winding roads and valleys
+the boughs of the sumacs glow
+
+so open your eyes, little children
+and open your hearts as well
+till the charm of the bright october
+shall fold you in its spell
+
+
+
+not who you are, but what you are
+that's what the world demands to know
+just what you are, what you can do
+to help mankind to live and grow
+your lineage matters not at all
+nor counts one whit your gold or gear
+what can you do to show the world
+the reason for your being here
+
+for just what space you occupy
+the world requires you pay the rent
+it does not shower its gifts galore
+its benefits are only lent
+and it has need of workers true
+willing of hand, alert of brain
+go forth and prove what you can do
+nor wait to count o'er loss or gain
+
+give of your best to help and cheer
+the more you give the more you grow
+this message evermore rings true
+in time you reap whate'er you sow
+no failure you have need to fear
+except to fail to do your best
+what have you done, what can you do
+that is the question, that the test
+
+
+
+out of the hills of habersham
+down the valleys of hall
+i hurry amain to reach the plain
+run the rapid and leap the fall
+split at the rock and together again
+accept my bed, or narrow or wide
+and flee from folly on every side
+with a lover's pain to attain the plain
+far from the hills of habersham
+far from the valleys of hall
+
+all down the hills of habersham
+all through the valleys of hall
+the rushes cried "abide, abide
+the wilful waterweeds held me thrall
+the laving laurel turned my tide
+the ferns and the fondling grass said "stay
+the dewberry dipped for to work delay
+and the little reeds sighed "abide, abide
+here in the hills of habersham
+here in the valleys of hall
+
+high o'er the hills of habersham
+veiling the valleys of hall
+the hickory told me manifold
+fair tales of shade, the poplar tall
+wrought me her shadowy self to hold
+the chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine
+o'erleaning, with flickering meaning and sign
+said, "pass not, so cold, these manifold
+deep shades of the hills of habersham
+these glades in the valleys of hall
+
+and oft in the hills of habersham
+and oft in the valleys of hall
+the white quartz shone, and the smooth brookstone
+did bar me of passage with friendly brawl
+and many a luminous jewel lone
+ruby, garnet, and amethyst
+made lures with the lights of streaming stone
+in the clefts of the hills of habersham
+in the beds of the valleys of hall
+
+but oh, not the hills of habersham
+and oh, not the valleys of hall
+avail: i am fain for to water the plain
+downward the voices of duty call
+downward, to toil and be mixed with the main
+the dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn
+and a myriad flowers mortally yearn
+and the lordly main from beyond the plain
+calls o'er the hills of habersham
+calls through the valleys of hall
+
+
+scribner's sons
+
+
+when mary ann dollinger got the skule daown thar on injun bay
+i was glad, fer i like ter see a gal makin' her honest way
+i heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin' high
+tew high for busy farmer folks with chores ter dew ter fly
+but i paid no sorter attention ter all the talk ontell
+she come in her reg-lar boardin' raound ter visit with us a spell
+my jake an' her has been cronies ever since they could walk
+an' it tuk me aback ter hear her kerrectin' him in his talk
+
+jake ain't no hand at grammar, though he hain't his beat for work
+but i sez ter myself, "look out, my gal, yer a-foolin' with a turk
+jake bore it wonderful patient, an' said in a mournful way
+he p'sumed he was behindhand with the doin's at injun bay
+i remember once he was askin' for some o' my injun buns
+an' she said he should allus say, "them air," stid o' "them is" the ones
+wal, mary ann kep' at him stiddy mornin' an' evenin' long
+tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o' talkin' wrong
+
+one day i was pickin' currants down by the old quince tree
+when i heerd jake's voice a-sayin', "be ye willin' ter marry me
+an' mary ann kerrectin', "air ye willin', yeou sh'd say
+our jake he put his foot daown in a plum decided way
+hereafter i says 'craps,' 'them is,' 'i calk'late,' an' 'i be
+ef folks don't like my talk they needn't hark ter what i say
+but i ain't a-goin' to take no sass from folks from injun bay
+i ask you free an' final, 'be ye goin' to marry me
+an' mary ann sez, tremblin', yet anxious-like, "i be
+
+
+whichever way the wind doth blow
+some heart is glad to have it so
+then blow it east, or blow it west
+the wind that blows, that wind is best
+my little craft sails not alone
+a thousand fleets, from every zone
+are out upon a thousand seas
+and what for me were favoring breeze
+might dash another with the shock
+of doom upon some hidden rock
+
+i leave it to a higher will
+to stay or speed me, trusting still
+that all is well, and sure that he
+who launched my bark will sail with me
+through storm and calm, and will not fail
+whatever breezes may prevail
+to land me, every peril past
+within his haven at the last
+then blow it east, or blow it west
+the wind that blows, that wind is best
+
+
+
+
+the district school-master was sitting behind his great book-laden desk
+close-watching the motions of scholars, pathetic and gay and grotesque
+as whisper the half-leafless branches, when autumn's brisk breezes have
+his little scrub-thicket of pupils sent upward a half-smothered hum
+there was little tom timms on the front seat, whose face was withstanding
+a drouth
+and jolly jack gibbs just behind him, with a rainy new moon for a mouth
+there were both of the smith boys, as studious as if they bore names that
+could bloom
+and jim jones, a heaven-built mechanic, the slyest young knave in the room
+with a countenance grave as a horse's, and his honest eyes fixed on a pin
+queer-bent on a deeply-laid project to tunnel joe hawkins's skin
+there were anxious young novices, drilling their spelling-books into their
+brain
+loud-puffing each half-whispered letter, like an engine just starting its
+train
+there was one fiercely muscular fellow, who scowled at the sums on his
+slate
+and leered at the innocent figures a look of unspeakable hate
+and set his white teeth close together, and gave his thin lips a short
+twist
+as to say, "i could whip you, confound you! could such things be done with
+the fist
+there were two knowing girls in the corner, each one with some beauty
+possessed
+in a whisper discussing the problem which one the young master likes best
+a class in the front, with their readers, were telling, with difficult
+pains
+how perished brave marco bozzaris while bleeding at all of his veins
+and a boy on the floor to be punished, a statue of idleness stood
+making faces at all of the others, and enjoying the scene all he could
+
+
+around were the walls, gray and dingy, which every old school-sanctum hath
+with many a break on their surface, where grinned a wood-grating of lath
+a patch of thick plaster, just over the school-master's rickety chair
+seemed threat'ningly o'er him suspended, like damocles' sword, by a hair
+there were tracks on the desks where the knife-blades had wandered in
+search of their prey
+their tops were as duskily spattered as if they drank ink every day
+the square stove it puffed and it crackled, and broke out in red flaming
+sores
+till the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush
+out-o'-doors
+white snowflakes looked in at the windows; the gale pressed its lips to the
+cracks
+and the children's hot faces were streaming, the while they were freezing
+their backs
+
+
+now marco bozzaris had fallen, and all of his suff'rings were o'er
+and the class to their seats were retreating, when footsteps were heard
+at the door
+and five of the good district fathers marched into the room in a row
+and stood themselves up by the fire, and shook off their white cloaks of
+and the spokesman, a grave squire of sixty, with countenance solemnly sad
+spoke thus, while the children all listened, with all of the ears that
+they had
+concernin' complaints that's been entered, an' fault that has lately been
+found
+to pace off the width of your doin's, an' witness what you've been about
+an' see if it's paying to keep you, or whether we'd best turn ye out
+
+you give 'em too tight of a reinin', an' touch 'em up more than they need
+you're nicer than wise in the matter of holdin' the book in one han
+an' you turn a stray _g_ in their _doin's_, an' tack an odd _d
+on their _an
+there ain't no great good comes of speakin' the words so polite, as i see
+providin' you know what the facts is, an' tell 'em off jest as they be
+an' then there's that readin' in corncert, is censured from first unto
+it kicks up a heap of a racket, when folks is a-travelin' past
+whatever is done as to readin', providin' things go to my say
+shan't hang on no new-fangled hinges, but swing in the old-fashioned way
+and the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was
+and nodded obliquely, and muttered: "them 'ere is my sentiments tew
+that you turn the _u_ out o' your _labour_, an' make the word shorter
+than 'tis
+an' clip the _k_ off yer _musick_, which makes my son ephraim perplexed
+an' when he spells out as he ought'r, you pass the word on to the next
+they say there's some new-grafted books here that don't take them letters
+along
+but if it is so, just depend on 't, them new-grafted books is made wrong
+you might just as well say that jackson didn't know all there was about
+as to say that old spellin'-book webster didn't know what them letters was
+and the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was
+and scratched their heads slyly and softly, and said: "them's my sentiments
+is that you have left tare an' tret out, an' also the old rule o' three
+an' likewise brought in a new study, some high-steppin' scholars to please
+with saw-bucks an' crosses and pothooks, an' _w's, x's, y's_ an' _z's
+we ain't got no time for such foolin'; there ain't no great good to be
+reached
+by tiptoein' childr'n up higher than ever their fathers was teached
+and the other four good district fathers gave quick the consent that was
+and cocked one eye up to the ceiling, and said: "them's my sentiments tew
+concernin' some things in the grammar you're teachin' our gals for to say
+my gals is as steady as clockwork, and never give cause for much fear
+but they come home from school t'other evenin' a-talking such stuff as this
+an' 'they
+an' they answered my questions: 'it's grammar'--'twas all i could get 'em
+to say
+now if, 'stead of doin' your duty, you're carryin' matters on so
+as to make the gals say that they love you, it's just all that i want to
+
+
+now jim, the young heaven-built mechanic, in the dusk of the evening
+before
+had well-nigh unjointed the stovepipe, to make it come down on the floor
+and the squire bringing smartly his foot down, as a clincher to what he had
+a joint of the pipe fell upon him, and larruped him square on the head
+the soot flew in clouds all about him, and blotted with black all the place
+and the squire and the other four fathers were peppered with black in the
+the school, ever sharp for amusement, laid down all their cumbersome books
+and, spite of the teacher's endeavors, laughed loud at their visitors
+looks
+and the squire, as he stalked to the doorway, swore oaths of a violet hue
+and the four district fathers, who followed, seemed to say: "them's my
+sentiments tew
+
+
+
+if i were hanged on the highest hill
+mother o' mine
+oh, mother o' mine
+i know whose love would follow me still
+mother o' mine
+oh, mother o' mine
+
+if i were drowned in the deepest sea
+mother o' mine
+oh, mother o' mine
+i know whose tears would flow down to me
+mother o' mine
+oh, mother o' mine
+
+if i were damned o' body and soul
+mother o' mine
+oh, mother o' mine
+i know whose prayers would make me whole
+mother o' mine
+oh, mother o' mine
+
+
+
+who dat knockin' at de do
+why, ike johnson--yes, fu' sho
+come in, ike. i's mighty glad
+you come down. i t'ought you's mad
+at me 'bout de othah night
+an' was stayin' 'way fu' spite
+say, now, was you mad fu' true
+w'en i kin' o' laughed at you
+speak up, ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f
+
+an' a-mekin' out you's mad
+ef you's gwine to be so glum
+wondah why you evah come
+i don't lak nobidy 'roun
+dat jes' shet dey mouf an' frown
+oh, now, man, don't act a dunce
+cain't you talk? i tol' you once
+speak up, ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f
+
+wha'd you come hyeah fu' to-night
+body'd t'ink yo' haid ain't right
+i's done all dat i kin do
+dressed perticler, jes' fu' you
+reckon i'd a' bettah wo
+my ol' ragged calico
+aftah all de pains i's took
+cain't you tell me how i look
+speak up, ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f
+
+bless my soul! i 'mos' fu'got
+tellin' you 'bout tildy scott
+don't you know, come thu'sday night
+she gwine ma'y lucius white
+miss lize say i allus wuh
+heap sight laklier 'n huh
+an' she'll git me somep'n new
+ef i wants to ma'y too
+speak up, ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f
+
+i could ma'y in a week
+if de man i wants 'ud speak
+tildy's presents 'll be fine
+but dey wouldn't ekal mine
+him whut gits me fu' a wife
+i's had offers, some ain't quit
+but i hasn't ma'ied yit
+speak up, ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f
+
+ike, i loves you--yes, i does
+you's my choice, and allus was
+laffin' at you ain't no harm
+go 'way, dahky, whah's yo' arm
+hug me closer--dah, da's right
+wasn't you a awful sight
+havin' me to baig you so
+now ax whut you want to know
+speak up, ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f
+
+
+
+the harp that once through tara's halls
+the soul of music shed
+now hangs as mute on tara's walls
+as if that soul were fled
+so sleeps the pride of former days
+so glory's thrill is o'er
+and hearts, that once beat high for praise
+now feel that pulse no more
+
+no more to chiefs and ladies bright
+the harp of tara swells
+the chord alone, that breaks at night
+its tale of ruin tells
+thus freedom now so seldom wakes
+the only throb she gives
+is when some heart indignant breaks
+to show that still she lives
+
+
+
+at paris it was, at the opera there
+and she looked like a queen in a book that night
+with the wreath of pearl in her raven hair
+and the brooch on her breast so bright
+
+of all the operas that verdi wrote
+the best, to my taste, is the trovatore
+and mario can soothe, with a tenor note
+the souls in purgatory
+
+the moon on the tower slept soft as snow
+and who was not thrilled in the strangest way
+as we heard him sing, while the gas burned low
+
+the emperor there, in his box of state
+looked grave, as if he had just then seen
+the red flag wave from the city gate
+where his eagles in bronze had been
+
+the empress, too, had a tear in her eye
+you'd have said that her fancy had gone back again
+for one moment, under the old blue sky
+to the old glad life in spain
+
+well, there in our front-row box we sat
+my gaze was fixed on my opera hat
+and hers on the stage hard by
+
+and both were silent, and both were sad
+like a queen she leaned on her full white arm
+with that regal, indolent air she had
+so confident of her charm
+
+i have not a doubt she was thinking then
+of her former lord, good soul that he was
+who died the richest and roundest of men
+the marquis of carabas
+
+i hope that, to get to the kingdom of heaven
+through a needle's eye he had not to pass
+i wish him well, for the jointure given
+to my lady of carabas
+
+meanwhile, i was thinking of my first love
+as i had not been thinking of aught for years
+till over my eyes there began to move
+something that felt like tears
+
+i thought of the dress that she wore last time
+when we stood 'neath the cypress trees together
+in that lost land, in that soft clime
+in the crimson evening weather
+
+of that muslin dress (for the eve was hot
+and her warm white neck in its golden chain
+and her full soft hair, just tied in a knot
+and falling loose again
+
+and the jasmine flower in her fair young breast
+and the one bird singing alone to his nest
+and the one star over the tower
+
+i thought of our little quarrels and strife
+and the letter that brought me back my ring
+and it all seemed then, in the waste of life
+such a very little thing
+
+for i thought of her grave below the hill
+which the sentinel cypress tree stands over
+and i thought, "were she only living still
+how i could forgive her and love her
+
+and i swear, as i thought of her thus, in that hour
+and of how, after all, old things are best
+that i smelt the smell of that jasmine flower
+which she used to wear in her breast
+
+it smelt so faint, and it smelt so sweet
+it made me creep, and it made me cold
+like the scent that steals from the crumbling sheet
+where a mummy is half unrolled
+
+and i turned and looked: she was sitting there
+in a dim box over the stage, and drest
+in that muslin dress, with that full, soft hair
+and that jasmine in her breast
+
+i was here, and she was there
+and the glittering horse-shoe curved between
+from my bride betrothed, with her raven hair
+and her sumptuous, scornful mien
+
+to my early love, with her eyes downcast
+and over her primrose face the shade
+there was but a step to be made
+
+to my early love from my future bride
+one moment i looked. then i stole to the door
+i traversed the passage; and down at her side
+i was sitting, a moment more
+
+my thinking of her or the music's strain
+or something which never will be exprest
+had brought her back from the grave again
+with the jasmine in her breast
+
+she is not dead, and she is not wed
+but she loves me now, and she loved me then
+and the very first word that her sweet lips said
+my heart grew youthful again
+
+the marchioness there, of carabas
+she is wealthy, and young, and handsome still
+and but for her--well, we'll let that pass
+she may marry whomever she will
+
+but i will marry my own first love
+with her primrose face, for old things are best
+and the flower in her bosom, i prize it above
+the brooch in my lady's breast
+
+the world is filled with folly and sin
+and love must cling where it can, i say
+for beauty is easy enough to win
+but one isn't loved every day
+
+and i think in the lives of most women and men
+there's a moment when all would go smooth and even
+if only the dead could find out when
+to come back, and be forgiven
+
+but oh the smell of that jasmine flower
+and oh, that music! and oh, the way
+that voice rang out from the donjon tower
+
+
+
+
+i love my prairies, they are mine
+from zenith to horizon line
+clipping a world of sky and sod
+like the bended arm and wrist of god
+
+i love their grasses. the skies
+are larger, and my restless eyes
+fasten on more of earth and air
+than seashore furnishes anywhere
+
+i love the hazel thickets; and the breeze
+the never resting prairie winds. the trees
+that stand like spear points high
+against the dark blue sky
+
+are wonderful to me. i love the gold
+of newly shaven stubble, rolled
+a royal carpet toward the sun, fit to be
+the pathway of a deity
+
+i love the life of pasture lands; the songs of birds
+are not more thrilling to me than the herd's
+mad bellowing or the shadow stride
+of mounted herdsmen at my side
+
+i love my prairies, they are mine
+from high sun to horizon line
+the mountains and the cold gray sea
+are not for me, are not for me
+
+
+
+
+home they brought her warrior dead
+she nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry
+all her maidens, watching, said
+then they praised him, soft and low
+call'd him worthy to be loved
+truest friend and noblest foe
+yet she neither spoke nor moved
+stole a maiden from her place
+lightly to the warrior stept
+took the face-cloth from the face
+yet she neither moved nor wept
+rose a nurse of ninety years
+set his child upon her knee
+like summer tempest came her tears
+
+
+
+sweet is the voice that calls
+from babbling waterfalls
+in meadows where the downy seeds are flying
+and soft the breezes blow
+and eddying come and go
+in faded gardens where the rose is dying
+
+among the stubbled corn
+the blithe quail pipes at morn
+the merry partridge drums in hidden places
+and glittering insects gleam
+above the reedy stream
+where busy spiders spin their filmy laces
+
+at eve, cool shadows fall
+across the garden wall
+and on the clustered grapes to purple turning
+and pearly vapors lie
+along the eastern sky
+where the broad harvest-moon is redly burning
+
+ah, soon on field and hill
+the wind shall whistle chill
+and patriarch swallows call their flocks together
+to fly from frost and snow
+and seek for lands where blow
+the fairer blossoms of a balmier weather
+
+the cricket chirps all day
+the squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts browning
+the wild fowl fly afar
+above the foamy bar
+and hasten southward ere the skies are frowning
+
+now comes a fragrant breeze
+through the dark cedar-trees
+and round about my temples fondly lingers
+in gentle playfulness
+like to the soft caress
+bestowed in happier days by loving fingers
+
+yet, though a sense of grief
+comes with the falling leaf
+and memory makes the summer doubly pleasant
+in all my autumn dreams
+a future summer gleams
+passing the fairest glories of the present
+
+
+
+far back, in my musings, my thoughts have been cast
+to the cot where the hours of my childhood were passed
+i loved all its rooms from the pantry to hall
+but the blessed old kitchen was dearer than all
+its chairs and its tables no brighter could be
+and all its surroundings were sacred to me
+from the nail in the ceiling to the latch on the door
+and i loved every crack in that old kitchen floor
+
+i remember the fireplace with mouth high and wide
+and the old-fashioned oven that stood by its side
+out of which each thanksgiving came puddings and pies
+and they fairly bewildered and dazzled our eyes
+and then old st. nicholas slyly and still
+came down every christmas our stockings to fill
+but the dearest of memories laid up in store
+is my mother a-sweeping that old kitchen floor
+
+to-night those old musings come back at their will
+but the wheel and its music forever are still
+the band is moth-eaten, the wheel laid away
+and the fingers that turned it are mold'ring in clay
+the hearthstone so sacred is just as 'twas then
+and the voices of children ring out there again
+the sun at the window looks in as of yore
+but it sees other feet on that old kitchen floor
+
+
+the night was dark when sam set out
+to court old jones's daughter
+he kinder felt as if he must
+and kinder hadn't oughter
+his heart against his waistcoat throbbed
+his feelings had a tussle
+which nearly conquered him despite
+six feet of bone and muscle
+
+the candle in the window shone
+with a most doleful glimmer
+and sam he felt his courage ooze
+and through his fingers simmer
+says he: "now, sam, don't be a fool
+take courage, shaking doubter
+go on, and pop the question right
+for you can't live without her
+
+but still, as he drew near the house
+his knees got in a tremble
+the beating of his heart ne'er beat
+his efforts to dissemble
+says he: "now, sam, don't be a goose
+and let the female wimmin
+knock all your thoughts a-skelter so
+and set your heart a-swimmin
+
+so sam, he kinder raised the latch
+his courage also raising
+and in a moment he sat inside
+cid jones's crops a-praising
+he tried awhile to talk the farm
+in words half dull, half witty
+not knowing that old jones well knew
+his only thought was--kitty
+
+at last the old folks went to bed
+the joneses were but human
+old jones was something of a man
+and mrs. jones--a woman
+and kitty she the pitcher took
+and started for the cellar
+it wasn't often that she had
+so promising a feller
+
+and somehow when she came upstairs
+and sam had drank his cider
+there seemed a difference in the chairs
+and sam was close beside her
+his stalwart arm dropped round her waist
+her head dropped on his shoulder
+and sam--well, he had changed his tune
+and grown a trifle bolder
+
+but this, if you live long enough
+you surely will discover
+there's nothing in this world of ours
+except the loved and lover
+the morning sky was growing gray
+as sam the farm was leaving
+his face was surely not the face
+of one half grieved, or grieving
+
+and kitty she walked smiling back
+with blushing face, and slowly
+there's something in the humblest love
+that makes it pure and holy
+and did he marry her, you ask
+she stands there with the ladle
+a-skimming of the morning's milk
+that's sam who rocks the cradle
+
+
+the north winds beat and clamor at the door
+the drifted snow lies heaped along the street
+swept by a blinding storm of hail and sleet
+the clouded heavens no guiding starlight lend
+but o'er the earth in gloom and darkness bend
+gigantic shadows, by the night lamps thrown
+dance their weird revels fitfully alone
+
+in lofty halls, where fortune takes its ease
+sunk in the treasures of all lands and seas
+in happy homes, where warmth and comfort meet
+the weary traveler with their smiles to greet
+in lowly dwellings, where the needy swarm
+round starving embers, chilling limbs to warm
+rises the prayer that makes the sad heart light
+
+but hark! above the beating of the storm
+peals on the startled ear the fire alarm
+yon gloomy heaven's aflame with sudden light
+and heart-beats quicken with a strange affright
+from tranquil slumbers springs, at duty's call
+the ready friend no danger can appall
+fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and brave
+he hurries forth to battle and to save
+
+from yonder dwelling, fiercely shooting out
+devouring all they coil themselves about
+the flaming furies, mounting high and higher
+wrap the frail structure in a cloak of fire
+strong arms are battling with the stubborn foe
+in vain attempts their power to overthrow
+with mocking glee they revel with their prey
+defying human skill to check their way
+
+and see! far up above the flame's hot breath
+something that's human waits a horrid death
+a little child, with waving golden hair
+stands, like a phantom, 'mid the horrid glare
+her pale, sweet face against the window pressed
+while sobs of terror shake her tender breast
+and from the crowd beneath, in accents wild
+a mother screams, "o god! my child! my child
+
+up goes a ladder. through the startled throng
+a hardy fireman swiftly moves along
+mounts sure and fast along the slender way
+fearing no danger, dreading but delay
+the stifling smoke-clouds lower in his path
+sharp tongues of flame assail him in their wrath
+but up, still up he goes! the goal is won
+his strong arm beats the sash, and he is gone
+
+gone to his death. the wily flames surround
+and burn and beat his ladder to the ground
+in flaming columns move with quickened beat
+to rear a massive wall 'gainst his retreat
+courageous heart, thy mission was so pure
+suffering humanity must thy loss deplore
+henceforth with martyred heroes thou shalt live
+crowned with all honors nobleness can give
+
+nay, not so fast; subdue these gloomy fears
+behold! he quickly on the roof appears
+bearing the tender child, his jacket warm
+flung round her shrinking form to guard from harm
+up with your ladders! quick! 'tis but a chance
+behold, how fast the roaring flames advance
+quick! quick! brave spirits, to his rescue fly
+up! up! by heavens, this hero must not die
+
+silence! he comes along the burning road
+bearing, with tender care, his living load
+aha! he totters! heaven in mercy save
+the good, true heart that can so nobly brave
+he's up again! and now he's coming fast
+one moment, and the fiery ordeal's passed
+and now he's safe! bold flames, ye fought in vain
+a happy mother clasps her child again
+
+
+
+one bright midsummer day
+the gallant steamer ocean queen
+swept proudly on her way
+bright faces clustered on the deck
+or, leaning o'er the side
+watched carelessly the feathery foam
+that flecked the rippling tide
+
+ah, who beneath that cloudless sky
+that smiling bends serene
+could dream that danger, awful, vast
+impended o'er the scene
+could dream that ere an hour had sped
+that frame of sturdy oak
+would sink beneath the lake's blue waves
+blackened with fire and smoke
+
+a seaman sought the captain's side
+a moment whispered low
+the captain's swarthy face grew pale
+he hurried down below
+alas, too late! though quick, and sharp
+and clear his orders came
+no human efforts could avail
+to quench th' insidious flame
+
+the bad news quickly reached the deck
+it sped from lip to lip
+and ghastly faces everywhere
+looked from the doomed ship
+a hundred lips implore
+
+a sailor, whose heroic soul
+that hour should yet reveal
+by name john maynard, eastern-born
+stood calmly at the wheel
+above the smothered roar
+make for the nearest shore
+
+no terror pales the helmsman's cheek
+or clouds his dauntless eye
+as, in a sailor's measured tone
+his voice responds, "ay! ay
+three hundred souls, the steamer's freight
+crowd forward wild with fear
+while at the stern the dreaded flames
+above the deck appear
+
+john maynard watched the nearing flames
+but still with steady hand
+he grasped the wheel, and steadfastly
+he steered the ship to land
+he heard the captain cry
+a voice from out the stifling smoke
+faintly responds, "ay! ay
+
+but half a mile! a hundred hands
+stretch eagerly to shore
+but half a mile! that distance sped
+peril shall all be o'er
+but half a mile! yet stay, the flames
+no longer slowly creep
+but gather round that helmsman bold
+with fierce, impetuous sweep
+
+the captain cries once more
+and we shall reach the shore
+through flame and smoke that dauntless heart
+responded firmly still
+unawed, though face to face with death
+
+the flames approach with giant strides
+they scorch his hand and brow
+one arm, disabled, seeks his side
+ah! he is conquered now
+but no, his teeth are firmly set
+he crushes down his pain
+his knee upon the stanchion pressed
+he guides the ship again
+
+one moment yet! one moment yet
+brave heart, thy task is o'er
+the pebbles grate beneath the keel
+the steamer touches shore
+three hundred grateful voices rise
+in praise to god that he
+hath saved them from the fearful fire
+and from the engulfing sea
+
+but where is he, that helmsman bold
+the captain saw him reel
+his nerveless hands released their task
+he sank beside the wheel
+the wave received his lifeless corse
+blackened with smoke and fire
+god rest him! never hero had
+a nobler funeral pyre
+
+
+
+piller fights is fun, i tell you
+there isn't anything i'd rather do
+than get a big piller and hold it tight
+stand up in bed and then just fight
+
+us boys allers have our piller fights
+and the best night of all is pa's lodge night
+soon as ever he goes, we say "good night
+then go right upstairs for a piller fight
+
+sometimes maybe ma comes to the stairs
+and hollers up, "boys, have you said your prayers
+and then george will holler "yes, mamma," for he always has
+good deal of preacher about george, pa says
+
+ma says "pleasant dreams," and shuts the door
+if she's a-listenin' both of us snore
+but as soon as ever she goes we light a light
+and pitch right into our piller fight
+
+we play that the bed is bunker hill
+and george is americans, so he stands still
+but i am the british, so i must hit
+as hard as ever i can to make him git
+we played buena vista one night
+tell you, that was an awful hard fight
+
+held up our pillers like they was a flag
+an' hollered, "little more grape-juice, captain bragg
+that was the night that george hit the nail
+you just ought to have seen those feathers sail
+
+i was covered as white as flour
+me and him picked them up for 'most an hour
+next day when our ma saw that there mess
+she was pretty mad, you better guess
+
+and she told our pa, and he just said
+tell you, he whipped us till we were sore
+and made us both promise to do it no more
+
+that was a long time ago, and now lodge nights
+or when pa's away we have piller fights
+but in buena vista george is bound
+to see there aren't any nails anywhere 'round
+
+piller fights is fun, i tell you
+there isn't anything i'd rather do
+than get a big piller and hold it tight
+stand up in bed, and then just fight
+
+
+
+you bad leetle boy, not moche you care
+how busy you're kipin' your poor gran'pere
+tryin' to stop you ev'ry day
+chasin' de hen aroun' de hay
+w'y don't you geev' dem a chance to lay
+leetle bateese
+
+off on de fiel' you foller de plough
+den we'en you're tire, you scare de cow
+sickin' de dog till dey jamp de wall
+so de milk ain't good for not'ing at all
+an' you're only five an' a half this fall
+leetle bateese
+
+too sleepy for sayin' de prayer tonight
+never min', i s'pose it'll be all right
+say dem to-morrow--ah! dere he go
+fas' asleep in a minute or so
+an' he'll stay lak dat till the rooster crow
+leetle bateese
+
+den wake up right away, toute suite
+lookin' for somethin' more to eat
+makin' me t'ink of dem long-lag crane
+soon as they swaller, dey start again
+i wonder your stomach don't get no pain
+leetle bateese
+
+but see heem now lyin' dere in bed
+look at de arm onderneat' hees head
+if he grow lak dat till he's twenty year
+i bet he'll be stronger than louis cyr
+and beat de voyageurs leevin' here
+leetle bateese
+
+jus' feel de muscle along hees back
+won't geev' heem moche bodder for carry pack
+on de long portage, any size canoe
+dere's not many t'ings dat boy won't do
+for he's got double-joint on hees body too
+leetle bateese
+
+but leetle bateese! please don't forget
+we rader you're stayin' de small boy yet
+so chase de chicken and mak' dem scare
+an' do w'at you lak wit' your ole gran'pere
+for w'en you're beeg feller he won't be dere
+leetle bateese
+
+
+
+i sat alone with my conscience
+in a place where time had ceased
+and we talked of my former living
+in the land where the years increased
+and i felt i should have to answer
+the question it might put to me
+and to face the question and answer
+throughout an eternity
+
+the ghosts of forgotten actions
+came floating before my sight
+and things that i thought had perished
+were alive with a terrible might
+and the vision of life's dark record
+was an awful thing to face
+alone with my conscience sitting
+in that solemnly silent place
+
+and i thought of a far-away warning
+of a sorrow that was to be mine
+in a land that then was the future
+but now is the present time
+and i thought of my former thinking
+of the judgment day to be
+but sitting alone with my conscience
+seemed judgment enough for me
+
+and i wondered if there was a future
+to this land beyond the grave
+but no one gave me an answer
+and no one came to save
+then i felt that the future was present
+and the present would never go by
+for it was but the thought of a future
+become an eternity
+
+then i woke from my timely dreaming
+and the vision passed away
+and i knew the far-away warning
+was a warning of yesterday
+and i pray that i may not forget it
+in this land before the grave
+that i may not cry out in the future
+and no one come to save
+
+i have learned a solemn lesson
+which i ought to have known before
+and which, though i learned it dreaming
+i hope to forget no more
+
+so i sit alone with my conscience
+in the place where the years increase
+and i try to fathom the future
+in the land where time shall cease
+and i know of the future judgment
+how dreadful soe'er it be
+that to sit alone with my conscience
+will be judgment enough for me
+
+
+there's a dandy little fellow
+who dresses all in yellow
+in yellow with an overcoat of green
+with his hair all crisp and curly
+in the springtime bright and early
+a-tripping o'er the meadow he is seen
+through all the bright june weather
+like a jolly little tramp
+he wanders o'er the hillside, down the road
+around his yellow feather
+thy gypsy fireflies camp
+his companions are the wood lark and the toad
+
+but at last this little fellow
+doffs his dainty coat of yellow
+and very feebly totters o'er the green
+for he very old is growing
+and with hair all white and flowing
+a-nodding in the sunlight he is seen
+oh, poor dandy, once so spandy
+golden dancer on the lea
+older growing, white hair flowing
+poor little baldhead dandy now is he
+
+
+
+it's easy to talk of the patience of job, humph! job hed nothin' to try
+ef he'd been married to 'bijah brown, folks wouldn't have dared come
+nigh him
+trials, indeed! now i'll tell you what--ef you want to be sick of your
+jest come and change places with me a spell--for i'm an inventor's wife
+and such inventions! i'm never sure, when i take up my coffee-pot
+that 'bijah hain't been "improvin'" it and it mayn't go off like a shot
+why, didn't he make me a cradle once, that would keep itself a-rockin
+and didn't it pitch the baby out, and wasn't his head bruised shockin
+and there was his "patent peeler," too--a wonderful thing, i'll say
+but it hed one fault-it never stopped till the apple was peeled away
+as for locks and clocks, and mowin' machines and reapers, and all such
+trash
+why, 'bijah's invented heaps of 'em but they don't bring in no cash
+law! that don't worry him--not at all; he's the most aggravatin'est man
+he'll set in his little workshop there, and whistle, and think, and plan
+inventin' a jew's-harp to go by steam, or a new-fangled powder-horn
+while the children's goin' barefoot to school and the weeds is chokin
+our corn
+when 'bijah and me kep' company, he warn't like this, you know
+our folks all thought he was dreadful smart--but that was years ago
+he was handsome as any pictur then, and he had such a glib, bright way
+i never thought that a time would come when i'd rue my weddin' day
+but when i've been forced to chop wood, and tend to the farm beside
+and look at bijah a-settin' there, i've jest dropped down and cried
+we lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was inventin' a gun
+but i counted it one of my marcies when it bu'st before 'twas done
+so he turned it into a "burglar alarm." it ought to give thieves a fright
+sometimes i wonder if 'bijah's crazy, he does sech cur'ous things
+hev i told you about his bedstead yit?--'twas full of wheels and springs
+it hed a key to wind it up, and a clock face at the head
+all you did was to turn them hands, and at any hour you said
+that bed got up and shook itself, and bounced you on the floor
+and then shet up, jest like a box, so you couldn't sleep any more
+wa'al, 'bijah he fixed it all complete, and he sot it at half-past five
+but he hadn't mor'n got into it when--dear me! sakes alive
+them wheels began to whiz and whir! i heered a fearful snap
+and there was that bedstead, with 'bijah inside, shet up jest like a trap
+i screamed, of course, but 'twan't no use, then i worked that hull long
+night
+a-trying to open the pesky thing. at last i got in a fright
+i couldn't hear his voice inside, and i thought he might be dyin
+so i took a crow-bar and smashed it in.--there was 'bijah peacefully
+inventin' a way to git out agin. that was all very well to say
+but i don't b'lieve he'd have found it out if i'd left him in all day
+now, sence i've told you my story, do you wonder i'm tired of life
+or think it strange i often wish i warn't an inventor's wife
+
+
+
+the snow and the silence came down together
+through the night so white and so still
+and young folks housed from the bitter weather
+housed from the storm and the chill
+
+heard in their dreams the sleigh-bells jingle
+coasted the hill-sides under the moon
+felt their cheeks with the keen air tingle
+skimmed the ice with their steel-clad shoon
+
+they saw the snow when they rose in the morning
+glittering ghosts of the vanished night
+though the sun shone clear in the winter dawning
+and the day with a frosty pomp was bright
+
+out in the clear, cold, winter weather
+out in the winter air, like wine
+kate with her dancing scarlet feather
+bess with her peacock plumage fine
+
+joe and jack with their pealing laughter
+frank and tom with their gay hallo
+and half a score of roisterers after
+out in the witching, wonderful snow
+
+shivering graybeards shuffle and stumble
+righting themselves with a frozen frown
+grumbling at every snowy tumble
+but young folks know why the snow came down
+
+
+
+closed eyes can't see the white roses
+cold hands can't hold them, you know
+breath that is stilled cannot gather
+the odors that sweet from them blow
+death, with a peace beyond dreaming
+its children of earth doth endow
+life is the time we can help them
+so give them the flowers now
+
+here are the struggles and striving
+here are the cares and the tears
+now is the time to be smoothing
+the frowns and the furrows and fears
+what to closed eyes are kind sayings
+what to hushed heart is deep vow
+naught can avail after parting
+so give them the flowers now
+
+just a kind word or a greeting
+just a warm grasp or a smile
+these are the flowers that will lighten
+the burdens for many a mile
+after the journey is over
+what is the use of them; how
+can they carry them who must be carried
+oh, give them the flowers now
+
+blooms from the happy heart's garden
+plucked in the spirit of love
+blooms that are earthly reflections
+of flowers that blossom above
+words cannot tell what a measure
+of blessing such gifts will allow
+to dwell in the lives of many
+so give them the flowers now
+
+
+
+
+some die too late and some too soon
+at early morning, heat of noon
+or the chill evening twilight. thou
+whom the rich heavens did so endow
+with eyes of power and jove's own brow
+with all the massive strength that fills
+thy home-horizon's granite hills
+with rarest gifts of heart and head
+from manliest stock inherited
+new england's stateliest type of man
+in port and speech olympian
+whom no one met, at first, but took
+a second awed and wondering look
+on phidias' unveiled masterpiece
+whose words, in simplest home-spun clad
+the saxon strength of caedmon's had
+with power reserved at need to reach
+the roman forum's loftiest speech
+sweet with persuasion, eloquent
+in passion, cool in argument
+or, ponderous, falling on thy foes
+as fell the norse god's hammer blows
+crushing as if with talus' flail
+through error's logic-woven mail
+and failing only when they tried
+the adamant of the righteous side
+thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved
+of old friends, by the new deceived
+too soon for us, too soon for thee
+beside thy lonely northern sea
+where long and low the marsh-lands spread
+laid wearily down thy august head
+
+thou shouldst have lived to feel below
+thy feet disunion's fierce upthrow
+the late-sprung mine that underlaid
+thy sad concessions vainly made
+thou shouldst have seen from sumter's wall
+the star-flag of the union fall
+and armed rebellion pressing on
+the broken lines of washington
+no stronger voice than thine had then
+called out the utmost might of men
+to make the union's charter free
+and strengthen law by liberty
+how had that stern arbitrament
+to thy gray age youth's vigor lent
+shaming ambition's paltry prize
+before thy disillusioned eyes
+breaking the spell about thee wound
+like the green withes that samson bound
+redeeming, in one effort grand
+thyself and thy imperiled land
+ah cruel fate, that closed to thee
+o sleeper by the northern sea
+the gates of opportunity
+god fills the gaps of human need
+each crisis brings its word and deed
+wise men and strong we did not lack
+but still, with memory turning back
+in the dark hours we thought of thee
+and thy lone grave beside the sea
+
+above that grave the east winds blow
+and from the marsh-lands drifting slow
+the sea-fog comes, with evermore
+the wave-wash of a lonely shore
+and sea-bird's melancholy cry
+as nature fain would typify
+the sadness of a closing scene
+the loss of that which should have been
+but, where thy native mountains bare
+their foreheads to diviner air
+fit emblem of enduring fame
+one lofty summit keeps thy name
+for thee the cosmic forces did
+the rearing of that pyramid
+the prescient ages shaping with
+fire, flood, and frost thy monolith
+sunrise and sunset lay thereon
+with hands of light their benison
+the stars of midnight pause to set
+their jewels in its coronet
+and evermore that mountain mass
+seems climbing from the shadowy pass
+to light, as if to manifest
+thy nobler self, they life at best
+
+
+
+what flower is this that greets the morn
+its hues from heaven so freshly born
+with burning star and flaming band
+it kindles all the sunset land
+o tell us what its name may be
+is this the flower of liberty
+it is the banner of the free
+the starry flower of liberty
+
+in savage nature's far abode
+its tender seed our fathers sowed
+the storm-winds rocked its swelling bud
+its opening leaves were streaked with blood
+till lo! earth's tyrants shook to see
+the full-blown flower of liberty
+then hail the banner of the free
+the starry flower of liberty
+
+behold its streaming rays unite
+one mingling flood of braided light
+the red that fires the southern rose
+with spotless white from northern snows
+and, spangled o'er its azure, see
+the sister stars of liberty
+then hail the banner of the free
+the starry flower of liberty
+
+the blades of heroes fence it round
+where'er it springs is holy ground
+from tower and dome its glories spread
+it waves where lonely sentries tread
+it makes the land as ocean free
+and plants an empire on the sea
+then hail the banner of the free
+the starry flower of liberty
+
+thy sacred leaves, fair freedom's flower
+shall ever float on dome and tower
+to all their heavenly colors true
+in blackening frost or crimson dew
+and god love us as we love thee
+thrice holy flower of liberty
+then hail the banner of the free
+the starry flower of liberty
+
+
+
+little lamb, who made thee
+dost thou know who made thee
+gave thee life, and made thee feed
+by the stream and o'er the mead
+gave thee clothing of delight
+softest clothing, woolly, bright
+gave thee such a tender voice
+making all the vales rejoice
+little lamb, who made thee
+dost thou know who made thee
+
+little lamb, i'll tell thee
+little lamb, i'll tell thee
+he is called by thy name
+for he calls himself a lamb
+he is meek and he is mild
+he became a little child
+i a child, and thou a lamb
+we are called by his name
+little lamb, god bless thee
+little lamb, god bless thee
+
+
+
+from the lips of the soldier standing near
+and "here" was the answer the next replied
+
+this time no answer followed the call
+only the rear man had seen him fall
+killed or wounded he could not tell
+
+there they stood in the failing light
+these men of battle, with grave dark looks
+as plain to be read as open books
+while slowly gathered the shades of night
+
+the fern on the hillside was splashed with blood
+and down in the corn, where the poppies grew
+were redder stains than the poppies knew
+and crimson-dyed was the river's flood
+
+two stalwart soldiers into the line
+bearing between them herbert kline
+wounded and bleeding, to answer his name
+
+they were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed
+and a shudder crept through the cornfield near
+
+just after the enemy wavered and broke
+
+i paused a moment and gave him a drink
+he murmured his mother's name i think
+and death came with it and closed his eyes
+
+for that company's roll when called that night
+of a hundred men who went into the fight
+numbered but twenty that answered "here
+
+
+
+god send us a little home
+to come back to when we roam
+low walls and fluted tiles
+wide windows, a view for miles
+red firelight and deep chairs
+small white beds upstairs
+great talk in little nooks
+dim colors, rows of books
+one picture on each wall
+not many things at all
+god send us a little ground
+tall trees standing round
+homely flowers in brown sod
+overhead, thy stars, o god
+god bless, when winds blow
+our home and all we know
+
+
+
+no, comrades, i thank you--not any for me
+my last chain is riven--henceforward i'm free
+i will go to my home and my children to-night
+with no fumes of liquor their spirits to blight
+and, with tears in my eyes, i will beg my poor wife
+to forgive me the wreck i have made of her life
+for i've drank my last glass, boys
+i have drank my last glass
+
+just look at me now, boys, in rags and disgrace
+with my bleared, haggard eyes, and my red, bloated face
+mark my faltering step and my weak, palsied hand
+and the mark on my brow that is worse than cain's brand
+see my crownless old hat, and my elbows and knees
+alike, warmed by the sun, or chilled by the breeze
+why, even the children will hoot as i pass
+but i've drank my last glass, boys
+i have drank my last glass
+
+you would hardly believe, boys, to look at me now
+that a mother's soft hand was pressed on my brow
+when she kissed me, and blessed me, her darling, her pride
+ere she lay down to rest by my dead father's side
+but with love in her eyes, she looked up to the sky
+bidding me meet her there and whispered "good-bye
+and i'll do it, god helping! your _smile_ i let pass
+for i've drank my last glass, boys
+i have drank my last glass
+
+ah! i reeled home last night, it was not very late
+for i'd spent my last sixpence, and landlords won't wait
+on a fellow who's left every cent in their till
+and has pawned his last bed, their coffers to fill
+oh, the torments i felt, and the pangs i endured
+and i begged for one glass--just one would have cured
+but they kicked me out doors! i let that, too, pass
+for i've drank my last glass, boys
+i have drank my last glass
+
+at home, my pet susie, with her rich golden hair
+i saw through the window, just kneeling in prayer
+from her pale, bony hands, her torn sleeves hung down
+and her feet, cold and bare, shrank beneath her scant gown
+and she prayed--prayed for _bread_, just a poor crust of bread
+for one crust, on her knees my pet darling plead
+and i heard, with no penny to buy one, alas
+for i've drank my last glass, boys
+i have drank my last glass
+
+for susie, my darling, my wee six-year-old
+though fainting with hunger and shivering with cold
+there, on the bare floor, asked god to bless _me
+and she said, "don't cry, mamma! he will; for you see
+i _believe_ what i ask for!" then sobered, i crept
+away from the house; and that night, when i slept
+next my heart lay the pledge! you smile! let it pass
+for i've drank my last glass, boys
+i have drank my last glass
+
+my darling child saved me! her faith and her love
+are akin to my dear sainted mother's above
+i will make my words true, or i'll die in the race
+and sober i'll go to my last resting place
+and she shall kneel there, and, weeping, thank god
+no _drunkard_ lies under the daisy-strewn sod
+not a drop more of poison my lips shall e'er pass
+for i've drank my last glass, boys
+i have drank my last glass
+
+
+ye banks, and braes, and streams around
+the castle o' montgomery
+green be your woods, and fair your flowers
+your waters never drumlie
+there simmer first unfauld her robes
+and there the langest tarry
+for there i took the last fareweel
+o' my sweet highland mary
+
+how sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk
+how rich the hawthorn's blossom
+as, underneath their fragrant shade
+i clasp'd her to my bosom
+the golden hours, on angel wings
+flew o'er me and my dearie
+for dear to me as light and life
+was my sweet highland mary
+
+wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace
+our parting was fu' tender
+and, pledging aft to meet again
+we tore oursels asunder
+but, oh, fell death's untimely frost
+that nipp'd my flower sae early
+now green's the sod and cauld's the clay
+that wraps my highland mary
+
+oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips
+i aft ha'e kiss'd, sae fondly
+and closed for aye the sparkling glance
+that dwalt on me sae kindly
+and mouldering now in silent dust
+that heart that lo'ed me dearly
+but still within my bosom's core
+shall live my highland mary
+
+
+
+little one, come to my knee
+hark, how the rain is pouring
+over the roof, in the pitch-black night
+and the wind in the woods a-roaring
+
+hush, my darling, and listen
+then pay for the story with kisses
+father was lost in the pitch-black night
+in just such a storm as this is
+
+high up on the lonely mountains
+where the wild men watched and waited
+wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush
+and i on my path belated
+
+the rain and the night together
+came down, and the wind came after
+bending the props of the pine-tree roof
+and snapping many a rafter
+
+i crept along in the darkness
+stunned, and bruised, and blinded
+crept to a fir with thick-set boughs
+and a sheltering rock behind it
+
+there, from the blowing and raining
+crouching, i sought to hide me
+something rustled, two green eyes shone
+and a wolf lay down beside me
+
+little one, be not frightened
+i and the wolf together
+side by side, through the long, long night
+hid from the awful weather
+
+his wet fur pressed against me
+each of us warmed the other
+each of us felt, in the stormy dark
+that beast and man was brother
+
+and when the falling forest
+no longer crashed in warning
+each of us went from our hiding-place
+forth in the wild, wet morning
+
+darling, kiss me in payment
+hark, how the wind is roaring
+father's house is a better place
+when the stormy rain is pouring
+
+
+
+she was a phantom of delight
+when first she gleamed upon my sight
+a lovely apparition sent
+to be a moment's ornament
+her eyes as stars of twilight fair
+like twilight's, too, her dusky hair
+but all things else about her drawn
+from may-time and the cheerful dawn
+a dancing shape, an image gay
+to haunt, to startle, and way-lay
+
+i saw her upon nearer view
+a spirit, yet a woman too
+her household motions light and free
+and steps of virgin-liberty
+a countenance in which did meet
+sweet records, promises as sweet
+a creature not too bright or good
+for human nature's daily food
+for transient sorrows, simple wiles
+praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles
+
+and now i see with eye serene
+the very pulse of the machine
+a being breathing thoughtful breath
+a traveler between life and death
+the reason firm, the temperate will
+endurance, foresight, strength, and skill
+a perfect woman, nobly planned
+to warn, to comfort, and command
+and yet a spirit still, and bright
+with something of angelic light
+
+
+
+
+in may, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
+i found the fresh rhodora in the woods
+spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook
+to please the desert and the sluggish brook
+the purple petals, fallen in the pool
+made the black water with their beauty gay
+here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool
+and court the flower that cheapens his array
+rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
+this charm is wasted on the earth and sky
+tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing
+then beauty is its own excuse for being
+why thou wert there, o rival of the rose
+i never thought to ask, i never knew
+but, in my simple ignorance, suppose
+the self-same power that brought me there brought you
+
+
+
+there was a boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
+and islands of winander!--many a time
+at evening, when the earliest stars began
+to move along the edges of the hills
+rising or setting, would he stand alone
+beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake
+and there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
+pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
+uplifted, he, as through an instrument
+blew mimic hootings to the silent owls
+that they might answer him,--and they would shout
+across the watery vale, and shout again
+responsive to his call,--with quivering peals
+and long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
+redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
+of jocund din! and, when there came a pause
+of silence such as baffled his best skill
+then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
+listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
+has carried far into his heart the voice
+of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
+would enter unawares into his mind
+with all its solemn imagery, its rocks
+its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
+into the bosom of the steady lake
+this boy was taken from his mates, and died
+in childhood, ere he was full twelve years old
+pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
+where he was born and bred: the church-yard hangs
+upon a slope above the village-school
+and through that church-yard when my way has led
+on summer-evenings, i believe, that there
+a long half-hour together i have stood
+mute--looking at the grave in which he lies
+
+
+
+on the top of the crumpetty tree
+the quangle wangle sat
+but his face you could not see
+on account of his beaver hat
+for his hat was a hundred and two feet wide
+with ribbons and bibbons on every side
+and bells, and buttons, and loops, and lace
+so that nobody ever could see the face
+of the quangle wangle quee
+
+the quangle wangle said
+to himself on the crumpetty tree
+are the best of food for me
+but the longer i live on this crumpetty tree
+the plainer than ever it seems to me
+that very few people come this way
+and that life on the whole is far from gay
+said the quangle wangle quee
+
+but there came to the crumpetty tree
+mr. and mrs. canary
+and they said, "did ever you see
+any spot so charmingly airy
+may we build a nest on your lovely hat
+mr. quangle wangle, grant us that
+oh, please let us come and build a nest
+of whatever material suits you best
+mr. quangle wangle quee
+
+and besides, to the crumpetty tree
+came the stork, the duck, and the owl
+the snail and the bumblebee
+the frog and the fimble fowl
+and all of them said, "we humbly beg
+we may build our homes on your lovely hat
+mr. quangle wangle, grant us that
+mr. quangle wangle quee
+
+and the golden grouse came there
+and the pobble who has no toes
+and the small olympian bear
+and the dong with a luminous nose
+and the blue baboon who played the flute
+and the orient calf from the land of tute
+and the attery squash, and the bisky bat
+all came and built on the lovely hat
+of the quangle wangle quee
+
+and the quangle wangle said
+to himself on the crumpetty tree
+what a wonderful noise there'll be
+and at night by the light of the mulberry moon
+they danced to the flute of the blue baboon
+on the broad green leaves of the crumpetty tree
+and all were as happy as happy could be
+with the quangle wangle quee
+
+
+
+
+said the king to his daughters three
+now say what shall they be
+
+then up and spake the eldest daughter
+that lady tall and grand
+and gold rings for my hand
+
+thereafter spake the second daughter
+that was both white and red
+and a gold comb for my head
+
+then came the turn of the least daughter
+that was whiter than thistle-down
+and among the gold of her blithesome hair
+dim shone the golden crown
+
+and sang 'neath my bower eaves
+till i dreamed, as his music made me
+
+then the brow of the king swelled crimson
+with a flush of angry scorn
+and chosen as ye were born
+
+that is happy binding the sheaves
+then he saw her dead mother in her face
+and said, "thou shalt have thy leaves
+
+
+he mounted and rode three days and nights
+till he came to vanity fair
+and 'twas easy to buy the gems and the silk
+but no singing leaves were there
+
+then deep in the greenwood rode he
+and asked of every tree
+i pray you give it me
+
+but the trees all kept their counsel
+and never a word said they
+only there sighed from the pine-tops
+a music of seas far away
+
+only the pattering aspen
+made a sound of growing rain
+that fell ever faster and faster
+then faltered to silence again
+
+that would win both hose and shoon
+and will bring to me the singing leaves
+if they grow under the moon
+
+then lightly turned him walter the page
+by the stirrup as he ran
+of a king and gentleman
+
+you meet at your castle-gate
+and the princess shall get the singing leaves
+or mine be a traitor's fate
+
+the king's head dropt upon his breast
+a moment, as it might be
+
+then walter took from next his heart
+a packet small and thin
+the singing leaves are therein
+
+
+as the king rode in at his castle-gate
+a maiden to meet him ran
+and "welcome, father!" she laughed and cried
+together, the princess anne
+
+she took the packet, and the smile
+deepened down beneath the tear
+
+it deepened down till it reached her heart
+and then gushed up again
+and lighted her tears as the sudden sun
+transfigures the summer rain
+
+and the first leaf, when it was opened
+sang: "i am walter the page
+and the songs i sing 'neath thy window
+are my only heritage
+
+and the second leaf sang: "but in the land
+that is neither on earth nor sea
+my lute and i are lords of more
+than thrice this kingdom's fee
+
+and the third leaf sang, "be mine! be mine
+and ever it sang, "be mine
+then sweeter it sang and ever sweeter
+and said, "i am thine, thine, thine
+
+at the first leaf she grew pale enough
+at the second she turned aside
+at the third,'twas as if a lily flushed
+with a rose's red heart's tide
+
+for they sing to my very heart," she said
+
+she brought to him her beauty and truth
+but and broad earldoms three
+and he made her queen of the broader lands
+he held of his lute in fee
+
+
+
+never yet was a springtime
+late though lingered the snow
+that the sap stirred not at the whisper
+of the south wind, sweet and low
+never yet was a springtime
+when the buds forgot to blow
+
+ever the wings of the summer
+are folded under the mold
+life that has known no dying
+is love's to have and to hold
+till sudden, the burgeoning easter
+the song! the green and the gold
+
+
+
+
+farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness
+this is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
+the tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms
+and bears his blushing honours thick upon him
+the third day comes a frost, a killing frost
+and,--when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
+his greatness is a-ripening,--nips his root
+and then he falls, as i do. i have ventured
+like little wanton boys that swim on bladders
+this many summers in a sea of glory
+but far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
+at length broke under me, and now has left me
+weary, and old with service, to the mercy
+of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me
+vain pomp and glory of this world, i hate ye
+i feel my heart new opened. o, how wretched
+is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours
+there is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to
+that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin
+more pangs and fears than wars or women have
+and when he falls, he falls like lucifer
+never to hope again
+
+
+
+want any papers, mister
+wish you'd buy 'em of me
+ten year old, an' a fam'ly
+an' bizness dull, you see
+fact, boss! there's tom, an' tibby
+an' dad, an' mam, an' mam's cat
+none on 'em earning money
+what do you think of that
+
+he's workin' for gov'ment now
+they give him his board for nothin
+all along of a drunken row
+been there a year or so
+so i'm taking care of the others
+doing as well as i know
+
+she's a kitten, a real maltee
+i picked her up last summer
+some boys was a drownin' of she
+throw'd her inter a hogshead
+but a p'liceman came along
+so i jest grabbed up the kitten
+and put for home, right strong
+
+and tom's my dog; he an' tibby
+hain't never quarreled yet
+they sleep in my bed in winter
+an' keeps me warm--you bet
+mam's cat sleeps in the corner
+with a piller made of her paw
+can't she growl like a tiger
+if anyone comes to our straw
+
+what's a feller to do
+some nights, when i'm tired an' hungry
+seems as if each on 'em knew
+they'll all three cuddle around me
+till i get cheery, and say
+well, p'raps i'll have sisters an' brothers
+an' money an' clothes, too, some day
+
+but if i do git rich, boss
+said newsboys could be presidents
+if only they acted right
+so, if i was president, mister
+the very first thing i'd do
+i'd buy poor tom an' tibby
+a dinner--an' mam's cat, too
+
+none o' your scraps an' leavin's
+but a good square meal for all three
+if you think i'd skimp my friends, boss
+that shows you don't know _me
+so 'ere's your papers--come take one
+gimme a lift if you can
+for now you've heard my story
+you see i'm a fam'ly man
+
+
+
+not far advanced was morning day
+when marmion did his troop array
+to surrey's camp to ride
+he had safe conduct for his band
+beneath the royal seal and hand
+and douglas gave a guide
+the ancient earl, with stately grace
+would clara on her palfrey place
+and whispered in an undertone
+the train from out the castle drew
+but marmion stopped to bid adieu
+sent hither by your king's behest
+while in tantallon's towers i stayed
+part we in friendship from your land
+and, noble earl, receive my hand
+but douglas round him drew his cloak
+folded his arms, and thus he spoke
+be open, at my sovereign's will
+to each one whom he lists, howe'er
+unmeet to be the owner's peer
+my castles are my king's alone
+from turret to foundation-stone
+the hand of douglas is his own
+and never shall in friendly grasp
+the hand of such as marmion clasp
+
+burned marmion's swarthy cheek like fire
+and shook his very frame for ire
+and--"this to me!" he said
+such hand as marmion's had not spared
+to cleave the douglas' head
+and, first, i tell thee, haughty peer
+he who does england's message here
+even in thy pitch of pride
+here in thy hold, thy vassals near
+and lay your hands upon your sword
+i tell thee thou'rt defied
+and if thou said'st i am not peer
+to any lord in scotland here
+lowland or highland, far or near
+lord angus, thou hast lied
+on the earl's cheek the flush of rage
+o'ercame the ashen hue of age
+fierce he broke forth,--"and dar'st thou then
+to beard the lion in his den
+the douglas in his hall
+and hop'st thou hence unscathed to go
+no, by st. bride of bothwell, no
+up drawbridge, grooms,--what, warder, ho
+let the portcullis fall
+lord marmion turned,--well was his need
+and dashed the rowels in his steed
+like arrow through the archway sprung
+the ponderous grate behind him rung
+to pass there was such scanty room
+the bars, descending, razed his plume
+
+the steed along the drawbridge flies
+just as it trembled on the rise
+not lighter does the swallow skim
+along the smooth lake's level brim
+and when lord marmion reached his band
+he halts, and turns with clenched hand
+and shout of loud defiance pours
+and shook his gauntlet at the towers
+but soon he reined his fury's pace
+though most unworthy of the name
+
+old age ne'er cools the douglas blood
+i thought to slay him where he stood
+i warrant him a warrior tried
+with this his mandate he recalls
+and slowly seeks his castle halls
+
+
+
+han'som, stranger? yes, she's purty an' ez peart ez she kin be
+clever? w'y! she ain't no chicken, but she's good enough for me
+what's her name? 'tis kind o' common, yit i ain't ashamed to tell
+she's ole "fiddler" filkin's daughter, an' her dad he calls her "nell
+
+i wuz drivin' on the "central" jist about a year ago
+on the run from winnemucca up to reno in washoe
+there's no end o' skeery places. 'taint a road fur one who dreams
+with its curves an' awful tres'les over rocks an' mountain streams
+
+an' wuz tearin' up the mountain like a summer thunder-shower
+round the bends an' by the ledges, 'bout ez fast ez we could go
+with the mountain peaks above us an' the river down below
+
+ez we come nigh to a tres'le 'crost a holler, deep an' wild
+suddenly i saw a baby, 'twuz the station-keeper's child
+toddlin' right along the timbers with a bold an' fearless tread
+right afore the locomotive, not a hundred rods ahead
+
+i jist jumped an' grabbed the throttle an' i fa'rly held my breath
+fur i felt i couldn't stop her till the child wuz crushed to death
+when a woman sprang afore me, like a sudden streak o' light
+caught the boy, an' 'twixt the timbers in a second sank from sight
+
+i jist whis'l'd all the brakes on. an' we worked with might an' main
+till the fire flew from the drivers, but we couldn't stop the train
+an' it rumbled on above her. how she screamed ez we rolled by
+an' the river roared below us--i shall hear her till i die
+
+then we stopt; the sun wuz shinin'; i ran back along the ridge
+an' i found her--dead? no! livin'! she wuz hangin' to the bridge
+where she dropt down thro' the crossties, with one arm about a sill
+an' the other round the baby, who wuz yellin' fur to kill
+
+so we saved 'em. she wuz gritty. she's ez peart ez she kin be
+now we're married--she's no chicken, but she's good enough for me
+an' ef eny ask who owns her, w'y, i ain't ashamed to tell
+she's my wife. ther' ain't none better than ole filkin's daughter "nell
+
+
+
+a traveler on the dusty road
+strewed acorns on the lea
+and one took root and sprouted up
+and grew into a tree
+love sought its shade, at evening time
+to breathe his early vows
+and age was pleased, in heats of noon
+to bask beneath its boughs
+the dormouse loved its dangling twigs
+the birds sweet music bore
+it stood a glory in its place
+a blessing evermore
+
+a little spring had lost its way
+amid the grass and fern
+a passing stranger scooped a well
+where weary men might turn
+he walled it in, and hung with care
+a ladle at the brink
+he thought not of the deed he did
+but judged that all might drink
+he paused again, and lo! the well
+by summer never dried
+had cooled ten thousand parching tongues
+and saved a life beside
+
+a dreamer dropped a random thought
+a simple fancy of the brain
+but strong in being true
+it shone upon a genial mind
+and, lo! its light became
+a lamp of life, a beacon ray
+a monitory flame
+the thought was small, its issue great
+a watch-fire on the hill
+it shed its radiance far adown
+and cheers the valley still
+
+a nameless man, amid a crowd
+that thronged the daily mart
+let fall a word of hope and love
+unstudied from the heart
+a whisper on the tumult thrown
+a transitory breath
+it raised a brother from the dust
+it saved a soul from death
+o germ! o fount! o word of love
+o thought at random cast
+ye were but little at the first
+but mighty at the last
+
+
+
+when the humid showers gather over all the starry spheres
+and the melancholy darkness gently weeps in rainy tears
+and listen to the patter of the soft rain overhead
+
+every tinkle on the shingles has an echo in the heart
+and a thousand dreamy fancies into busy being start
+and a thousand recollections weave their bright hues into woof
+as i listen to the patter of the soft rain on the roof
+
+there in fancy comes my mother, as she used to years agone
+to survey the infant sleepers ere she left them till the dawn
+i can see her bending o'er me, as i listen to the strain
+which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain
+
+then my little seraph sister, with her wings and waving hair
+and her bright-eyed, cherub brother--a serene, angelic pair
+glide around my wakeful pillow with their praise or mild reproof
+as i listen to the murmur of the soft rain on the roof
+
+and another comes to thrill me with her eyes' delicious blue
+i forget, as gazing on her, that her heart was all untrue
+i remember that i loved her as i ne'er may love again
+and my heart's quick pulses vibrate to the patter of the rain
+
+there is naught in art's bravuras that can work with such a spell
+in the spirit's pure, deep fountains, whence the holy passions swell
+as that melody of nature, that subdued, subduing strain
+which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain
+
+
+
+the "bhisti," or water-carriers attached to regiments in india, is often
+one of the most devoted subjects of the british crown, and he is much
+appreciated by the men
+
+you may talk o' gin an' beer
+when you're quartered safe out 'ere
+an' you're sent to penny-fights an' aldershot it
+but if it comes to slaughter
+you will do your work on water
+an' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it
+now in injia's sunny clime
+where i used to spend my time
+a-servin' of 'er majesty the queen
+of all them black-faced crew
+the finest man i knew
+was our regimental _bhisti_, gunga din
+he was "din! din! din
+you limping lump o' brick-dust, gunga din
+hi! _slippy hitherao
+water, get it! _panee lao
+you squidgy-nosed, old idol, gunga din
+
+the uniform 'e wore
+was nothin' much before
+an' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind
+for a twisty piece o' rag
+an' a goatskin water bag
+was all the field-equipment 'e could find
+when the sweatin' troop-train lay
+in a sidin' through the day
+where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl
+we shouted "harry by
+till our throats were bricky-dry
+then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all
+it was "din! din! din
+you 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been
+you put some _juldee_ in it
+or i'll _marrow_ you this minute
+if you don't fill up my helmet, gunga din
+
+till the longest day was done
+an' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear
+if we charged or broke or cut
+you could bet your bloomin' nut
+with 'is _mussick_ on 'is back
+an' watch us till the bugles made "retire
+an' for all 'is dirty 'ide
+when 'e went to tend the wounded under fire
+it was "din! din! din
+with the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green
+when the cartridges ran out
+you could 'ear the front-files shout
+
+i sha'n't forgit the night
+when i dropped be'ind the fight
+with a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been
+i was chokin' mad with thirst
+an' the man that spied me first
+was our good old grinnin', gruntin' gunga din
+an' 'e plugged me where i bled
+an' 'e guv me arf-a-pint o' water--green
+it was crawlin' and it stunk
+but of all the drinks i've drunk
+i'm gratefullest to one from gunga din
+it was "din! din! din
+for gawd's sake git the water, gunga din
+
+to where a _dooli_ lay
+an' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean
+an', just before 'e died
+so i'll meet 'im later on
+in the place where 'e is gone
+where it's always double drill and no canteen
+givin' drink to pore damned souls
+an' i'll get a swig in hell from gunga din
+din! din! din
+you lazarushian-leather gunga din
+tho' i've belted you an' flayed you
+by the livin' gawd that made you
+you're a better man than i am, gunga din
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+stand! the ground's your own, my braves
+will ye give it up to slaves
+will ye look for greener graves
+hope ye mercy still
+what's the mercy despots feel
+hear it in that battle peal
+read it on yon bristling steel
+ask it--ye who will
+
+fear ye foes who kill for hire
+will ye to your homes retire
+look behind you! they're afire
+and, before you, see
+who have done it! from the vale
+on they come! and will ye quail
+leaden rain and iron hail
+let their welcome be
+
+in the god of battles trust
+die we may--and die we must
+but, o where can dust to dust
+be consigned so well
+as where heaven its dews shall shed
+on the martyred patriot's bed
+and the rocks shall raise their head
+of his deeds to tell
+
+
+
+
+
+why dost thou wildly rush and roar
+mad river, o mad river
+wilt thou not pause and cease to pour
+thy hurrying, headlong waters o'er
+this rocky shelf forever
+
+what secret trouble stirs thy breast
+why all this fret and flurry
+dost thou not know that what is best
+in this too restless world is rest
+from overwork and worry
+
+
+what wouldst thou in these mountains seek
+o stranger from the city
+is it perhaps some foolish freak
+of thine, to put the words i speak
+into a plaintive ditty
+
+
+yes; i would learn of thee thy song
+with all its flowing numbers
+and in a voice as fresh and strong
+as thine is, sing it all day long
+and hear it in my slumbers
+
+
+a brooklet nameless and unknown
+was i at first, resembling
+a little child, that all alone
+comes venturing down the stairs of stone
+irresolute and trembling
+
+later, by wayward fancies led
+for the wide world i panted
+out of the forest dark and dread
+across the open fields i fled
+like one pursued and haunted
+
+i tossed my arms, i sang aloud
+my voice exultant blending
+with thunder from the passing cloud
+the wind, the forest bent and bowed
+the rush of rain descending
+
+i heard the distant ocean call
+imploring and entreating
+drawn onward, o'er this rocky wall
+i plunged, and the loud waterfall
+made answer to the greeting
+
+and now, beset with many ills
+a toilsome life i follow
+compelled to carry from the hills
+these logs to the impatient mills
+below there in the hollow
+
+yet something ever cheers and charms
+the rudeness of my labors
+daily i water with these arms
+the cattle of a hundred farms
+and have the birds for neighbors
+
+men call me mad, and well they may
+when, full of rage and trouble
+i burst my banks of sand and clay
+and sweep their wooden bridge away
+like withered reeds or stubble
+
+now go and write thy little rhyme
+as of thine own creating
+thou seest the day is past its prime
+i can no longer waste my time
+the mills are tired of waiting
+
+
+
+when papa was a little boy you really couldn't find
+in all the country round about a child so quick to mind
+his mother never called but once, and he was always there
+he never made the baby cry or pulled his sister's hair
+he never slid down banisters or made the slightest noise
+and never in his life was known to fight with other boys
+he always rose at six o'clock and went to bed at eight
+and never lay abed till noon; and never sat up late
+
+he finished latin, french and greek when he was ten year old
+and knew the spanish alphabet as soon as he was told
+he never, never thought of play until his work was done
+he labored hard from break of day until the set of sun
+he never scraped his muddy shoes upon the parlor floor
+and never answered, back his ma, and never banged the door
+
+
+
+i looked at john,--john looked at me
+as well as though my locks were jet
+and when i found that i must speak
+my voice seemed strangely low and weak
+and then i listening bent my head
+a house and land while you shall live
+if, in return, from out your seven
+one child to me for aye is given
+
+i looked at john's old garments worn
+i thought of all that john had borne
+of poverty, and work, and care
+which i, though willing, could not share
+of seven hungry mouths to feed
+of seven little children's need
+and then of this
+asleep"; so walking hand in hand
+dear john and i surveyed our band
+
+first to the cradle lightly stepped
+where lilian, the baby, slept
+her damp curls lay, like gold alight
+a glory 'gainst the pillow white
+softly her father stooped to lay
+his rough hand down in loving way
+when dream or whisper made her stir
+and huskily he said, "not _her
+we stooped beside the trundle-bed
+and one long ray of lamp-light shed
+athwart the boyish faces there
+in sleep so pitiful and fair
+i saw on jamie's rough red cheek
+a tear undried; ere john could speak
+and kissed him as we hurried by
+pale, patient robby's angel face
+still in his sleep bore suffering's trace
+he whispered, while our eyes were dim
+poor dick! sad dick! our wayward son
+turbulent, reckless, idle one
+could _he_ be spared? "nay, he who gave
+bids us befriend him to the grave
+only a mother's heart can be
+patient enough for such as he
+and so," said john, "i would not dare
+to send him from her bedside prayer
+then stole we softly up above
+and knelt by mary, child of love
+i said to john. quite silently
+he lifted up a curl, that lay
+across her cheek in wilful way
+and shook his head; "nay, love, not thee
+the while my heart beat audibly
+only one more, our eldest lad
+trusty and truthful, good and glad
+so like his father: "no, john, no
+i cannot, will not, let him go
+
+and so we wrote, in courteous way
+we could not give one child away
+and afterward toil lighter seemed
+thinking of that of which we dreamed
+happy, in truth, that not one face
+we missed from its accustomed place
+thankful to work for all the seven
+trusting then to one in heaven
+
+
+
+it was a starry night in june, the air was soft and still
+when the "minute-men" from cambridge came, and gathered on the hill
+beneath us lay the sleeping town, around us frowned the fleet
+but the pulse of freemen, not of slaves, within our bosoms beat
+and every heart rose high with hope, as fearlessly we said
+
+the trench is marked, the tools are brought, we utter not a word
+but stack our guns, then fall to work with mattock and with spade
+a thousand men with sinewy arms, and not a sound is made
+so still were we, the stars beneath, that scarce a whisper fell
+we heard the red-coat's musket click, and heard him cry, "all's well
+
+see how the morn, is breaking; the red is in the sky
+the mist is creeping from the stream that floats in silence by
+the "lively's" hall looms through the fog, and they our works have spied
+for the ruddy flash and round-shot part in thunder from her side
+and the "falcon" and the "cerberus" make every bosom thrill
+with gun and shell, and drum and bell, and boatswain's whistle shrill
+but deep and wider grows the trench, as spade and mattock ply
+for we have to cope with fearful odds, and the time is drawing nigh
+
+up with the pine-tree banner! our gallant prescott stands
+amid the plunging shells and shot, and plants it with his hands
+up with the shout! for putnam comes upon his reeking bay
+with bloody spur and foaming bit, in haste to join the fray
+but thou whose soul is glowing in the summer of thy years
+unvanquishable warren, thou, the youngest of thy peers
+wert born and bred, and shaped and made, to act a patriot's part
+and dear to us thy presence is as heart's blood to the heart
+
+hark! from the town a trumpet! the barges at the wharf
+are crowded with the living freight; and now they're pushing off
+with clash and glitter, trump and drum, in all its bright array
+behold the splendid sacrifice move slowly o'er the bay
+and still and still the barges fill, and still across the deep
+like thunder clouds along the sky, the hostile transports sweep
+
+and now they're forming at the point; and now the lines advance
+we see beneath the sultry sun their polished bayonets glance
+we hear anear the throbbing drum, the bugle-challenge ring
+quick bursts and loud the flashing cloud, and rolls from wing to wing
+but on the height our bulwark stands, tremendous in its gloom
+as sullen as a tropic sky, and silent as a tomb
+
+and so we waited till we saw, at scarce ten rifles' length
+the old vindictive saxon spite, in all its stubborn strength
+when sudden, flash on flash, around the jagged rampart burst
+from every gun the livid light upon the foe accursed
+then quailed a monarch's might before a free-born people's ire
+then drank the sward the veteran's life, where swept the yeoman's fire
+
+then, staggered by the shot, he saw their serried columns reel
+and fall, as falls the bearded rye beneath the reaper's steel
+and then arose a mighty shout that might have waked the dead
+and every man hath dropped his gun to clutch a neighbor's hand
+as his heart kept praying all the while for home and native land
+
+thrice on that day we stood the shock of thrice a thousand foes
+and thrice that day within our lines the shout of victory rose
+and though our swift fire slackened then, and, reddening in the skies
+we saw from charlestown's roofs and walls the flamy columns rise
+yet while we had a cartridge left, we still maintained the fight
+nor gained the foe one foot of ground upon that blood-stained height
+
+what though for us no laurels bloom, and o'er the nameless brave
+no sculptured trophy, scroll, nor hatch records a warrior grave
+what though the day to us was lost!--upon that deathless page
+the everlasting charter stands for every land and age
+
+for man hath broke his felon bonds, and cast them in the dust
+and claimed his heritage divine, and justified the trust
+while through his rifted prison-bars the hues of freedom pour
+o'er every nation, race and clime, on every sea and shore
+such glories as the patriarch viewed, when, mid the darkest skies
+he saw above a ruined world the bow of promise rise
+
+
+
+we squander health in search of wealth
+we scheme and toil and save
+then squander wealth in search of health
+but only find a grave
+we live, and boast of what we own
+we die, and only get a stone
+
+
+it may be that the words i spoke
+to cheer him on his way
+to him were vain, but i myself
+was braver all that day
+
+
+
+billy's dead, and gone to glory--so is billy's sister nell
+there's a tale i know about them, were i poet i would tell
+soft it comes, with perfume laden, like a breath of country air
+wafted down the filthy alley, bringing fragrant odors there
+
+in that vile and filthy alley, long ago one winter's day
+dying quick of want and fever, hapless, patient billy lay
+while beside him sat his sister, in the garret's dismal gloom
+cheering with her gentle presence billy's pathway to the tomb
+
+many a tale of elf and fairy did she tell the dying child
+till his eyes lost half their anguish, and his worn, wan features smiled
+tales herself had heard haphazard, caught amid the babel roar
+lisped about by tiny gossips playing round their mothers' door
+
+then she felt his wasted fingers tighten feebly as she told
+how beyond this dismal alley lay a land of shining gold
+where, when all the pain was over,--where, when all the tears were shed
+he would be a white-frocked angel, with a gold thing on his head
+
+then she told some garbled story of a kind-eyed saviour's love
+how he'd built for little children great big playgrounds up above
+where they sang and played at hopscotch and at horses all the day
+and where beadles and policemen never frightened them away
+
+this was nell's idea of heaven,--just a bit of what she'd heard
+with a little bit invented, and a little bit inferred
+but her brother lay and listened, and he seemed to understand
+for he closed his eyes and murmured he could see the promised land
+
+oh, the children look so happy and they're all so strong and well
+i can see them there with jesus--he is playing with them, too
+let as run away and join them, if there's room for me and you
+
+she was eight, this little maiden, and her life had all been spent
+in the garret and the alley, where they starved to pay the rent
+where a drunken father's curses and a drunken mother's blows
+drove her forth into the gutter from the day's dawn to its close
+
+but she knew enough, this outcast, just to tell this sinking boy
+you must die," she whispered, "billy, and i am not even ill
+but i'll come to you, dear brother,--yes, i promise that i will
+
+i heard father say to mother that he knew you couldn't last
+they will put you in a coffin, then you'll wake and be up there
+while i'm left alone to suffer in this garret bleak and bare
+
+gentle jesus will not beat me; he's not cruel or unkind
+but i can't help thinking, nelly, i should like to take away
+something, sister, that you gave me, i might look at every day
+
+to a great green lovely meadow, where we played and ran about
+and the van that took us halted by a sweet bright patch of land
+where the fine red blossoms grew, dear, half as big as mother's hand
+
+those
+and he told me, i remember, that the pretty name was rose
+i have never seen them since, dear--how i wish that i had one
+just to keep and think of you, nell, when i'm up beyond the sun
+
+not a word said little nelly; but at night, when billy slept
+on she flung her scanty garments and then down the stairs she crept
+through the silent streets of london she ran nimbly as a fawn
+running on and running ever till the night had changed to dawn
+
+when the foggy sun had risen, and the mist had cleared away
+all around her, wrapped in snowdrift, there the open country lay
+she was tired, her limbs were frozen, and the roads had cut her feet
+but there came no flowery gardens her poor tearful eyes to greet
+
+she had traced the road by asking, she had learnt the way to go
+she had found the famous meadow--it was wrapped in cruel snow
+not a buttercup or daisy, not a single verdant blade
+showed its head above its prison. then she knelt her down and prayed
+
+with her eyes upcast to heaven, down she sank upon the ground
+and she prayed to god to tell her where the roses might be found
+then the cold blast numbed her senses, and her sight grew strangely dim
+and a sudden, awful tremor seemed to seize her every limb
+
+and as she prayed a chariot came thundering down the hill
+and a lady sat there, toying with a red rose, rare and sweet
+as she passed she flung it from her, and it fell at nelly's feet
+
+just a word her lord had spoken caused her ladyship to fret
+and the rose had been his present, so she flung it in a pet
+but the poor, half-blinded nelly thought it fallen from the skies
+and she murmured, "thank you, jesus!" as she clasped the dainty prize
+
+lo! that night from but the alley did a child's soul pass away
+from dirt and sin and misery up to where god's children play
+lo! that night a wild, fierce snowstorm burst in fury o'er the land
+and at morn they found nell frozen, with the red rose in her hand
+
+billy's dead, and gone to glory--so is billy's sister nell
+am i bold to say this happened in the land where angels dwell
+that the children met in heaven, after all their earthly woes
+and that nelly kissed her brother, and said, "billy, here's your rose
+
+
+
+mine is a wild, strange story,--the strangest you ever heard
+there are many who won't believe it, but it's gospel, every word
+it's the biggest drama of any in a long, adventurous life
+the scene was a ship, and the actors--were myself and my new-wed wife
+
+you musn't mind if i ramble, and lose the thread now and then
+i'm old, you know, and i wander--it's a way with old women and men
+for their lives lie all behind them, and their thoughts go far away
+and are tempted afield, like children lost on a summer day
+
+the years must be five-and-twenty that have passed since that awful night
+but i see it again this evening, i can never shut out the sight
+we were only a few weeks married, i and the wife, you know
+when we had an offer for melbourne, and made up our minds to go
+
+we'd acted together in england, traveling up and down
+with a strolling band of players, going from town to town
+we played the lovers together--we were leading lady and gent
+and at last we played in earnest, and straight to the church we went
+
+the parson gave us his blessing, and i gave nellie the ring
+and swore that i'd love and cherish, and endow her with everything
+how we smiled at that part of the service when i said "i thee endow
+but as to the "love and cherish," i meant to keep that vow
+
+we were only a couple of strollers; we had coin when the show was good
+when it wasn't we went without it, and we did the best we could
+we were happy, and loved each other, and laughed at the shifts we made
+where love makes plenty of sunshine, there poverty casts no shade
+
+well, at last we got to london, and did pretty well for a bit
+then the business dropped to nothing, and the manager took a flit
+stepped off one sunday morning, forgetting the treasury call
+but our luck was in, and we managed right on our feet to fall
+
+we got an offer for melbourne,--got it that very week
+those were the days when thousands went over to fortune seek
+the days of the great gold fever, and a manager thought the spot
+good for a "spec," and took us as actors among his lot
+
+we hadn't a friend in england--we'd only ourselves to please
+and we jumped at the chance of trying our fortune across the seas
+we went on a sailing vessel, and the journey was long and rough
+we hadn't been out a fortnight before we had had enough
+
+but use is a second nature, and we'd got not to mind a storm
+when misery came upon us,--came in a hideous form
+my poor little wife fell ailing, grew worse, and at last so bad
+that the doctor said she was dying,--i thought 'twould have sent me mad
+
+dying where leagues of billows seemed to shriek for their prey
+and the nearest land was hundreds--aye, thousands--of miles away
+she raved one night in a fever, and the next lay still as death
+so still i'd to bend and listen for the faintest sign of breath
+
+she seemed in a sleep, and sleeping, with a smile on her thin, wan face
+she passed away one morning, while i prayed to the throne of grace
+i knelt in the little cabin, and prayer after prayer i said
+till the surgeon came and told me it was useless--my wife was dead
+
+dead! i wouldn't believe it. they forced me away that night
+for i raved in my wild despairing, the shock sent me mad outright
+i was shut in the farthest cabin, and i beat my head on the side
+and all day long in my madness, "they've murdered her!" i cried
+
+they locked me away from my fellows,--put me in cruel chains
+it seems i had seized a weapon to beat out the surgeon's brains
+i cried in my wild, mad fury, that he was a devil sent
+to gloat o'er the frenzied anguish with which my heart was rent
+
+i spent that night with the irons heavy upon my wrists
+and my wife lay dead quite near me. i beat with my fettered fists
+beat at my prison panels, and then--o god!--and then
+i heard the shrieks of women and the tramp of hurrying men
+
+i heard the cry, "ship afire!" caught up by a hundred throats
+and over the roar the captain shouting to lower the boats
+then cry upon cry, and curses, and the crackle of burning wood
+and the place grew hot as a furnace, i could feel it where i stood
+
+i beat at the door and shouted, but never a sound came back
+and the timbers above me started, till right through a yawning crack
+i could see the flames shoot upward, seizing on mast and sail
+fanned in their burning fury by the breath of the howling gale
+
+i dashed at the door in fury, shrieking, "i will not die
+die in this burning prison!"--but i caught no answering cry
+then, suddenly, right upon me, the flames crept up with a roar
+and their fiery tongues shot forward, cracking my prison door
+
+i was free--with the heavy iron door dragging me down to death
+i fought my way to the cabin, choked with the burning breath
+of the flames that danced around me like man-mocking fiends at play
+and then--o god! i can see it, and shall to my dying day
+
+there lay my nell as they'd left her, dead in her berth that night
+the flames flung a smile on her features,--a horrible, lurid light
+god knows how i reached and touched her, but i found myself by her side
+i thought she was living a moment, i forgot that my nell had died
+
+in the shock of those awful seconds reason came back to my brain
+i heard a sound as of breathing, and then a low cry of pain
+oh, was there mercy in heaven? was there a god in the skies
+the dead woman's lips were moving, the dead woman opened her eyes
+
+i cursed like a madman raving--i cried to her, "nell! my nell
+they had left us alone and helpless, alone in that burning hell
+they had left us alone to perish--forgotten me living--and she
+had been left for the fire to bear her to heaven, instead of the sea
+
+i clutched at her, roused her shrieking, the stupor was on her still
+i seized her in spite of my fetters,--fear gave a giant's will
+god knows how i did it, but blindly i fought through the flames and the
+wreck
+up--up to the air, and brought her safe to the untouched deck
+
+we'd a moment of life together,--a moment of life, the time
+for one last word to each other,--'twas a moment supreme, sublime
+from the trance we'd for death mistaken, the heat had brought her to life
+and i was fettered and helpless, so we lay there, husband and wife
+
+it was but a moment, but ages seemed to have passed away
+when a shout came over the water, and i looked, and lo, there lay
+right away from the vessel, a boat that was standing by
+they had seen our forms on the vessel, as the flames lit up the sky
+
+i shouted a prayer to heaven, then called to my wife, and she
+tore with new strength at my fetters--god helped her, and i was free
+then over the burning bulwarks we leaped for one chance of life
+did they save us? well, here i am, sir, and yonder's my dear old wife
+
+we were out in the boat till daylight, when a great ship passing by
+took us on board, and at melbourne landed us by and by
+we've played many parts in dramas since we went on that famous trip
+but ne'er such a scene together as we had on the burning ship
+
+
+
+a sad-faced little fellow sits alone in deep disgrace
+there's a lump arising in his throat, tears streaming down his face
+he wandered from his playmates, for he doesn't want to hear
+their shouts of merry laughter, since the world has lost its cheer
+he has sipped the cup of sorrow, he has drained the bitter glass
+and his heart is fairly breaking; he's the boy who didn't pass
+
+in the apple tree the robin sings a cheery little song
+but he doesn't seem to hear it, showing plainly something's wrong
+comes his faithful little spaniel for a romp and bit of play
+but the troubled little fellow sternly bids him go away
+all alone he sits in sorrow, with his hair a tangled mass
+and his eyes are red with weeping; he's the boy who didn't pass
+
+how he hates himself for failing, he can hear his playmates jeer
+for they've left him with the dullards--gone ahead a half a year
+and he tried so hard to conquer, oh, he tried to do his best
+but now he knows, he's weaker, yes, and duller than the rest
+he's ashamed to tell his mother, for he thinks she'll hate him, too
+the little boy who didn't pass, who failed of getting through
+
+oh, you who boast a laughing son, and speak of him as bright
+and you who love a little girl who comes to you at night
+with smiling eyes, with dancing feet, with honors from her school
+turn to that lonely little boy who thinks he is a fool
+and take him kindly by the hand, the dullest in his class
+he is the one who most needs love, the boy who didn't pass
+
+
+yes, it's a quiet station, but it suits me well enough
+i want a bit of the smooth now, for i've had my share o' rough
+this berth that the company gave me, they gave as the work was light
+i was never fit for the signals after one awful night
+i'd been in the box from a younker, and i'd never felt the strain
+of the lives at my right hand's mercy in every passing train
+one day there was something happened, and it made my nerves go queer
+and it's all through that as you find me the station-master here
+
+i was on at the box down yonder--that's where we turn the mails
+and specials, and fast expresses, on to the center rails
+the side's for the other traffic--the luggage and local slows
+it was rare hard work at christmas, when double the traffic grows
+i've been in the box down yonder nigh sixteen hours a day
+till my eyes grew dim and heavy, and my thoughts went all astray
+but i've worked the points half-sleeping--and once i slept outright
+till the roar of the limited woke me, and i nearly died with fright
+
+then i thought of the lives in peril, and what might have been their fate
+had i sprung to the points that evening a tenth of a tick too late
+and a cold and ghastly shiver ran icily through my frame
+as i fancied the public clamor, the trial, and bitter shame
+i could see the bloody wreckage--i could see the mangled slain
+and the picture was seared for ever, blood-red, on my heated brain
+that moment my nerve was shattered, for i couldn't shut out the thought
+of the lives i held in my keeping, and the ruin that might be wrought
+
+that night in our little cottage, as i kissed our sleeping child
+my wife looked up from her sewing, and told me, as she smiled
+that johnny had made his mind up--he'd be a pointsman, too
+i frowned, for my heart was heavy, and my wife she saw the look
+lord bless you! my little alice could read me like a book
+i'd to tell her of what had happened, and i said that i must leave
+for a pointsman's arm ain't trusty when terror lurks in his sleeve
+
+but she cheered me up in a minute, and that night, ere we went to sleep
+she made me give her a promise, which i swore that i'd always keep
+it was always to do my duty. "do that, and then, come what will
+you'll have no worry." said alice, "if things go well or ill
+there's something that always tells us the thing that we ought to do
+my wife was a bit religious, and in with the chapel crew
+
+now, the very next day the missus had to go to the market town
+she'd the christmas things to see to, and she wanted to buy a gown
+she'd be gone for a spell, for the parley didn't come back till eight
+and i knew, on a christmas eve, too, the trains would be extra late
+so she settled to leave me johnny, and then she could turn the key
+for she'd have some parcels to carry, and the boy would be safe with me
+he was five, was our little johnny, and quiet, and nice, and good
+he was mad to go with daddy, and i'd often promised he should
+
+it was noon when the missus started,--her train went by my box
+she could see, as she passed my window, her darling's curly locks
+i lifted him up to mammy, and he kissed his little hand
+then sat, like a mouse, in the corner, and thought it was fairyland
+but somehow i fell a-thinking of a scene that would not fade
+of how i had slept on duty, until i grew afraid
+for the thought would weigh upon me, one day i might come to lie
+in a felon's cell for the slaughter of those i had doomed to die
+
+the fit that had come upon me, like a hideous nightmare seemed
+till i rubbed my eyes and started like a sleeper who has dreamed
+for a time the box had vanished--i'd worked like a mere machine
+my mind had been on the wander, and i'd neither heard nor seen
+with a start i thought of johnny, and i turned the boy to seek
+then i uttered a groan of anguish, for my lips refused to speak
+there had flashed such a scene of horror swift on my startled sight
+that it curdled my blood in terror and sent my red lips white
+
+it was all in one awful moment--i saw that the boy was lost
+he had gone for a toy, i fancied, some child from a train had tossed
+the local was easing slowly to stop at the station here
+and the limited mail was coming, and i had the line to clear
+i could hear the roar of the engine, i could almost feel its breath
+and right on the center metals stood my boy in the jaws of death
+on came the fierce fiend, tearing straight for the center line
+and the hand that must wreck or save it, o merciful god, was mine
+
+up to god's ear that moment a wild, fierce question flew
+on the wind came the words, "your duty," borne to my listening ear
+then i set my teeth, and my breathing was fierce and short and quick
+the hot black smoke of the engine came with a rush before
+i turned the mail to the center, and by it flew with a roar
+
+then i sank on my knees in horror, and hid my ashen face
+i had given my child to heaven; his life was a hundred's grace
+had i held my hand a moment, i had hurled the flying mail
+to shatter the creeping local that stood on the other rail
+where is my boy, my darling? o god! let me hide my eyes
+how can i look--his father--on that which there mangled lies
+that voice!--o merciful heaven!--'tis the child's, and he calls my name
+i hear, but i cannot see him, for my eyes are filled with flame
+
+i knew no more that night, sir, for i fell, as i heard the boy
+the place reeled round, and i fainted,--swooned with the sudden joy
+but i heard on the christmas morning, when i woke in my own warm bed
+with alice's arms around me, and a strange wild dream in my head
+that she'd come by the early local, being anxious about the lad
+and had seen him there on the metals, and the sight nigh drove her mad
+she had seen him just as the engine of the limited closed my view
+and she leapt on the line and saved him just as the mail dashed through
+
+she was back in the train in a second, and both were safe and sound
+the moment they stopped at the station she ran here, and i was found
+with my eyes like a madman's glaring, and my face a ghastly white
+i heard the boy, and i fainted, and i hadn't my wits that night
+who told me to do my duty? what voice was that on the wind
+was it fancy that brought it to me? or were there god's lips behind
+if i hadn't 'a' done my duty--had i ventured to disobey
+my bonny boy and his mother might have died by my hand that day
+
+
+
+
+hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings
+and phoebus 'gins arise
+his steeds to water at those springs
+on chaliced flowers that lies
+and winking mary-buds begin
+to ope their golden eyes
+with every thing that pretty is
+my lady sweet, arise
+arise, arise
+
+
+
+in a dark and dismal alley where the sunshine never came
+dwelt a little lad named tommy, sickly, delicate, and lame
+he had never yet been healthy, but had lain since he was born
+dragging out his weak existence well nigh hopeless and forlorn
+
+he was six, was little tommy, 'twas just five years ago
+since his drunken mother dropped him, and the babe was crippled so
+he had never known the comfort of a mother's tender care
+but her cruel blows and curses made his pain still worse to bear
+
+there he lay within the cellar, from the morning till the night
+starved, neglected, cursed, ill-treated, nought to make his dull life
+bright
+not a single friend to love him, not a loving thing to love
+for he knew not of a saviour, or a heaven up above
+
+tommy's little heart was sinking, and he felt so lonely, till
+floating up the quiet alley, wafted inwards from the street
+came the sound of some one singing, sounding, oh! so clear and sweet
+
+eagerly did tommy listen as the singing came
+oh! that he could see the singer! how he wished he wasn't lame
+then he called and shouted loudly, till the singer heard the sound
+and on noting whence it issued, soon the little cripple found
+
+all her garments torn and ragged, her appearance far from neat
+most folks call me singing jessie; wot may your name chance to be
+
+for it makes me feel so happy--sing me something, anything
+jessie laughed, and answered smiling, "i can't stay here very long
+but i'll sing a hymn to please you, wot i calls the 'glory song
+
+then she sang to him of heaven, pearly gates, and streets of gold
+where the happy angel children are not starved or nipped with cold
+but where happiness and gladness never can decrease or end
+and where kind and loving jesus is their sovereign and their friend
+
+oh! how tommy's eyes did glisten as he drank in every word
+as it fell from "singing jessie"--was it true, what he had heard
+and so anxiously he asked her, "is there really such a place
+and a tear began to trickle down his pallid little face
+
+and if yer will love the saviour, yer shall go there when yer die
+when i'm down in this 'ere cellar, and he's up in heaven above
+
+so the little ragged maiden who had heard at sunday school
+all about the way to heaven, and the christian's golden rule
+taught the little cripple tommy how to love, and how to pray
+then she sang a "song of jesus," kissed his cheek and went away
+
+tommy lay within the cellar which had grown so dark and cold
+thinking all about the children in the streets of shining gold
+and he heeded not the darkness of that damp and chilly room
+for the joy in tommy's bosom could disperse the deepest gloom
+
+so he put his hands together, and he closed his little eyes
+and in accents weak, yet earnest, sent this message to the skies
+
+that yer cared for little cripples who is weak and very poor
+and i never heard of heaven till that jessie came to-day
+and told me all about it, so i wants to try and pray
+
+and i somehow must believe it, for it seems so prime and good
+and she told me if i loved you, i should see yer when i die
+in the bright and happy heaven that is up beyond the sky
+
+for i heard my mother whisper, she'd be glad if i could go
+and i'm cold and hungry sometimes; and i feel so lonely, too
+can't yer take me, gentle jesus, up to heaven along o' you
+
+and your kindness to me, jesus, i would surely not forget
+i would love you all i know of, and would never make a noise
+can't you find me just a corner, where i'll watch the other boys
+
+for i feel so glad and happy, and i do so want to go
+how i long to see yer, jesus, and the children all so bright
+come and fetch me, won't yer, jesus? come and fetch me home tonight
+
+tommy ceased his supplication, he had told his soul's desire
+and he waited for the answer till his head began to tire
+then he turned towards his corner and lay huddled in a heap
+closed his little eyes so gently, and was quickly fast asleep
+
+oh, i wish that every scoffer could have seen his little face
+as he lay there in the corner, in that damp, and noisome place
+for his countenance was shining like an angel's, fair and bright
+and it seemed to fill the cellar with a holy, heavenly light
+
+he had only heard of jesus from a ragged singing girl
+he might well have wondered, pondered, till his brain began to whirl
+but he took it as she told it, and believed it then and there
+simply trusting in the saviour, and his kind and tender care
+
+in the morning, when the mother came to wake her crippled boy
+she discovered that his features wore a look of sweetest joy
+and she shook him somewhat roughly, but the cripple's face was cold
+he had gone to join the children in the streets of shining gold
+
+tommy's prayer had soon been answered, and the angel death had come
+to remove him from his cellar, to his bright and heavenly home
+where sweet comfort, joy, and gladness never can decrease or end
+and where jesus reigns eternally, his sovereign and his friend
+
+
+
+it was a bright and lovely summer's morn
+fair bloomed the flowers, the birds sang softly sweet
+the air was redolent with perfumed balm
+and nature scattered, with unsparing hand
+her loveliest graces over hill and dale
+an artist, weary of his narrow room
+within the city's pent and heated walls
+had wandered long amid the ripening fields
+until, remembering his neglected themes
+he thought to turn his truant steps toward home
+these led him through a rustic, winding lane
+lined with green hedge-rows spangled close with flowers
+and overarched by trees of noblest growth
+but when at last he reached the farther end
+of this sweet labyrinth, he there beheld
+a vision of such pure, pathetic grace
+that weariness and haste were both obscured
+it was a child--a young and lovely child
+with eyes of heavenly hue, bright golden hair
+and dimpled hands clasped in a morning prayer
+kneeling beside its youthful mother's knee
+upon that baby brow of spotless snow
+no single trace of guilt, or pain, or woe
+no line of bitter grief or dark despair
+of envy, hatred, malice, worldly care
+had ever yet been written. with bated breath
+and hand uplifted as in warning, swift
+the artist seized his pencil, and there traced
+in soft and tender lines that image fair
+then, when 'twas finished, wrote beneath one word
+a word of holiest import--innocence
+
+years fled and brought with them a subtle change
+scattering time's snow upon the artist's brow
+but leaving there the laurel wreath of fame
+while all men spake in words of praise his name
+for he had traced full many a noble work
+upon the canvas that had touched men's souls
+and drawn them from the baser things of earth
+toward the light and purity of heaven
+one day, in tossing o'er his folio's leaves
+he chanced upon the picture of the child
+which he had sketched that bright morn long before
+and then forgotten. now, as he paused to gaze
+a ray of inspiration seemed to dart
+straight from those eyes to his. he took the sketch
+placed it before his easel, and with care
+that seemed but pleasure, painted a fair theme
+touching and still re-touching each bright lineament
+until all seemed to glow with life divine
+the artist could not pause. he needs must have
+a meet companion for his fairest theme
+and so he sought the wretched haunts of sin
+through miry courts of misery and guilt
+seeking a face which at the last was found
+within a prison cell there crouched a man
+nay, rather say a fiend--with countenance seamed
+and marred by all the horrid lines of sin
+each mark of degradation might be traced
+and every scene of horror he had known
+and every wicked deed that he had done
+were visibly written on his lineaments
+even the last, worst deed of all, that left him here
+a parricide within a murderer's cell
+
+here then the artist found him; and with hand
+made skillful by its oft-repeated toil
+transferred unto his canvas that vile face
+and also wrote beneath it just one word
+a word of darkest import--it was vice
+then with some inspiration not his own
+thinking, perchance, to touch that guilty heart
+and wake it to repentance e'er too late
+the artist told the tale of that bright morn
+placed the two pictured faces side by side
+and brought the wretch before them. with a shriek
+that echoed through those vaulted corridors
+like to the cries that issue from the lips
+of souls forever doomed to woe
+prostrate upon the stony floor he fell
+and hid his face and groaned aloud in anguish
+in the gracious years forever fled
+that innocent and happy little child
+these very hands were raised to god in prayer
+that now are reddened with a mother's blood
+great heaven! can such things be? almighty power
+send forth thy dart and strike me where i lie
+
+he rose, laid hold upon the artist's arm
+and grasped it with demoniac power
+the while he cried: "go forth, i say, go forth
+and tell my history to the tempted youth
+i looked upon the wine when it was red
+i heeded not my mother's piteous prayers
+i heeded not the warnings of my friends
+but tasted of the wine when it was red
+until it left a demon in my heart
+that led me onward, step by step, to this
+this horrible place from which my body goes
+unto the gallows, and my soul to hell
+he ceased as last. the artist turned and fled
+but even as he went, unto his ears
+were borne the awful echoes of despair
+which the lost wretch flung on the empty air
+cursing the demon that had brought him there
+
+
+there are two kinds of people on earth to-day
+just two kinds of people, no more, i say
+
+not the sinner and saint, for it's well understood
+the good are half bad and the bad are half good
+
+not the rich and the poor, for to rate a man's wealth
+you must first know the state of his conscience and health
+
+not the humble and proud, for in life's little span
+who puts on vain airs is not counted a man
+
+not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years
+bring each man his laughter and each man his tears
+
+no; the two kinds of people on earth i mean
+are the people who lift and the people who lean
+
+wherever you go, you will find the earth's masses
+are always divided in just these two classes
+
+and, oddly enough, you will find, too, i ween
+there's only one lifter to twenty who lean
+
+in which class are you? are you easing the load
+of overtaxed lifters, who toil down the road
+
+or are you a leaner, who lets others share
+your portion of labor, and worry and care
+
+
+
+it isn't the thing you do, dear
+it's the thing you leave undone
+that gives you a bit of a heartache
+at the setting of the sun
+the tender word forgotten
+the letter you did not write
+the flowers you did not send, dear
+are your haunting ghosts at night
+
+the stone you might have lifted
+out of a brother's way
+the bit of hearthstone counsel
+you were hurried too much to say
+the loving touch of the hand, dear
+the gentle, winning tone
+which you had no time nor thought for
+with troubles enough of your own
+
+those little acts of kindness
+so easily out of mind
+those chances to be angels
+which we poor mortals find
+they come in night and silence
+each sad, reproachful wraith
+when hope is faint and flagging
+and a chill has fallen on faith
+
+for life is all too short, dear
+and sorrow is all too great
+to suffer our slow compassion
+that tarries until too late
+and it isn't the thing you do, dear
+it's the thing you leave undone
+which gives you a bit of a heartache
+at the setting of the sun
+
+
+
+give me that grand old volume, the gift of a mother's love
+tho' the spirit that first taught me has winged its flight above
+yet, with no legacy but this, she has left me wealth untold
+yea, mightier than earth's riches, or the wealth of ophir's gold
+
+when a child, i've kneeled beside her, in our dear old cottage home
+and listened to her reading from that prized and cherished tome
+as with low and gentle cadence, and a meek and reverent mien
+god's word fell from her trembling lips, like a presence felt and seen
+
+solemn and sweet the counsels that spring from its open page
+written with all the fervor and zeal of  the prophet age
+full of the inspiration of the holy bards who trod
+caring not for the scoffer's scorn, if they gained a soul to god
+
+men who in mind were godlike, and have left on its blazoned scroll
+food for all coming ages in its manna of the soul
+who, through long days of anguish, and nights devoid of ease
+still wrote with the burning pen of faith its higher mysteries
+
+i can list that good man yonder, in the gray church by the brook
+take up that marvelous tale of love, of the story and the book
+how through the twilight glimmer, from the earliest dawn of time
+it was handed down as an heirloom, in almost every clime
+
+how through strong persecution and the struggle of evil days
+the precious light of the truth ne'er died, but was fanned to a beacon
+blaze
+how in far-off lands, where the cypress bends o'er the laurel bough
+it was hid like some precious treasure, and they bled for its truth, as
+
+he tells how there stood around it a phalanx none could break
+though steel and fire and lash swept on, and the cruel wave lapt the stake
+how dungeon doors and prison bars had never damped the flame
+but raised up converts to the creed whence christian comfort came
+
+that housed in caves and caverns--how it stirs our scottish blood
+the convenanters, sword in hand, poured forth the crimson flood
+and eloquent grows the preacher, as the sabbath sunshine falls
+thro' cobwebbed and checkered pane, a halo on the walls
+
+that still 'mid sore disaster, in the heat and strife of doubt
+some bear the gospel oriflamme, and one by one march out
+till forth from heathen kingdoms, and isles beyond the sea
+the glorious tidings of the book spread christ's salvation free
+
+so i cling to my mother's bible, in its torn and tattered boards
+as one of the greatest gems of art, and the king of all other hoards
+as in life the true consoler, and in death ere the judgment call
+the guide that will lead to the shining shore, where the father waits
+for all
+
+
+this poem was read by edwin markham at the dedication of the lincoln
+memorial at washington, d.c., may 30, 1922. before reading, he said: "no
+oration, no poem, can rise to the high level of this historic hour
+nevertheless, i venture to inscribe this revised version of my lincoln
+poem to this stupendous lincoln memorial, to this far-shining monument
+of remembrance, erected in immortal marble to the honor of our deathless
+martyr--the consecrated statesman, the ideal american, the ever-beloved
+friend of humanity
+
+when the norn mother saw the whirlwind hour
+greatening and darkening as it hurried on
+she left the heaven of heroes and came down
+to make a man to meet the mortal need
+she took the tried clay of the common road
+clay warm yet with the genial heat of earth
+dasht through it all a strain of prophecy
+tempered the heap with thrill of human tears
+then mixt a laughter with the serious stuff
+into the shape she breathed a flame to light
+that tender, tragic, ever-changing face
+and laid on him a sense of the mystic powers
+moving--all husht--behind the mortal veil
+here was a man to hold against the world
+a man to match the mountains and the sea
+
+the color of the ground was in him, the red earth
+the smack and tang of elemental things
+the rectitude and patience of the cliff
+the good-will of the rain that loves all leaves
+the friendly welcome of the wayside well
+the courage of the bird that dares the sea
+the gladness of the wind that shakes the corn
+the pity of the snow that hides all scars
+the secrecy of streams that make their way
+under the mountain to the rifted rock
+the tolerance and equity of light
+that gives as freely to the shrinking flower
+as to the great oak flaring to the wind
+to the grave's low hill as to the matterhorn
+that shoulders out the sky. sprung from the west
+he drank the valorous youth of a new world
+the strength of virgin forests braced his mind
+the hush of spacious prairies stilled his soul
+his words were oaks in acorns; and his thoughts
+were roots that firmly gript the granite truth
+
+up from log cabin to the capitol
+one fire was on his spirit, one resolve
+to send the keen ax to the root of wrong
+clearing a free way for the feet of god
+the eyes of conscience testing every stroke
+to make his deed the measure of a man
+he built the rail-pile as he built the state
+pouring his splendid strength through every blow
+the grip that swung the ax in illinois
+was on the pen that set a people free
+
+so came the captain with the mighty heart
+and when the judgment thunders split the house
+wrenching the rafters from their ancient rest
+he held the ridgepole up, and spikt again
+the rafters of the home. he held his place
+held the long purpose like a growing tree
+held on through blame and faltered not at praise
+and when he fell in whirlwind, he went down
+as when a lordly cedar, green with boughs
+goes down with a great shout upon the hills
+and leaves a lonesome place against the sky
+
+
+
+if i had known in the morning
+how wearily all the day
+the words unkind
+would trouble my mind
+i said when you went away
+i had been more careful, darling
+nor given you needless pain
+but we vex "our own
+with look and tone
+we may never take back again
+
+for though in the quiet evening
+you may give me the kiss of peace
+yet it might be
+that never for me
+the pain of the heart should cease
+how many go forth in the morning
+that never come home at night
+and hearts have broken
+for harsh words spoken
+that sorrow can ne'er set right
+
+we have careful thoughts for the stranger
+and smiles for the sometime guest
+but oft for "our own
+the bitter tone
+though we love "our own" the best
+ah, lips with the curve impatient
+ah, brow with that look of scorn
+were the night too late
+to undo the work of morn
+
+
+
+the gate was thrown open, i rode out alone
+more proud than a monarch, who sits on a throne
+i am but a jockey, but shout upon shout
+went up from the people who watched me ride out
+and the cheers that rang forth from that warm-hearted crowd
+were as earnest as those to which monarch e'er bowed
+my heart thrilled with pleasure so keen it was pain
+as i patted my salvator's soft, silken mane
+and a sweet shiver shot from his hide to my hand
+as we passed by the multitude down to the stand
+the great wave of cheering came billowing back
+as the hoofs of brave tenny ran swift down the track
+and he stood there beside us, all bone and all muscle
+our noble opponent, well trained for the tussle
+that waited us there on the smooth, shining course
+my salvator, fair to the lovers of horse
+as a beautiful woman is fair to man's sight
+pure type of the thoroughbred, clean-limbed and bright
+stood taking the plaudits as only his due
+and nothing at all unexpected or new
+
+and then there before us as the bright flag is spread
+there's a roar from the grand stand, and tenny's ahead
+at the sound of the voices that shouted, "a go
+he sprang like an arrow shot straight from the bow
+i tighten the reins on prince charlie's great son
+he is off like a rocket, the race is begun
+half-way down the furlong their heads are together
+scarce room 'twixt their noses to wedge in a feather
+past grand stand, and judges, in neck-to-neck strife
+ah, salvator, boy, 'tis the race of your life
+i press my knees closer, i coax him, i urge
+i feel him go out with a leap and a surge
+i see him creep on, inch by inch, stride by stride
+while backward, still backward, falls tenny beside
+we are nearing the turn, the first quarter is passed
+the distance elongates; still tenny sweeps on
+as graceful and free-limbed and swift as a fawn
+his awkwardness vanished, his muscles all strained
+a noble opponent well born and well trained
+
+i glanced o'er my shoulder; ha! tenny! the cost
+of that one second's flagging will be--the race lost
+one second's yielding of courage and strength
+and the daylight between us has doubled its length
+the first mile is covered, the race is mine--no
+for the blue blood of tenny responds to a blow
+he shoots through the air like a ball from a gun
+and the two lengths between us are shortened to one
+my heart is contracted, my throat feels a lump
+for tenny's long neck is at salvator's rump
+and now with new courage grown bolder and bolder
+i see him once more running shoulder to shoulder
+with knees, hands and body i press my grand steed
+i urge him, i coax him, i pray him to heed
+o salvator! salvator! list to my calls
+for the blow of my whip will hurt both if it falls
+there's a roar from the crowd like the ocean in storm
+as close to the saddle leaps tenny's great form
+one mighty plunge, and with knee, limb and hand
+i lift my horse first by a nose past the stand
+we are under the string now--the great race is done
+and salvator, salvator, salvator won
+
+cheer, hoary-headed patriarchs; cheer loud, i say
+though ye live twice the space that's allotted to men
+ye never will see such a grand race again
+let the shouts of the populace roar like the surf
+for salvator, salvator, king of the turf
+he has rivaled the record of thirteen long years
+he has won the first place in the vast line of peers
+and even his enemies grant him his place
+down into the dust let old records be hurled
+and hang out 2:05 to the gaze of the world
+
+
+
+i'd like to hunt the injuns 't roam the boundless plain
+i'd like to be a pirate an' plow the ragin' main
+an' capture some big island, in lordly pomp to rule
+but i just can't be nothin' cause i got to go to school
+
+the least amount o' learnin' by a flickerin' pitch pine knot
+an' many a darin' boy like me grows up to be a fool
+an' never 'mounts to nothin' 'cause he's got to go to school
+
+i'd like to be a cowboy an' rope the texas steer
+i'd like to be a sleuth-houn' or a bloody buccaneer
+an' leave the foe to welter where their blood had made a pool
+but how can i git famous? 'cause i got to go to school
+
+i don't see how my parents kin make the big mistake
+o' keepin' down a boy like me 'at's got a name to make
+it ain't no wonder boys is bad, an' balky as a mule
+life ain't worth livin' if you've got to waste your time in school
+
+i'd like to be regarded as "the terror of the plains
+i'd like to hear my victims shriek an' clank their prison chains
+i'd like to face the enemy with gaze serene an' cool
+an' wipe 'em off the earth, but pshaw! i got to go to school
+
+what good is 'rithmetic an' things, exceptin' jest for girls
+er them there fauntleroys 'at wears their hair in pretty curls
+an' if my name is never seen on hist'ry's page, why, you'll
+remember 'at it's all because i got to go to school
+
+
+
+
+silent he watched them--the soldiers and dog
+tin toys on the little armchair
+keeping their tryst through the slow going years
+for the hand that had stationed them there
+and he said that perchance the dust and the rust
+hid the griefs that the toy friends knew
+and his heart watched with them all the dark years
+yearning ever for little boy blue
+
+three mourners they were for little boy blue
+three ere the cold winds had begun
+now two are left watching--the soldier and dog
+but for him the vigil is done
+for him too, the angel has chanted a song
+a song that is lulling and true
+he has seen the white gates of the mansions of rest
+thrown wide by his little boy blue
+
+god sent not the angel of death for his soul
+not the reaper who cometh for all
+but out of the shadows that curtained the day
+he heard his lost little one call
+heard the voice that he loved, and following fast
+passed on to the far-away strand
+and he walks the streets of the city of peace
+with little boy blue by the hand
+
+
+
+in gettysburg at break of day
+the hosts of war are held in leash
+to gird them for the coming fray
+e'er brazen-throated monsters flame
+mad hounds of death that tear and maim
+ho, boys in blue
+and gray so true
+fate calls to-day the roll of fame
+
+on cemetery hill was done
+the clangor of four hundred guns
+through drifting smoke the morning sun
+shone down a line of battled gray
+where pickett's waiting soldiers lay
+virginians all
+heed glory's call
+you die at gettysburg to-day
+
+great lee had named; he knew them well
+oft had their steel the battle stayed
+o warriors of the eagle plume
+fate points for you the hour of doom
+ring rebel yell
+war cry and knell
+the stars, to-night, will set in gloom
+
+o pickett's men, ye sons of fate
+awe-stricken nations bide your deeds
+for you the centuries did wait
+while wrong had writ her lengthening scroll
+and god had set the judgment roll
+a thousand years
+shall wait in tears
+and one swift hour bring to goal
+
+the charge is done, a cause is lost
+but pickett's men heed not the din
+of ragged columns battle tost
+for fame enshrouds them on the field
+and pierced, virginia, is thy shield
+but stars and bars
+shall drape thy scars
+no cause is lost till honor yield
+
+
+w'en you see a man in woe
+walk right up and say "hullo
+say "hullo" and "how d'ye do
+how's the world a-usin' you
+slap the fellow on the back
+bring your hand down with a whack
+walk right up, and don't go slow
+grin an' shake, an' say "hullo
+
+is he clothed in rags? oh! sho
+walk right up an' say "hullo
+rags is but a cotton roll
+jest for wrappin' up a soul
+an' a soul is worth a true
+hale and hearty "how d'ye do
+don't wait for the crowd to go
+walk right up and say "hullo
+
+when big vessels meet, they say
+they saloot an' sail away
+jest the same are you an' me
+lonesome ships upon a sea
+each one sailin' his own log
+for a port behind the fog
+let your speakin' trumpet blow
+lift your horn an' cry "hullo
+
+say "hullo!" an' "how d'ye do
+other folks are good as you
+w'en you leave your house of clay
+wanderin' in the far away
+w'en you travel through the strange
+country t'other side the range
+then the souls you've cheered will know
+who ye be, an' say "hullo
+
+
+
+bring, novelist, your note-book! bring, dramatist, your pen
+and i'll tell you a simple story of what women do for men
+it's only a tale of a lifeboat, of the dying and the dead
+of the terrible storm and shipwreck that happened off mumbles head
+maybe you have traveled in wales, sir, and know it north and south
+maybe you are friends with the "natives" that dwell at oystermouth
+it happens, no doubt, that from bristol you've crossed in a casual way
+and have sailed your yacht in the summer in the blue of swansea bay
+
+well! it isn't like that in the winter, when the lighthouse stands alone
+in the teeth of atlantic breakers that foam on its face of stone
+it wasn't like that when the hurricane blew, and the storm-bell tolled
+or when
+there was news of a wreck, and the lifeboat launched, and a desperate cry
+for men
+when in the world did the coxswain shirk? a brave old salt was he
+proud to the bone of as four strong lads as ever had tasted the sea
+welshmen all to the lungs and loins, who, about that coast, 'twas said
+had saved some hundred lives apiece--at a shilling or so a head
+
+so the father launched the lifeboat, in the teeth of the tempest's roar
+and he stood like a man at the rudder, with an eye on his boys at the oar
+out to the wreck went the father! out to the wreck went the sons
+leaving the weeping of women, and booming of signal guns
+leaving the mother who loved them, and the girls that the sailors love
+going to death for duty, and trusting to god above
+do you murmur a prayer, my brothers, when cozy and safe in bed
+for men like these, who are ready to die for a wreck off mumbles head
+it didn't go well with the lifeboat! 'twas a terrible storm that blew
+and it snapped the' rope in a second that was flung to the drowning crew
+
+and then the anchor parted--'twas a tussle to keep afloat
+but the father stuck to the rudder, and the boys to the brave old boat
+then at last on the poor doomed lifeboat a wave broke mountains high
+half of the crew swam shoreward, half to the sheltered caves
+but father and sons were fighting death in the foam of the angry waves
+
+up at a lighthouse window two women beheld the storm
+and saw in the boiling breakers a figure--a fighting form
+it might be a gray-haired father, then the women held their breath
+it might be a fair-haired brother, who was having a round with death
+it might be a lover, a husband, whose kisses were on the lips
+of the women whose love is the life of men going down to the sea in ships
+they had seen the launch of the lifeboat, they had seen the worst, and
+then, kissing each other, these women went down from the lighthouse
+straight to shore
+
+there by the rocks on the breakers these sisters, hand in hand
+beheld once more that desperate man who struggled to reach the land
+but what are a couple of women with only a man to save
+what are a couple of women? well, more than three craven men
+who stood by the shore with chattering teeth, refusing to stir--and then
+off went the women's shawls, sir; in a second they're torn and rent
+then knotting them into a rope of love, straight into the sea they went
+
+as they caught the waves on their foreheads, resisting the fierce attack
+
+we'll lose our lives, god willing, before that man shall drown
+
+just follow me, brave, to the shingle, and we'll bring him safe to land
+wait for the next wave, darling! only a minute more
+and i'll have him safe in my arms, dear, and we'll drag him to the shore
+up to the arms in the water, fighting it breast to breast
+they caught and saved a brother alive. god bless them! you know the rest
+well, many a heart beat stronger, and many a tear was shed
+and many a glass was tossed right off to "the women of mumbles head
+
+
+
+that man on the enjine thar
+don't pack the han'somest countenance
+every inch of it sportin' a scar
+but i tell you, pard, thar ain't money enough
+piled up in the national banks
+to buy that face, nor a single scar
+
+an' a better one never war knowed
+bin a runnin' yar since the fust machine
+war put on the quincy road
+an' thar ain't a galoot that pulls a plug
+from maine to the jumpin' off place
+that knows more about the big iron hoss
+than him with the battered-up face
+
+in a sort o' legitimate way
+he got it a-trying to save a gal
+up yar on the road last may
+i heven't much time for to spin you the yarn
+for we pull out at two-twenty-five
+just wait till i climb up an' toss in some coal
+so's to keep old '90' alive
+
+left quincy a half an hour late
+an' war skimmin' along purty lively, so's not
+to lay out no. 21 freight
+the '90' war more than whoopin' 'em up
+an' a-quiverin' in every nerve
+when all to once jim yelled 'merciful god
+as she shoved her sharp nose 'round a curve
+
+stood a gal on the track, her hands raised aloft
+an' her face jist as white as the snow
+it seems she war so paralyzed with the fright
+that she couldn't move for'ard or back
+an' when jim pulled the whistle she fainted an' fell
+right down in a heap on the track
+
+the look that cum over jim's face
+he throw'd the old lever cl'r back like a shot
+so's to slacken the '90's' wild pace
+then let on the air brakes as quick as a flash
+an' out through the window he fled
+an' skinned 'long the runnin' board cla'r in front
+an' lay on the pilot ahead
+
+he grabbed a tight hold, of her arm
+an' raised her right up so's to throw her one side
+out o' reach of danger an' harm
+but somehow he slipped an' fell with his head
+on the rail as he throw'd the young lass
+an' the pilot in strikin' him, ground up his face
+in a frightful and horrible mass
+
+to that spot where the poor fellow lay
+an' there sot the gal with his head in her lap
+an' wipin' the warm blood away
+the tears rolled in torrents right down from her eyes
+while she sobbed like her heart war all broke
+i tell you, my friend, such a sight as that 'ar
+would move the tough heart of an oak
+
+what for week arter week the boy lay
+a-hoverin' right in the shadder o' death
+an' that gal by his bed every day
+but nursin' an' doctorin' brought him around
+kinder snatched him right outer the grave
+his face ain't so han'some as 'twar, but his heart
+remains just as noble an' brave
+
+he fell dead in love, did this jim
+but hadn't the heart to ax her to have
+sich a batter'd-up rooster as him
+she know'd how he felt, and last new year's day
+war the fust o' leap year as you know
+so she jist cornered jim an' proposed on the spot
+an' you bet he didn't say no
+
+an' has laid up a snug pile o' cash
+the weddin's to be on the first o' next may
+jist a year from the day o' the smash
+the gal says he risked his dear life to save hers
+an' she'll just turn the tables about
+an' give him the life that he saved--thar's the bell
+good day, sir, we're goin' to pull out
+
+
+sometimes w'en i am playin' with some fellers 'at i knows
+my ma she comes to call me, 'cause she wants me, i surpose
+an' then she calls in this way: "willie! willie, dear! willee-e-ee
+an' you'd be surprised to notice how dretful deef i be
+an' the fellers 'at are playin' they keeps mos' orful still
+w'ile they tell me, jus' in whispers: "your ma is callin', bill
+but my hearin' don't git better, so fur as i can see
+w'ile my ma stan's there a-callin': "willie! willie, dear! willee-e-ee
+
+an' soon my ma she gives it up, an' says: "well, i'll allow
+it's mighty cur'us w'ere that boy has got to, anyhow
+an' then i keep on playin' jus' the way i did before
+i know if she was wantin' much she'd call to me some more
+an' purty soon she comes agin an' says: "willie! willee-e-ee
+but my hearin's jus' as hard as w'at it useter be
+if a feller has good judgment, an' uses it that way
+he can almos' allers manage to git consid'ble play
+
+but jus' w'ile i am playin', an' prob'ly i am "it
+they's somethin' diff'rent happens, an' i have to up, an' git
+fer my pa comes to the doorway, an' he interrup's our glee
+he jus' says, "william henry!" but that's enough fer me
+you'd be surprised to notice how quickly i can hear
+w'en my pa says, "william henry!" but never "willie, dear
+fer though my hearin's middlin' bad to hear the voice of ma
+it's apt to show improvement w'en the callin' comes from pa
+
+
+dear little flag in the window there
+hung with a tear and a woman's prayer
+child of old glory, born with a star
+oh, what a wonderful flag you are
+
+blue is your star in its field of white
+dipped in the red that was born of fight
+born of the blood that our forebears shed
+to raise your mother, the flag, o'er-head
+
+and now you've come, in this frenzied day
+to speak from a window--to speak and say
+gone, to be gone till the victory's won
+
+the flag of his mother--i speak for her
+who stands by my window and waits and fears
+but hides from the others her unwept tears
+
+for the safe return of a martial mate
+a mate gone forth where the war god thrives
+to save from sacrifice other men's wives
+
+the often unthought of--the sisters, too
+i am the flag of a mother's son
+who won't come home till the victory's won
+
+dear little flag in the window there
+hung with a tear and a woman's prayer
+child of old glory, born with a star
+oh, what a wonderful flag you are
+
+
+
+
+cheeriest room, that morn, the kitchen. helped by bridget's willing hands
+bustled hannah, deftly mixing pies, for ready waiting pans
+little flossie flitted round them, and her curling, floating hair
+glinted gold-like, gleamed and glistened, in the sparkling sunlit air
+slouched a figure o'er the lawn; a man so wretched and forlore
+tattered, grim, so like a beggar, ne'er had trod that path before
+his shirt was torn, his hat was gone, bare and begrimed his knees
+face with blood and dirt disfigured, elbows peeped from out his sleeves
+rat-tat-tat, upon the entrance, brought aunt hannah to the door
+parched lips humbly plead for water, as she scanned his misery o'er
+wrathful came the dame's quick answer; made him cower, shame, and start
+out of sight, despairing, saddened, hurt and angry to the heart
+move, you thief! leave now these grounds, sir, or our dogs will help you
+quick
+then the man with dragging footsteps hopeless, wishing himself dead
+crept away from sight of plenty, starved in place of being fed
+wandered farther from the mansion, till he reached a purling brook
+babbling, trilling broken music by a green and shady nook
+here sweet flossie found him fainting; in her hands were food and drink
+pale like death lay he before her, yet the child-heart did not shrink
+then the rags from off his forehead, she with dainty hands offstripped
+in the brooklet's rippling waters, her own lace-trimmed 'kerchief dipped
+then with sweet and holy pity, which, within her, did not daunt
+bathed the blood and grime-stained visage of that sin-soiled son of want
+wrung she then the linen cleanly, bandaged up the wound again
+ere the still eyes opened slowly; white lips murmuring, "am i sane
+paused he mute and undecided, while deep sobs his form did shake
+with an avalanche of feeling, and great tears came rolling down
+o'er a face unused to showing aught except a sullen frown
+that "our god" unsealed a fountain his whole life had never known
+when that human angel near him spoke of her god as his own
+it may help you to forgive her: 'love your enemies and those
+who despitefully may use you; love them whether friends or foes
+
+then she glided from his vision, left him prostrate on the ground
+conning o'er and o'er that lesson--with a grace to him new found
+sunlight filtering through green branches as they wind-wave dance and dip
+finds a prayer his mother taught him, trembling on his crime-stained lip
+hist! a step, an angry mutter, and the owner of the place
+gentle flossie's haughty father, and the tramp stood face to face
+off with it, and cast it down here. come! be quick about it now
+as the man did not obey him, flossie's father lashed his cheek
+with a riding-whip he carried; struck him hard and cut him deep
+quick the tramp bore down upon him, felled him, o'er him where he lay
+raised a knife to seek his life-blood. then there came a thought to stay
+all his angry, murderous impulse, caused the knife to shuddering fall
+at midnight, lambent, lurid flames light up the sky with fiercest beams
+wild cries, "fire! fire!" ring through the air, and red like blood each
+flame now seems
+they faster grow, they higher throw weird, direful arms which ever lean
+about the gray stone mansion old. now roars the wind to aid the scene
+the flames yet higher, wilder play. a shudder runs through all around
+distinctly as in light of day, at topmost window from the ground
+sweet flossie stands, her golden hair enhaloed now by firelit air
+loud rang the father's cry: "o god! my child! my child! will no one dare
+for her sweet sake the flaming stair?" look, one steps forth with muffled
+leaps through the flames with fleetest feet, on trembling ladder runs a
+with life and death--the window gains. deep silence falls on all around
+till bursts aloud a sobbing wail. the ladder falls with crashing sound
+a flaming, treacherous mass. o god! she was so young and he so brave
+look once again. see! see! on highest roof he stands--the fiery wave
+fierce rolling round--his arms enclasp the child--god help him yet to save
+he cries, then makes a vaulting leap
+a tree branch catches, with sure aim
+and by the act proclaims his name
+the air was rent, the cheers rang loud
+a rough voice cried from out the crowd
+none dares that leap but flying jim
+a jail-bird--outlaw--thief, indeed
+yet o'er them all takes kingly lead
+i've breathed the flames, 'twill not be long
+then hushed all murmurs through the throng
+with reverent hands they bore him where
+the summer evening's cooling air
+came softly sighing through the trees
+the child's proud father on his knees
+forgiveness sought of god and jim
+which dying lips accorded him
+a mark of whip on white face stirred
+to gleaming scarlet at his words
+she taught me that and i fulfill
+i would her hand might touch my face
+though she's so pure and i so base
+low flossie bent and kissed the brow
+with smile of bliss transfigured now
+death, the angel, sealed it there
+
+
+
+in a pioneer's cabin out west, so they say
+a great big black grizzly trotted one day
+and seated himself on the hearths and began
+to lap the contents of a two gallon pan
+of milk and potatoes,--an excellent meal
+and then looked, about to see what he could steal
+the lord of the mansion awoke from his sleep
+and, hearing a racket, he ventured to peep
+just out in the kitchen, to see what was there
+and was scared to behold a great grizzly bear
+
+so he screamed in alarm to his slumbering frau
+so betty leaped up, and the poker she seized
+while her man shut the door, and against it he squeezed
+as betty then laid on the grizzly her blows
+now on his forehead, and now on his nose
+her man through the key-hole kept shouting within
+now poke with the poker, and' poke his eyes out
+so, with rapping and poking, poor betty alone
+at last laid sir bruin as dead as a stone
+
+now when the old man saw the bear was no more
+he ventured to poke his nose out of the door
+and there was the grizzly stretched on the floor
+then off to the neighbors he hastened, to tell
+all the wonderful things that that morning befell
+and he published the marvellous story afar
+how "me and my betty jist slaughtered a bar
+o yes, come and see, all the neighbors they seed it
+come and see what we did, me and betty, we did it
+
+
+they grew in beauty, side by side
+they filled one home with glee
+their graves are severed, far and wide
+by mount, and stream and sea
+
+the same fond mother bent at night
+o'er each fair sleeping brow
+she had each folded flower in sight
+where are those dreamers now
+
+one, 'midst the forest of the west
+by a dark stream is laid
+the indian knows his place of rest
+far in the cedar shade
+
+the sea, the blue lone sea, hath one
+he lies where pearls lie deep
+o'er his low bed may weep
+
+one sleeps where southern vines are drest
+above the noble slain
+he wrapped his colors round his breast
+on a blood-red field of spain
+
+and one--o'er _her_ the myrtle showers
+its leaves, by soft winds fanned
+she faded 'midst italian flowers
+the last of that bright band
+
+and parted thus they rest, who play'd
+beneath the same green tree
+whose voices mingled as they pray'd
+around the parent knee
+
+they that with smiles lit up the hall
+and cheer'd with song the hearth
+alas! for love, if _thou_ wert all
+and naught beyond, o earth
+
+
+
+nae shoon to hide her tiny taes
+nae stockings on her feet
+her supple ankles white as snow
+or early blossoms sweet
+her simple dress of sprinkled pink
+her double, dimpled chin
+her pucker'd lip and bonny mou
+with nae ane tooth between
+her een sae like her mither's een
+twa gentle, liquid things
+her face is like an angel's face
+we're glad she has nae wings
+
+
+
+away, away in the northland
+where the hours of the day are few
+and the nights are so long in winter
+they cannot sleep them through
+
+where they harness the swift reindeer
+to the sledges, when it snows
+and the children look like bears' cubs
+in their funny, furry clothes
+
+they tell them a curious story
+i don't believe 't is true
+and yet you may learn a lesson
+if i tell the tale to you
+
+once, when the good saint peter
+lived in the world below
+and walked about it, preaching
+just as he did, you know
+
+he came to the door of a cottage
+in traveling round the earth
+where a little woman was making cakes
+and baking them on the hearth
+
+and being faint with fasting
+for the day was almost done
+he asked her, from her store of cakes
+to give him a single one
+
+so she made a very little cake
+but as it baking lay
+she looked at it, and thought it seemed
+too large to give away
+
+therefore she kneaded another
+and still a smaller one
+but it looked, when she turned it over
+as large as the first had done
+
+then she took a tiny scrap of dough
+and rolled, and rolled it flat
+and baked it thin as a wafer
+but she couldn't part with that
+
+for she said, "my cakes that seem too small
+when i eat of them myself
+are yet too large to give away
+so she put them on the shelf
+
+then good saint peter grew angry
+for he was hungry and faint
+and surely such a woman
+was enough to provoke a saint
+
+and he said, "you are far too selfish
+to dwell in a human form
+to have both food and shelter
+and fire to keep you warm
+
+and shall get your scanty food
+by boring, and boring, and boring
+all day in the hard dry wood
+
+then up she went through the chimney
+never speaking a word
+and out of the top flew a woodpecker
+for she was changed to a bird
+
+she had a scarlet cap on her head
+and that was left the same
+bat all the rest of her clothes were burned
+black as a coal in the flame
+
+and every country school boy
+has seen her in the wood
+where she lives in the woods till this very day
+boring and boring for food
+
+and this is the lesson she teaches
+live not for yourself alone
+lest the needs you will not pity
+shall one day be your own
+
+give plenty of what is given to you
+listen to pity's call
+don't think the little you give is great
+and the much you get is small
+
+now, my little boy, remember that
+and try to be kind and good
+when you see the woodpecker's sooty dress
+and see her scarlet hood
+
+you mayn't be changed to a bird, though you live
+as selfishly as you can
+but you will be changed to a smaller thing
+a mean and selfish man
+
+
+
+did you tackle the trouble that came your way
+with a resolute heart and cheerful
+or hide year face from the light of day
+with a craven soul and fearful
+oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce
+or a trouble is what you make it
+and it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts
+but only how did you take it
+
+you are beaten to earth? well, well, what's that
+come up with a smiling face
+its nothing against you to fall down flat
+but to lie there--that's disgrace
+the harder you're thrown, why, the higher the bounce
+be proud of your blackened eye
+it isn't the fact that you're licked that counts
+it's how did you fight--and why
+
+and though you be done to the death, what then
+if you battled the best you could
+if you played your part in the world of men
+why, the critic will call it good
+death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce
+and whether he's slow or spry
+it isn't the fact that you're dead that counts
+but only how did you die
+
+
+
+when the lessons and tasks are all ended
+and the school for the day is dismissed
+and the little ones gather around me
+to bid me good-night and be kissed
+oh, the little white arms that encircle
+my neck in a tender embrace
+oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven
+shedding sunshine and love on my face
+
+and when they, are gone, i sit dreaming
+of my childhood, too lovely to last
+of love that my heart will remember
+when it wakes to the pulse of the past
+ere the world and its wickedness made me
+a partner of sorrow and sin
+when the glory of god was about me
+and the glory of gladness within
+
+oh, my heart grows as weak as a woman's
+and the fountains of feeling will flow
+when i think of the paths, steep and stony
+where the feet of the dear ones must go
+of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them
+of the tempests of fate blowing wild
+oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy
+as the innocent heart of a child
+
+they are idols of hearts and of households
+they are angels of god in disguise
+his sunlight still sleeps in their tresses
+his glory still beams in their eyes
+oh, those truants from earth and from heaven
+they have made me more manly and mild
+and i know how jesus could liken
+the kingdom of god to a child
+
+seek not a life for the dear ones
+all radiant, as others have done
+but that life may have just enough shadow
+to temper the glare of the sun
+i would pray god to guard them from evil
+but my prayer would bound back to myself
+ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner
+but the sinner must pray for himself
+
+the twig is so easily bended
+i have banished the rule of the rod
+i have taught them the goodness of knowledge
+they have taught me the goodness of god
+my heart is a dungeon of darkness
+where i shut them from breaking a rule
+my frown is sufficient correction
+my love is the law of the school
+
+i shall leave the old house in the autumn
+to traverse the threshold no more
+ah! how i shall sigh for the dear ones
+that meet me each morn at the door
+i shall miss the good-nights and the kisses
+and the gush of their innocent glee
+the group on the green and the flowers
+that are brought every morning to me
+
+i shall miss them at morn and at evening
+their song in the school and the street
+i shall miss the low hum of their voices
+and the tramp of their delicate feet
+when the lessons and tasks are all ended
+and death says the school is dismissed
+may the little ones gather around me
+to bid me good-night and be kissed
+
+
+
+the sunlight shone on walls of stone
+and towers sublime and tall
+king alfred sat upon his throne
+within his council hall
+
+and glancing o'er the splendid throng
+with grave and solemn face
+to where his noble vassals stood
+he saw a vacant place
+
+with anxious look, he said
+
+before the monarch could express
+the sorrow that he felt
+a soldier, with a war-worn face
+approached the throne, and knelt
+
+o king, at thy command
+and many a proud and haughty dane
+has fallen by my hand
+
+and 'neath the greenwood tree
+it is but fair for thee to give
+yon vacant place to me
+
+my wisdom has done more for thee
+than either sword or spear
+
+have made thee more renown
+than all the triumphs of the field
+have given to thy crown
+
+my talents have been thine
+bestow this earldom, then, on me
+for it is justly mine
+
+yet, while before the monarch's throne
+these men contending stood
+a woman crossed the floor, who wore
+the weeds of widowhood
+
+and slowly to king alfred's feet
+a fair-haired boy she led
+of holderness," she said
+
+let no man do him wrong
+for he is weak and fatherless
+and thou art just and strong
+
+can such a feeble child as this
+do aught for thee, o king
+
+to draw thy deadly bows
+when thou art wanting crafty men
+to crush thy mortal foes
+
+with earnest voice the fair young boy
+replied: "i cannot fight
+but i can pray to god, o king
+and god can give thee might
+
+the king bent down and kissed the child
+the courtiers turned away
+
+our blood may stain the sod
+but what are human strength and power
+without the help of god
+
+
+
+try, try again
+if at first you don't succeed
+try, try again
+then your courage shall appear
+for if you will persevere
+you will conquer, never fear
+try, try again
+
+once or twice though you should fail
+try, try again
+if at last you would prevail
+try, try again
+if we strive 'tis no disgrace
+tho' we may not win the race
+what should you do in that case
+try, try again
+
+if you find your task is hard
+try, try again
+time will bring you your reward
+try, try again
+all that other folks can do
+why, with patience, may not you
+only keep this rule in view
+try, try again
+
+
+ye say they all have passed away--that noble race and brave
+that their light canoes have vanished from off the crested wave
+that,'mid the forests where they roamed, there rings no hunter's shout
+but their name is on your waters--ye may not wash it out
+
+where strong niagara's thunders wake the echo of the world
+where red missouri bringeth rich tribute from the west
+and rappahannock sweetly sleeps on green virginia's breast
+
+ye say their cone-like cabins, that clustered o'er the vale
+have fled away like withered leaves, before the autumn's gale
+but their memory liveth on your hills, their baptism on your shore
+your everlasting rivers speak their dialect of yore
+
+old massachusetts wears it upon her lordly crown
+and broad ohio bears it amid his young renown
+connecticut hath wreathed it where her quiet foliage waves
+and bold kentucky breathes it hoarse through all her ancient caves
+
+wachusett hides its lingering voice within his rocky heart
+and alleghany graves its tone throughout his lofty chart
+monadnock on his forehead hoar doth seal the sacred trust
+your mountains build their monument, though ye destroy their dust
+
+ye call those red-browed brethren the insects of an hour
+crushed like the noteless worm amid the regions of their power
+ye drive them from their fathers' lands, ye break of faith the seal
+but can ye from the court of heaven exclude their last appeal
+
+ye see their unresisting tribes, with toilsome steps and slow
+on through the trackless desert pass, a caravan of woe
+think ye the eternal ear is deaf? his sleepless vision dim
+think ye the soul's blood may not cry from that far land to him
+
+
+
+sick in the hospital. he confided to a friend, colonel hawkins of
+tennessee, that he was grieving because his fiancee, a nashville girl
+had not written to him. the soldier died soon afterward, colonel hawkins
+having promised to open and answer any mail that came for him. this poem
+is in reply to a letter from his friend's fiancee, in which she curtly
+broke the engagement
+
+your letter, lady, came too late
+for heaven had claimed its own
+ah, sudden change--from prison bars
+unto the great white throne
+and yet i think he would have stayed
+to live for his disdain
+could he have read the careless words
+which you have sent in vain
+
+so full of patience did he wait
+through many a weary hour
+that o'er his simple soldier-faith
+not even death had power
+and you--did others whisper low
+their homage in your ear
+as though among their shallow throng
+his spirit had a peer
+
+i would that you were by me now
+to draw the sheet aside
+and see how pure the look he wore
+the moment when he died
+the sorrow that you gave to him
+had left its weary trace
+as 'twere the shadow of the cross
+upon his pallid face
+
+the winter's cold to spring
+ah, trust of fickle maiden's love
+thou art a bitter thing
+for when these valleys, bright in may
+once more with blossoms wave
+the northern violets shall blow
+above his humble grave
+
+your dole of scanty words had been
+but one more pang to bear
+for him who kissed unto the last
+your tress of golden hair
+i did not put it where he said
+for when the angels come
+i would not have them find the sign
+of falsehood in the tomb
+
+i've read your letter, and i know
+the wiles that you have wrought
+to win that trusting heart of his
+and gained it--cruel thought
+what lavish wealth men sometimes give
+for what is worthless all
+what manly bosoms beat for them
+in folly's falsest thrall
+
+you shall not pity him, for now
+his sorrow has an end
+yet would that you could stand with me
+beside my fallen friend
+and i forgive you for his sake
+as he--if he be forgiven
+may e'en be pleading grace for you
+before the court of heaven
+
+to-night the cold winds whistle by
+as i my vigil keep
+within the prison dead-house, where
+few mourners come to weep
+a rude plank coffin holds his form
+yet death exalts his face
+and i would rather see him thus
+than clasped in your embrace
+
+to-night your home may shine with light
+and ring with merry song
+and you be smiling as your soul
+had done no deadly wrong
+your hand so fair that none would think
+it penned these words of pain
+your skin so white--would god your heart
+were half as free from stain
+
+i'd rather be my comrade dead
+than you in life supreme
+for yours the sinner's waking dread
+and his the martyr's dream
+whom serve we in this life we serve
+in that which is to come
+he chose his way, you--yours; let god
+pronounce the fitting doom
+
+
+
+a harbor in a sunny, southern city
+ships at their anchor, riding in the lee
+a little lad, with steadfast eyes, and dreamy
+who ever watched the waters lovingly
+
+a group of sailors, quaintly garbed and bearded
+strange tales, that snared the fancy of the child
+of far-off lands, strange beasts, and birds, and people
+of storm and sea-fight, danger-filled and wild
+
+and ever in the boyish soul was ringing
+the urging, surging challenge of the sea
+to dare,--as these men dared, its wrath and danger
+to learn,--as they, its charm and mystery
+
+columbus, by the sunny, southern harbor
+you dreamed the dreams that manhood years made true
+thank god for men--their deeds have crowned the ages
+who once were little dreamy lads like you
+
+
+
+i'm not a chicken; i have seen
+full many a chill september
+and though i was a youngster then
+that gale i well remember
+the day before, my kite-string snapped
+and i, my kite pursuing
+the wind whisked off my palm-leaf hat
+for me two storms were brewing
+
+it came as quarrels sometimes do
+when married folks get clashing
+there was a heavy sigh or two
+before the fire was flashing
+a little stir among the clouds
+before they rent asunder
+a little rocking of the trees
+and then came on the thunder
+
+lord! how the ponds and rivers boiled
+and how the shingles rattled
+and oaks were scattered on the ground
+as if the titans battled
+and all above was in a howl
+and all below a clatter
+the earth was like a frying-pan
+or some such hissing matter
+
+it chanced to be our washing-day
+and all our things were drying
+the storm came roaring through the lines
+and set them all a-flying
+i saw the shirts and petticoats
+go riding off like witches
+i lost, ah! bitterly i wept
+i lost my sunday breeches
+
+i saw them straddling through the air
+alas! too late to win them
+i saw them chase the clouds, as if
+the devil had been in them
+they were my darlings and my pride
+my boyhood's only riches
+
+that night i saw them in my dreams
+how changed from what i knew them
+the dews had steeped their faded threads
+the winds had whistled through them
+i saw the wide and ghastly rents
+where demon claws had torn them
+a hole was in their amplest part
+as if an imp had worn them
+
+i have had many happy years
+and tailors kind and clever
+but those young pantaloons have gone
+forever and forever
+and not till fate has cut the last
+of all my earthly stitches
+this aching heart shall cease to mourn
+my loved, my long-lost breeches
+
+
+
+somewhere, out on the blue sea sailing
+where the winds dance and spin
+beyond the reach of my eager hailing
+over the breakers' din
+out where the dark storm-clouds are lifting
+out where the blinding fog is drifting
+out where the treacherous sand is shifting
+my ship is coming in
+
+o, i have watched till my eyes were aching
+day after weary day
+o, i have hoped till my heart was breaking
+while the long nights ebbed away
+could i but know where the waves had tossed her
+could i but know what storms had crossed her
+could i but know where the winds had lost her
+out in the twilight gray
+
+but though the storms her course have altered
+surely the port she'll win
+never my faith in my ship has faltered
+i know she is coming in
+for through the restless ways of her roaming
+through the mad rush of the wild waves foaming
+through the white crest of the billows combing
+my ship is coming in
+
+beating the tides where the gulls are flying
+swiftly she's coming in
+shallows and deeps and rocks defying
+bravely she's coming in
+precious the love she will bring to bless me
+snowy the arms she will bring to caress me
+in the proud purple of kings she will dress me
+my ship that is coming in
+
+white in the sunshine her sails will be gleaming
+see, where my ship comes in
+at masthead and peak her colors streaming
+proudly she's sailing in
+love, hope and joy on her decks are cheering
+music will welcome her glad appearing
+and my heart will sing at her stately nearing
+when my ship comes in
+
+
+
+laugh, and the world laughs with you
+weep, and you weep alone
+for the sad old earth must borrow its mirth
+but has trouble enough of its own
+
+sing, and the hills will answer
+sigh, it is lost on the air
+the echoes bound to a joyful sound
+but shirk from voicing care
+
+rejoice and men will seek you
+grieve, and they turn and go
+they want full measure of all your pleasure
+but they do not need your woe
+
+be glad, and your friends are many
+be sad, and you lose them all
+there are none to decline your nectar'd wine
+but alone you must drink life's gall
+
+feast, and your halls are crowded
+fast, and the world goes by
+succeed and give, and it helps you live
+but no man can help you die
+
+there is room in the halls of pleasure
+for a large and lordly train
+but one by one we must all file on
+through the narrow aisle of pain
+
+
+
+the coppenter man said a wicked word
+when he hitted his thumb one day
+en i know what it was, because i heard
+en it's somethin' i dassent say
+
+he growed us a house with rooms inside it
+en the rooms is full of floors
+it's my papa's house, en when he buyed it
+it was nothin' but just outdoors
+
+en they planted stones in a hole for seeds
+en that's how the house began
+but i guess the stones would have just growed weeds
+except for the coppenter man
+
+en the coppenter man took a board and said
+he'd skin it and make some curls
+en i hung 'em onto my ears en head
+en they make me look like girls
+
+en he squinted along one side, he did
+en he squinted the other side twice
+en then he told me, "you squint it, kid
+
+but the coppenter man said a wicked word
+when he hitted 'his thumb that day
+he said it out loud, too, 'cause i heard
+en it's something i dassent say
+
+en the coppenter man said it wasn't bad
+when you hitted your thumb, kerspat
+en there'd be no coppenter men to be had
+if it wasn't for words like that
+
+
+
+no, i never, till life and its shadows shall end
+can forget the sweet sound of the bells of ostend
+the day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud
+and rung as it passed through each murmuring shroud
+my forehead was wet with the foam of the spray
+my heart sighed in secret for those far away
+when slowly the morning advanced from the east
+the toil and the noise of the tempest had ceased
+the peal from a land i ne'er saw, seemed to say
+yet the short-lived emotion was mingled with pain
+i thought of those eyes i should ne'er see again
+i thought of the kiss, the last kiss which i gave
+and a tear of regret fell unseen on the wave
+i thought of the schemes fond affection had planned
+of the trees, of the towers, of my own native land
+but still the sweet sounds, as they swelled to the air
+seemed tidings of pleasure, though mournful to bear
+and i never, till life and its shadows shall end
+can forget the sweet sound of the bells of ostend
+
+
+
+with sable-draped banners and slow measured tread
+the flower laden ranks pass the gates of the dead
+and seeking each mound where a comrade's form rests
+leave tear-bedewed garlands to bloom, on his breast
+ended at last is the labor of love
+once more through the gateway the saddened lines move
+a wailing of anguish, a sobbing of grief
+falls low on the ear of the battle-scarred chief
+close crouched by the portals, a sunny-haired child
+besought him in accents with grief rendered wild
+
+why, why, did you pass by my dear papa's grave
+i know he was poor, but as kind and as true
+as ever marched into the battle with you
+his grave is so humble, no stone marks the spot
+you may not have seen it. oh, say you did not
+for my poor heart will break if you knew he was there
+and thought him too lowly your offerings to share
+he didn't die lowly--he poured his heart's blood
+in rich crimson streams, from the top-crowning sod
+of the breastworks which stood in front of the fight
+and died shouting, 'onward! for god and the right
+o'er all his dead comrades your bright garlands wave
+but you haven't put _one_ on _my_ papa's grave
+if mamma were here--but she lies by his side
+her wearied heart broke when our dear papa died
+
+then up in his arms from the hot, dusty street
+he lifted the maiden, while in through the gate
+the long line repasses, and many an eye
+pays fresh tribute of tears to the lone orphan's sigh
+they lie close together, with just room for me
+a love pure as this makes these graves hallowed ground
+
+the kindness you've shown little daisy to-day
+but i'll pray for you here, each day while i live
+i shall see papa soon and dear mamma, too
+i dreamed so last night, and i know 'twill come true
+and they will both bless you, i know, when i say
+how you folded your arms round their dear one to-day
+how you cheered her sad heart and soothed it to rest
+and hushed its wild throbs on your strong, noble breast
+and when the kind angels shall call _you_ to come
+we'll welcome you there to our beautiful home
+where death never comes his black banners to wave
+and the beautiful flowers ne'er weep o'er a grave
+
+
+
+two little stockings hung side by side
+close to the fireside broad and wide
+loaded with toys and many a game
+
+there's only one little girl lives here
+so he crept up close to the chimney place
+and measured a sock with a sober face
+just then a wee little note fell out
+and fluttered low, like a bird, about
+
+as he pushed his specs up close to his eyes
+and read the address in a child's rough plan
+i have hung up for a child named clara hall
+
+so i thought, perhaps, you kindly would
+fill up her stocking, too, to-night
+and help to make her christmas bright
+if you've not enough for both stockings there
+please put all in clara's, i shall not care
+
+saint nicholas brushed a tear from his eye
+and, "god bless you, darling," he said with a sigh
+then softly he blew through the chimney high
+a note like a bird's, as it soars on high
+when down came two of the funniest mortals
+that ever were seen this side earth's portals
+
+all a little girl wants where money is rare
+then, oh, what a scene there was in that room
+away went the elves, but down from the gloom
+of the sooty old chimney came tumbling low
+a child's whole wardrobe, from head to toe
+
+how santa clans laughed, as he gathered them in
+and fastened each one to the sock with a pin
+right to the toe he hung a blue dress
+said saint nicholas, smoothing the folds of blue
+and tying the hood to the stocking, too
+
+when all the warm clothes were fastened on
+and both little socks were filled and done
+then santa claus tucked a toy here and there
+and hurried away to the frosty air
+saying, "god pity the poor, and bless the dear child
+who pities them, too, on this night so wild
+
+the wind caught the words and bore them on high
+till they died away in the midnight sky
+while saint nicholas flew through the icy air
+bringing "peace and good will" with him everywhere
+
+
+
+i have a rendezvous with death
+at some disputed barricade
+when spring comes back with rustling shade
+and apple-blossoms fill the air
+i have a rendezvous with death
+when spring brings back blue days and fair
+
+it may be he shall take my hand
+and lead me into his dark land
+and close my eyes and quench my breath
+it may be i shall pass him still
+i have a rendezvous with death
+on some scarred slope of battered hill
+when spring comes round again this year
+and the first meadow-flowers appear
+
+god knows't were better to be deep
+pillowed in silk and scented down
+where love throbs out in blissful sleep
+pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath
+where hushed awakenings are dear
+but i've a rendezvous with death
+at midnight in some flaming town
+when spring trips north again this year
+and i to my pledged word am true
+i shall not fail that rendezvous
+
+
+
+let us be kind
+the way is long and lonely
+and human hearts are asking for this blessing only
+that we be kind
+we cannot know the grief that men may borrow
+we cannot see the souls storm-swept by sorrow
+but love can shine upon the way to-day, to-morrow
+let us be kind
+
+let us be kind
+this is a wealth that has no measure
+this is of heaven and earth the highest treasure
+let us be kind
+a tender word, a smile of love in meeting
+a song of hope and victory to those retreating
+a glimpse of god and brotherhood while life is fleeting
+let us be kind
+
+let us be kind
+around the world the tears of time are falling
+and for the loved and lost these human hearts are calling
+let us be kind
+to age and youth let gracious words be spoken
+upon the wheel of pain so many lives are broken
+we live in vain who give no tender token
+let us be kind
+
+let us be kind
+the sunset tints will soon be in the west
+too late the flowers are laid then on the quiet breast
+let us be kind
+and when the angel guides have sought and found us
+their hands shall link the broken ties of earth that bound us
+and heaven and home shall brighten all around us
+let us be kind
+
+
+
+oh! listen to the water mill, through all the livelong day
+as the clicking of the wheels wears hour by hour away
+how languidly the autumn wind does stir the withered leaves
+as in the fields the reapers sing, while binding up their sheaves
+a solemn proverb strikes my mind, and as a spell is cast
+
+the summer winds revive no more leaves strewn o'er earth and main
+the sickle nevermore will reap the yellow garnered grain
+the rippling stream flows on--aye, tranquil, deep and still
+but never glideth back again to busy water mill
+the solemn proverb speaks to all with meaning deep and vast
+
+ah! clasp the proverb to thy soul, dear loving heart and true
+for golden years are fleeting by and youth is passing too
+ah! learn to make the most of life, nor lose one happy day
+for time will ne'er return sweet joys neglected, thrown away
+nor leave one tender word unsaid, thy kindness sow broadcast
+
+oh! the wasted hours of life, that have swiftly drifted by
+alas! the good we might have done, all gone without a sigh
+love that we might once have saved by a single kindly word
+thoughts conceived, but ne'er expressed, perishing unpenned, unheard
+oh! take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast
+
+work on while yet the sun doth shine, thou man of strength and will
+the streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by clicking water mill
+nor wait until to-morrow's light beams brightly on thy way
+for all that thou canst call thine own lies in the phrase "to-day
+possession, power and blooming health must all be lost at last
+
+oh! love thy god and fellowman, thyself consider last
+for come it will when thou must scan dark errors of the past
+soon will this fight of life be o'er and earth recede from view
+and heaven in all its glory shine, where all is pure and true
+ah! then thou'lt see more clearly still the proverb deep and vast
+
+
+
+what makes the dog's nose always cold
+i'll try to tell you, curls of gold
+if you will good and quiet be
+and come and stand by mamma's knee
+well, years and years and years ago
+how many i don't really know
+there came a rain on sea and shore
+its like was never seen before
+or since. it fell unceasing down
+till all the world began to drown
+but just before it began to pour
+an old, old man--his name was noah
+built him an ark, that he might save
+his family from a wat'ry grave
+and in it also he designed
+to shelter two of every kind
+of beast. well, dear, when it was done
+and heavy clouds obscured the sun
+the noah folks to it quickly ran
+and then the animals began
+to gravely march along in pairs
+the leopards, tigers, wolves and bears
+the deer, the hippopotamuses
+the rabbits, squirrels, elks, walruses
+the camels, goats, cats and donkeys
+the tall giraffes, the beavers, monkeys
+the rats, the big rhinoceroses
+the dromedaries and the horses
+the sheep, and mice and kangaroos
+hyenas, elephants, koodoos
+and hundreds more-'twould take all day
+my dear, so many names to say
+and at the very, very end
+of the procession, by his friend
+and master, faithful dog was seen
+the livelong time he'd helping been
+to drive the crowd of creatures in
+and now, with loud, exultant bark
+he gaily sprang abroad the ark
+alas! so crowded was the space
+he could not in it find a place
+so, patiently, he turned about
+stood half way in, half way out
+and those extremely heavy showers
+descended through nine hundred hours
+and more; and, darling, at the close
+and never could it lose again
+the dampness of that dreadful rain
+and that is what, my curls of gold
+made all the doggies' noses cold
+
+
+chained in the market-place he stood
+a man of giant frame
+amid the gathering multitude
+that shrunk to hear his name
+all stern of look and strong of limb
+his dark eye on the ground
+and silently they gazed on him
+as on a lion bound
+
+vainly, but well, that chief had fought
+he was a captive now
+yet pride, that fortune humbles not
+was written on his brow
+the scars his dark broad bosom wore
+showed warrior true and brave
+a prince among his tribe before
+he could not be a slave
+
+then to his conqueror he spake
+undo this necklace from my neck
+and take this bracelet ring
+and send me where my brother reigns
+and i will fill thy hands
+with store of ivory from the plains
+and gold-dust from the sands
+
+will i unbind thy chain
+that bloody hand shall never hold
+the battle-spear again
+a price thy nation never gave
+shall yet be paid for thee
+for thou shalt be the christian's slave
+in lands beyond the sea
+
+then wept the warrior chief and bade
+to shred his locks away
+and one by one, each heavy braid
+before the victor lay
+thick were the platted locks, and long
+and deftly hidden there
+shone many a wedge of gold among
+the dark and crispèd hair
+
+long kept for sorest need
+take it--thou askest sums untold
+and say that i am freed
+take it--my wife, the long, long day
+weeps by the cocoa-tree
+and my young children leave their play
+and ask in vain for me
+
+thy fetters fast and strong
+and ween that by the cocoa shade
+thy wife will wait thee long
+strong was the agony that shook
+the captive's frame to hear
+and the proud meaning of his look
+was changed to mortal fear
+
+his heart was broken--crazed his brain
+at once his eye grew wild
+he struggled fiercely with his chain
+whispered, and wept, and smiled
+yet wore not long those fatal bands
+and once, at shut of day
+they drew him forth upon the sands
+the foul hyena's prey
+
+
+
+
+he who lives the golden dream lives fourfold thereby
+time may scoff and worlds may laugh, hosts assail his thought
+but the visionary came ere the builders wrought
+ere the tower bestrode the dome, ere the dome the arch
+he, the dreamer of the dream, saw the vision march
+
+he who has the vision hears more than you may hear
+unseen lips from unseen worlds are bent unto his ear
+from the hills beyond the clouds messages are borne
+drifting on the dews of dream to his heart of morn
+time awaits and ages stay till he wakes and shows
+glimpses of the larger life that his vision knows
+
+he who has the vision feels more than you may feel
+joy beyond the narrow joy in whose realm we reel
+for he knows the stars are glad, dawn and middleday
+in the jocund tide that sweeps dark and dusk away
+he who has the vision lives round and all complete
+and through him alone we draw dews from combs of sweet
+
+
+
+the children kept coming one by one
+till the boys were five and the girls were three
+and the big brown house was alive with fun
+from the basement floor to the old roof-tree
+like garden flowers the little ones grew
+nurtured and trained with tenderest care
+warmed by love's sunshine, bathed in dew
+they blossomed into beauty rare
+
+but one of the boys grew weary one day
+and leaning his head on his mother's breast
+he said, "i am tired and cannot play
+let me sit awhile on your knee and rest
+she cradled him close to her fond embrace
+she hushed him to sleep with her sweetest song
+and rapturous love still lightened his face
+when his spirit had joined the heavenly throng
+
+then the eldest girl, with her thoughtful eyes
+who stood where the "brook and the river meet
+stole softly away into paradise
+e'er "the river" had reached her slender feet
+while the father's eyes on the graves were bent
+the mother looked upward beyond the skies
+our darlings were angels in earth's disguise
+
+the years flew by, and the children began
+with longings to think of the world outside
+and as each in turn became a man
+the boys proudly went from the father's side
+the girls were women so gentle and fair
+that lovers were speedy to woo and to win
+and with orange-blooms in their braided hair
+their old home they left, new homes to begin
+
+so, one by one the children have gone
+the boys were five, the girls were three
+and the big brown house is gloomy and alone
+with but two old folks for its company
+they talk to each other about the past
+as they sit together at eventide
+and say, "all the children we keep at last
+are the boy and girl who in childhood died
+
+
+
+between broad fields of wheat and corn
+is the lowly home where i was born
+the peach-tree leans against the wall
+and the woodbine wanders over all
+there is the shaded doorway still
+but a stranger's foot has crossed the sill
+
+there is the barn--and, as of yore
+i can smell the hay from the open door
+and see the busy swallows throng
+and hear the pewee's mournful song
+but the stranger comes--oh! painful proof
+his sheaves are piled to the heated roof
+
+there is the orchard--the very trees
+where my childhood knew long hours of ease
+and watched the shadowy moments run
+till my life imbibed more shade than sun
+the swing from the bough still sweeps the air
+but the stranger's children are swinging there
+
+there bubbles the shady spring below
+with its bulrush brook where the hazels grow
+and watched the minnows poise and shoot
+and heard the robin lave his wing
+but the stranger's bucket is at the spring
+
+oh, ye who daily cross the sill
+step lightly, for i love it still
+and when you crowd the old barn eaves
+then think what countless harvest sheaves
+have passed within' that scented door
+to gladden eyes that are no more
+
+deal kindly with these orchard trees
+and when your children crowd your knees
+their sweetest fruit they shall impart
+as if old memories stirred their heart
+to youthful sport still leave the swing
+and in sweet reverence hold the spring
+
+
+
+well, wife, i've found the _model_ church! i worshiped there to-day
+it made me think of good old times before my hair was gray
+the meetin'-house was fixed up more than they were years ago
+but then i felt, when i went in, it wasn't built for show
+
+the sexton didn't seat me away back by the door
+he knew that i was old and deaf, as well as old and poor
+he must have been a christian, for he led me boldly through
+the long aisle of that crowded church to find a pleasant pew
+
+i wish you'd heard that singin'; it had the old-time ring
+the preacher said, with trumpet voice: "let all the people sing
+the tune was "coronation," and the music upward rolled
+till i thought i heard the angels striking all their harps of gold
+
+my deafness seemed to melt away; my spirit caught the fire
+i joined my feeble, trembling voice with that melodious choir
+and sang as in my youthful days: "let angels prostrate fall
+bring forth the royal diadem, and crown him lord of all
+
+i tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more
+i felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore
+i almost wanted to lay down this weatherbeaten form
+and anchor in that blessed port forever from the storm
+
+i know it wasn't written; i know it wasn't read
+he hadn't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye
+went flashin' long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by
+
+the sermon wasn't flowery; 'twas simple gospel truth
+it fitted poor old men like me; it fitted hopeful youth
+
+the preacher made sin hideous in gentiles and in jews
+he shot the golden sentences down in the finest pews
+and--though i can't see very well--i saw the falling tear
+that told me hell was some ways off, and heaven very near
+
+how swift the golden moments fled within that holy place
+how brightly beamed the light of heaven from every happy face
+again i longed for that sweet time when friend shall meet with friend
+
+i hope to meet that minister--that congregation, too
+in that dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's blue
+i doubt not i'll remember, beyond life's evenin' gray
+the happy hour of worship in that model church today
+
+dear wife, the fight will soon be fought; the vict'ry soon be won
+the shinin' goal is just ahead; the race is nearly run
+o'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore
+to shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more
+
+
+
+the gret big church wuz crowded full uv broadcloth an' of silk
+an' satins rich as cream thet grows on our ol' brindle's milk
+shined boots, biled shirts, stiff dickeys, an' stove-pipe hats were there
+an' doodes 'ith trouserloons so tight they couldn't kneel down in prayer
+
+the elder in his poolpit high, said, as he slowly riz
+an' as we hev no substitoot, as brother moore ain't here
+will some 'un in the congregation be so kind's to volunteer
+
+an' then a red-nosed, blear-eyed tramp, of low-toned, rowdy style
+give an interductory hiccup, an' then swaggered up the aisle
+then thro' that holy atmosphere there crep' a sense er sin
+an' thro' thet air of sanctity the odor uv ol' gin
+
+then deacon purington he yelled, his teeth all set on edge
+the tramp didn' hear a word he said, but slouched 'ith stumblin' feet
+an' stalked an' swaggered up the steps, an' gained the organ seat
+
+he then went pawin' thro' the keys, an' soon there rose a strain
+thet seemed to jest bulge out the heart, an' 'lectrify the brain
+an' then he slapped down on the thing 'ith hands an' head an' knees
+he slam-dashed his hull body down kerflop upon the keys
+
+the organ roared, the music flood went sweepin' high an' dry
+it swelled into the rafters, an' bulged out into the sky
+the ol' church shook and staggered, an' seemed to reel an' sway
+an' the elder shouted "glory!" an' i yelled out "hooray
+
+an' then he tried a tender strain that melted in our ears
+thet brought up blessed memories and drenched 'em down 'ith tears
+an' we dreamed uv ol' time kitchens, 'ith tabby on the mat
+uv home an' luv an' baby days, an' mother, an' all that
+
+an' then he struck a streak uv hope--a song from souls forgiven
+thet burst from prison bars uv sin, an' stormed the gates uv heaven
+the morning stars together sung--no soul wuz left alone
+we felt the universe wuz safe, an' god was on his throne
+
+an' then a wail of deep despair an' darkness come again
+an' long, black crape hung on the doors uv all the homes uv men
+no luv, no light, no joy, no hope, no songs of glad delight
+an' then--the tramp, he swaggered down an' reeled out into the night
+
+but we knew he'd tol' his story, tho' he never spoke a word
+an' it was the saddest story thet our ears had ever heard
+he had tol' his own life history, an' no eye was dry thet day
+w'en the elder rose an' simply said: "my brethren, let up pray
+
+
+
+there lay upon the ocean's shore
+what once a tortoise served to cover
+a year and more, with rush and roar
+the surf had rolled it over
+had played with it, and flung it by
+as wind and weather might decide it
+then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry
+cheap burial might provide it
+it rested there to bleach or tan
+the rains had soaked, the suns had burned it
+with many a ban the fisherman
+had stumbled o'er and spurned it
+and there the fisher-girl would stay
+conjecturing with her brother
+how in their play the poor estray
+might serve some use or other
+
+so there it lay, through wet and dry
+as empty as the last new sonnet
+till by and by came mercury
+and, having mused upon it
+in shape, material, and dimension
+give it but strings, and, lo, it sings
+a wonderful invention
+
+so said, so done; the chords he strained
+and, as his fingers o'er them hovered
+the shell disdained a soul had gained
+the lyre had been discovered
+o empty world that round us lies
+dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken
+brought we but eyes like mercury's
+in thee what songs should waken
+
+
+
+
+the old mayor climbed the belfry tower
+the ringers rang by two, by three
+good ringers, pull your best," quoth he
+play all your changes, all your swells
+play uppe 'the brides of enderby
+
+men say it was a stolen tyde
+the lord that sent it, he knows all
+but in myne ears doth still abide
+the message that the bells let fall
+and there was naught of strange, beside
+the flight of mews ans peewits pied
+by millions crouched on the old sea-wall
+
+i sat and spun within the doore
+my thread break off, i raised myne eyes
+the level sun, like ruddy ore
+lay sinking in the barren skies
+and dark against day's golden death
+she moved where lindis wandereth
+my sonne's faire wife, elizabeth
+
+ere the early dews were falling
+farre away i heard her song
+where the reedy lindis floweth
+floweth, floweth
+from the meads where melick groweth
+faintly came her milking song
+
+leave your meadow grasses mellow
+mellow, mellow
+quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow
+come uppe whitefoot, come uppe lightfoot
+quit the stalks of parsley hollow
+hollow, hollow
+come uppe jetty, rise and follow
+from the clovers lift your head
+come uppe whitefoot, come uppe lightfoot
+come uppe jetty, rise and follow
+jetty, to the milking shed
+
+if it be long, ay, long ago
+when i beginne to think howe long
+againe i hear the lindis flow
+swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong
+and all the aire, it seemeth mee
+bin full of floating bells (sayeth she
+that ring the tune of enderby
+
+alle fresh the level pasture lay
+and not a shadowe mote be seene
+save where full fyve good miles away
+the steeple towered from out the greene
+and lo! the great bell farre and wide
+was heard in all the country side
+that saturday at eventide
+
+the swanherds where there sedges are
+moved on in sunset's golden breath
+the shepherde lads i heard affare
+and my sonne's wife, elizabeth
+till floating o'er the grassy sea
+came down that kindly message free
+the "brides of mavis enderby
+
+then some looked uppe into the sky
+and all along where lindis flows
+to where the goodly vessels lie
+and where the lordly steeple shows
+they sayde, "and why should this thing be
+what danger lowers by land or sea
+they ring the tune of enderby
+
+of pyrate galleys warping downe
+for shippes ashore beyond the scorpe
+they have not spared to wake the towne
+but while the west bin red to see
+and storms be none, and pyrates flee
+why ring 'the brides of enderby
+
+i looked without, and lo! my sonne
+came riding down with might and main
+he raised a shout as he drew on
+till all the welkin rang again
+than my sonne's wife, elizabeth
+
+the rising tide comes on apace
+and boats adrift in yonder towne
+go sailing uppe the market-place
+he shook as one that looks on death
+
+with her two bairns i marked her long
+and ere yon bells beganne to play
+afar i heard her milking song
+he looked across the grassy lea
+to right, to left, "ho, enderby
+they rang "the brides of enderby
+
+with that he cried and beat his breast
+for, lo! along the river's bed
+a mighty eygre reared his crest
+and uppe the lindis raging sped
+it swept with thunderous noises loud
+shaped like a curling snow-white cloud
+or like a demon in a shroud
+
+and rearing lindis backward pressed
+shook all her trembling bankes amaine
+then madly at the eygre's breast
+flung uppe her weltering walls again
+then bankes came downe with ruin and rout
+then beaten foam flew round about
+then all the mighty floods were out
+
+so farre, so fast the eygre drave
+the heart had hardly time to beat
+before a shallow seething wave
+sobbed in the grasses at oure feet
+the feet had hardly time to flee
+before it brake against the knee
+and all the world was in the sea
+
+upon the roofe we sat that night
+the noise of bells went sweeping by
+i marked the lofty beacon light
+stream from the church tower, red and high
+a lurid mark and dread to see
+and awesome bells they were to mee
+that in the dark rang "enderby
+
+they rang the sailor lads to guide
+from roofe to roofe who fearless rowed
+and i--my sonne was at my side
+and yet the ruddy beacon glowed
+and yet he moaned beneath his breath
+oh, lost! my love, elizabeth
+
+and didst thou visit him no more
+thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare
+the waters laid thee at his doore
+ere yet the early dawn was clear
+thy pretty bairns in fast embrace
+the lifted sun shone on thy face
+downe drifted to thy dwelling-place
+
+that flow strewed wrecks about the grass
+that ebbe swept out the flocks to sea
+a fatal ebbe and flow, alas
+to manye more than myne and me
+but each will mourn his own (she saith
+and sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
+than my sonne's wife, elizabeth
+
+i shall never hear her more
+by the reedy lindis shore
+ere the early dews be falling
+i shall never hear her song
+where the sunny lindis floweth
+goeth, floweth
+from the meads where melick groweth
+when the water winding down
+onward floweth to the town
+
+i shall never see her more
+where the reeds and rushes quiver
+shiver, quiver
+stand beside the sobbing river
+sobbing, throbbing, in its falling
+to the sandy lonesome shore
+i shall never hear her calling
+mellow, mellow
+quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow
+come uppe whitefoot, come uppe lightfoot
+quit your pipes of parsley hollow
+hollow, hollow
+come uppe lightfoot, rise and follow
+lightfoot, whitefoot
+from your clovers lift the head
+come uppe jetty, follow, follow
+jetty, to the milking-shed
+
+
+
+o month of fairer, rarer days
+than summer's best have been
+when skies at noon are burnished blue
+and winds at evening keen
+when tangled, tardy-blooming things
+from wild waste places peer
+and drooping golden grain-heads tell
+that harvest-time is near
+
+though autumn tints amid the green
+are gleaming, here and there
+and spicy autumn odors float
+like incense on the air
+and sounds we mark as autumn's own
+her nearing steps betray
+in gracious mood she seems to stand
+and bid the summer stay
+
+though 'neath the trees, with fallen leaves
+the sward be lightly strown
+and nests deserted tell the tale
+of summer bird-folk flown
+though white with frost the lowlands lie
+when lifts the morning haze
+still there's a charm in every hour
+of sweet september days
+
+
+
+who comes dancing over the snow
+his soft little feet all bare and rosy
+open the door, though the wild wind blow
+take the child in and make him cozy
+take him in and hold him dear
+here is the wonderful glad new year
+
+
+
+
+if you can dress to make yourself attractive
+yet not make puffs and curls your chief delight
+if you can swim and row, be strong and active
+but of the gentler graces lose not sight
+if you can dance without a craze for dancing
+play without giving play too strong a hold
+enjoy the love of friends without romancing
+care for the weak, the friendless and the old
+
+if you can master french and greek and latin
+and not acquire, as well, a priggish mien
+if you can feel the touch of silk and satin
+without despising calico and jean
+if you can ply a saw and use a hammer
+can do a man's work when the need occurs
+can sing when asked, without excuse or stammer
+can rise above unfriendly snubs and slurs
+
+if you can make good bread as well as fudges
+can sew with skill and have an eye for dust
+if you can be a friend and hold no grudges
+a girl whom all will love because they must
+
+if sometime you should meet and love another
+and make a home with faith and peace enshrined
+and you its soul--a loyal wife and mother
+you'll work out pretty nearly to my mind
+the plan that's been developed through the ages
+and win the best that life can have in store
+you'll be, my girl, the model for the sages
+a woman whom the world will bow before
+
+
+
+little lass of plymouth,--gentle, shy, and sweet
+primly, trimly tripping down the queer old street
+homespun frock and apron, clumsy buckled shoe
+skirts that reach your ankles, just as mother's do
+bonnet closely clinging over braid and curl
+modest little maiden,--plymouth's pilgrim girl
+
+little lad of plymouth, stanchly trudging by
+strong your frame, and sturdy; kind and keen your eye
+clad in belted doublet, buckles at your knee
+every garment fashioned as a man's might be
+shoulder-cloak and breeches, hat with bell-shaped crown
+manly little pilgrim,--boy of plymouth town
+
+boy and girl of plymouth, brave and blithe, and true
+finer task than yours was, children never knew
+sharing toil and hardship in the strange, new land
+hope, and help, and promise of the weary band
+grave the life around you, scant its meed of joy
+yours to make it brighter,--pilgrim girl and boy
+
+
+
+thank god for the might of it
+the ardor, the urge, the delight of it
+work that springs from the heart's desire
+setting the brain and the soul on fire
+oh, what is so good as the heat of it
+and what is so glad as the beat of it
+and what is so kind as the stern command
+challenging brain and heart and hand
+
+thank god for the pride of it
+for the beautiful, conquering tide of it
+sweeping the life in its furious flood
+thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood
+mastering stupor and dull despair
+moving the dreamer to do and dare
+oh, what is so good as the urge of it
+and what is so glad as the surge of it
+and what is so strong as the summons deep
+rousing the torpid soul from sleep
+
+thank god for the pace of it
+for the terrible, swift, keen race of it
+fiery steeds in full control
+nostrils a-quiver to reach the goal
+work, the power that drives behind
+guiding the purposes, taming the mind
+holding the runaway wishes back
+reining the will to one steady track
+speeding the energies, faster, faster
+triumphing ever over disaster
+oh, what is so good as the pain of it
+and what is so great as the gain of it
+and what is so kind as the cruel goad
+forcing us on through the rugged road
+
+thank god for the swing of it
+for the clamoring, hammering ring of it
+passion of labor daily hurled
+on the mighty anvils of the world
+oh, what is so fierce as the flame of it
+and what is so huge as the aim of it
+thundering on through dearth and doubt
+calling the plan of the maker out
+work, the titan; work, the friend
+shaping the earth to a glorious end
+draining the swamps and blasting hills
+doing whatever the spirit wills
+rending a continent apart
+to answer the dream of the master heart
+thank god for a world where none may shirk
+thank god for the splendor of work
+
+
+
+ask for
+
+you say i have asked for the costliest thing
+ever made by the hand above
+a woman's heart and a woman's life
+and a woman's wonderful love
+
+that i have written your duty out
+and, man-like, have questioned free
+you demand that i stand at the bar of your soul
+while you in turn question me
+
+and when i ask you to be my wife
+the head of my house and home
+whose path i would scatter with sunshine through life
+thy shield when sorrow shall come
+
+you reply with disdain and a curl of the lip
+and point to my coat's missing button
+and haughtily ask if i want a _cook
+to serve up my _beef_ and my _mutton
+
+but only a plain, earnest man
+whose feet often shun the hard path they should tread
+often shrink from the gulf they should span
+
+from the cheek so full, so fair
+was ever reflected there
+
+true, the rose will fade, and the leaves will fall
+and the autumn of life will come
+but the heart that i give thee will be true as in may
+should i make it thy shelter, thy home
+
+thou requir'st "all things that are good and true
+all things that a man should be
+ah! lady, my _truth_, in return, doubt not
+for the rest, i leave it to thee
+
+
+
+i cannot vouch my tale is true
+nor say, indeed, 'tis wholly new
+but true or false, or new or old
+i think you'll find it fairly told
+a frenchman, who had ne'er before
+set foot upon a foreign shore
+weary of home, resolved to go
+and see what holland had to show
+he didn't know a word of dutch
+but that could hardly grieve him much
+he thought, as frenchmen always do
+that all the world could "parley-voo
+at length our eager tourist stands
+within the famous netherlands
+and, strolling gaily here and there
+in search of something rich or rare
+a lordly mansion greets his eyes
+and, bowing to the man who sate
+in livery at the garden gate
+whose very charming grounds are these
+and, pardon me, be pleased to tell
+who in this splendid house may dwell
+to which, in dutch, the puzzled man
+replied what seemed like "nick van stann
+
+is equally superb and chaste
+so fine a house, upon my word
+not even paris can afford
+with statues, too, in every niche
+of course monsieur van stann is rich
+and lives, i warrant, like a king
+ah! wealth mast be a charming thing
+in amsterdam the frenchman meets
+a thousand wonders in the streets
+but most he marvels to behold
+a lady dressed in silk and gold
+gazing with rapture on the dame
+he begs to know the lady's name
+and hears, to raise his wonders more
+the very words he heard before
+milord has got a charming wife
+must be a very happy man
+
+next day our tourist chanced to pop
+his head within a lottery shop
+and there he saw, with staring eyes
+the drawing of the mammoth prize
+i wish i had as much at home
+i'd like to know, as i'm a sinner
+what lucky fellow is the winner
+conceive our traveler's amaze
+to hear again the hackneyed phrase
+faith! he's the luckiest of men
+you may be sure we don't advance
+so rapidly as that in france
+a house, the finest in the land
+a lovely garden, nicely planned
+a perfect angel of a wife
+and gold enough to last a life
+there never yet was mortal man
+so blest--as monsieur nick van stann
+
+next day the frenchman chanced to meet
+a pompous funeral in the street
+and, asking one who stood close by
+what nobleman had pleased to die
+was stunned to hear the old reply
+the frenchman sighed and shook his head
+with such a house, and such a wife
+it must be hard to part with life
+and then, to lose that mammoth prize
+he wins, and, pop,--the winner dies
+ah, well! his blessings came so fast
+i greatly feared they could not last
+and thus, we see, the sword of fate
+cuts down alike the small and great
+
+
+
+
+marching down to armageddon
+brothers, stout and strong
+let us cheer the way we tread on
+with a soldier's song
+faint we by the weary road
+or fall we in the rout
+dirge or pæan, death or triumph
+let the song ring out
+
+we are they who scorn the scorners
+love the lovers--hate
+none within the world's four corners
+all must share one fate
+we are they whose common banner
+bears no badge nor sign
+save the light which dyes it white
+the hope that makes it shine
+
+we are they whose bugle rings
+that all the wars may cease
+we are they will pay the kings
+their cruel price for peace
+we are they whose steadfast watchword
+is what christ did teach
+and heaven, then, for each
+
+we are they who will not falter
+many swords or few
+till we make this earth the altar
+of a worship new
+we are they who will not take
+from palace, priest or code
+a meaner law than "brotherhood
+a lower lord than god
+
+marching down to armageddon
+brothers, stout and strong
+ask not why the way we tread on
+is so rough and long
+god will tell us when our spirits
+grow to grasp his plan
+let us do our part to-day
+and help him, helping man
+
+shall we even curse the madness
+which for "ends of state
+dooms us to the long, long sadness
+of this human hate
+let us slay in perfect pity
+those that must not live
+vanquish, and forgive our foes
+or fall--and still forgive
+
+we are those whose unpaid legions
+in free ranks arrayed
+massacred in many regions
+never once were stayed
+we are they whose torn battalions
+trained to bleed, not fly
+make our agonies a triumph
+conquer, while we die
+
+therefore, down to armageddon
+brothers, bold and strong
+cheer the glorious way we tread on
+with this soldier song
+let the armies of the old flags
+march in silent dread
+death and life are one to us
+who fight for quick and dead
+
+
+
+it was a sergeant old and gray
+well singed and bronzed from siege and pillage
+went tramping in an army's wake
+along the turnpike of the village
+
+for days and nights the winding host
+had through the little place been marching
+and ever loud the rustics cheered
+till every throat was hoarse and parching
+
+the squire and farmer, maid and dame
+all took the sight's electric stirring
+and hats were waved and staves were sung
+and kerchiefs white were countless whirring
+
+they only saw a gallant show
+of heroes stalwart under banners
+and, in the fierce heroic glow
+
+the sergeant heard the shrill hurrahs
+where he behind in step was keeping
+but, glancing down beside the road
+he saw a little maid sit weeping
+
+a moment pausing to regard her
+and then she only cried the harder
+
+the sturdy trooper straight repeated
+that you, in tears, apart are seated
+
+and that's a sight, my baby beauty
+to quicken silence into song
+and glorify the soldier's duty
+
+the little maid gave soft replying
+all say 'hurrah' while i am crying
+
+how many little sisters' brothers
+are going all away to fight
+and may be killed, as well as others
+
+his brawny hand her curls caressing
+to find that war's not all a blessing
+
+and "bless thee!" once again he cried
+then cleared his throat and looked indignant
+and marched away with wrinkled brow
+to stop the struggling tear benignant
+
+and still the ringing shouts went up
+from doorway, thatch, and fields of tillage
+the pall behind the standard seen
+by one alone of all the village
+
+the oak and cedar bend and writhe
+when roars the wind through gap and braken
+but 'tis the tenderest reed of all
+that trembles first when earth is shaken
+
+
+
+once in persia reigned a king
+who upon his signet ring
+graved a maxim true and wise
+which, if held before his eyes
+gave him counsel at a glance
+fit for every change and chance
+solemn words; and these are they
+
+trains of camels through the sand
+brought him gems from samarcand
+fleets of galleys through the seas
+brought him pearls to match with these
+but he counted not his gain
+treasurer of the mine and main
+
+in the revels of his court
+at the zenith of the sport
+when the palms of all his guests
+burned with clapping at his jests
+he, amid his figs and wine
+cried: "o loving friends of mine
+pleasures come, but not to stay
+even this shall pass away
+
+fighting on a furious field
+once a javelin pierced his shield
+soldiers with loud lament
+bore him bleeding to his tent
+groaning with his tortured side
+even this shall pass away
+
+struck with palsy, sere and old
+waiting at the gates of gold
+spake he with his dying breath
+then, in answer to the king
+fell a sunbeam on his ring
+showing by a heavenly ray
+
+
+
+you're going to leave the homestead, john
+you're twenty-one to-day
+and very sorry am i, john
+to see you go away
+you've labored late and early, john
+and done the best you could
+i ain't going to stop you, john
+i wouldn't if i could
+
+yet something of your feelings, john
+i s'pose i'd ought to know
+though many a day has passed away
+when hope was high within me, john
+and life lay all before
+that i, with strong and measured stroke
+
+the years they come and go, my boy
+the years they come and go
+and raven locks and tresses brown
+grow white as driven snow
+my life has known its sorrows, john
+its trials and troubles sore
+yet god withal has blessed me, john
+
+but one thing let me tell you, john
+before you make a start
+there's more in being honest, john
+twice o'er than being smart
+though rogues may seem to flourish, john
+and sterling worth to fail
+oh! keep in view the good and true
+
+don't think too much of money, john
+and dig and delve and plan
+and rake and scrape in every shape
+to hoard up all you can
+though fools may count their riches, john
+in dollars and in cents
+the best of wealth is youth and health
+and good sound common sense
+
+and don't be mean and stingy, john
+but lay a little by
+of what you earn; you soon will learn
+how fast 'twill multiply
+so when old age comes creeping on
+you'll have a goodly store
+of wealth to furnish all your needs
+and maybe something more
+
+there's shorter cuts to fortune, john
+we see them every day
+but those who save their self-respect
+climb up the good old way
+and makes the vulgar stare
+and those we deem the richest, john
+have oft the least to spare
+
+don't meddle with your neighbors, john
+their sorrows or their cares
+you'll find enough to do, my boy
+to mind your own affairs
+the world is full of idle tongues
+you can afford to shirk
+there's lots of people ready, john
+to do such dirty work
+
+and if amid the race for fame
+you win a shining prize
+the humbler work of honest men
+you never should despise
+for each one has his mission, john
+in life's unchanging plan
+though lowly be his station, john
+he is no less a man
+
+be good, be pure, be noble, john
+be honest, brave, be true
+and do to others as you would
+that they should do to you
+and put your trust in god, my boy
+though fiery darts be hurled
+then you can smile at satan's rage
+and face a frowning world
+
+good-by! may heaven guard and bless
+your footsteps day by day
+the old house will be lonesome, john
+when you are gone away
+the cricket's song upon the hearth
+will have a sadder tone
+the old familiar spots will be
+so lonely when you're gone
+
+
+king alphonso of asturias had imprisoned the count saldana, about the
+time of the birth of the count's son bernardo. in an effort to secure
+his father's release, bernardo, when old enough, took up arms. finally
+the king offered bernardo possession of his father's person, in exchange
+for the castle of carpio and all the king's subjects there imprisoned
+the cruel trick played by the king on bernardo is here described
+
+the warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire
+and sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire
+i pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!--oh break my father's chain
+mount thy good horse; and thou and i will meet him on his way
+
+then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed
+and urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed
+and lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band
+with one that midst them stately rode, as leader in the land
+the father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see
+
+his dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and
+he reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent
+a lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took
+what was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook
+that hand was cold,--a frozen thing,--it dropped from his like lead
+he looked up to the face above,--the face was of the dead
+a plume waved o'er the noble brow,--the brow was fixed and white
+he met, at last, his father's eyes, but in them was no sight
+
+up from the ground he sprang and gazed, but who could paint that gaze
+they hushed their very hearts that saw its horror and amaze
+they might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood
+for the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood
+talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men
+
+he thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown
+he flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down
+then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow
+my king is false, my hope betrayed, my father--oh, the worth
+the glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth
+i thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet
+i would that there our kindred blood on spain's free soil had met
+thou wouldst have known my spirit then;--for thee my fields were won
+and thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son
+
+then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein
+amidst the pale and 'wildered looks of all the courtier train
+and, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led
+and sternly set them face to face, the king before the dead
+be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this
+the voice, the glance, the heart i sought--give answer, where are they
+if thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay
+into these glassy eyes put light; be still! keep down thine ire
+bid these white lips a blessing speak, this earth is not my sire
+give me back him for whom i strove, for whom my blood was shed
+thou canst not?--and a king!--his dust be mountains on thy head
+
+he loosed the steed--his slack hand fell; upon the silent face
+he cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place
+his hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain
+his banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of spain
+
+
+
+go thou thy way, and i go mine
+apart--but not afar
+only a thin veil hangs between
+the pathways where we are
+and god keep watch 'tween thee and me
+this is my prayer
+he looks thy way--he looketh mine
+and keeps us near
+
+i know not where thy road may lie
+nor which way mine will be
+if thine will lead through parching sands
+and mine beside the sea
+yet god keeps watch 'tween thee and me
+so never fear
+he holds thy hand--he claspeth mine
+and keeps us near
+
+should wealth and fame perchance be thine
+and my lot lowly be
+or you be sad and sorrowful
+and glory be for me
+yet god keep watch 'tween thee and me
+both are his care
+one arm round me and one round thee
+will keep us near
+
+i sigh sometimes to see thy face
+but since this may not be
+i leave thee to the love of him
+who cares for thee and me
+this comforts--dear
+one wing o'er thee--and one o'er me
+so we are near
+
+and though our paths be separate
+and thy way be not mine
+yet coming to the mercy seat
+my soul shall meet with thine
+and "god keep watch 'tween thee and me
+i'll whisper there
+he blesses me--he blesses thee
+and we are near
+
+
+o thou eternal one! whose presence bright
+all space doth occupy, all motion guide
+unchanged through time's all-devastating flight
+thou only god--there is no god beside
+being above all beings! mighty one
+whom none can comprehend and none explore
+who fill'st existence with thyself alone
+embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er
+being whom we call god, and know no more
+
+in its sublime research, philosophy
+may measure out the ocean-deep--may count
+the sands or the sun's rays--but, god! for thee
+there is no weight nor measure; none can mount
+up to thy mysteries:* reason's brightest spark
+though kindled by thy light, in vain would try
+to trace thy counsels, infinite and dark
+and thought is lost ere thought can soar so high
+even like past moments in eternity
+
+thou from primeval nothingness didst call
+first chaos, then existence--lord! in thee
+eternity had its foundation; all
+sprung forth from thee--of light, joy, harmony
+sole origin--all life, all beauty thine
+thy word created all, and doth create
+thy splendor fills all space with rays divine
+thou art and wert and shalt be! glorious! great
+light-giving, life-sustaining potentate
+
+thy chains the unmeasured universe surround
+upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath
+thou the beginning with the end hast bound
+and beautifully mingled life and death
+as sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze
+so suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee
+and as the spangles in the sunny rays
+shine round the silver snow, the pageantry
+of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise
+
+a million torches, lighted by thy hand
+wander unwearied through the blue abyss
+they own thy power, accomplish thy command
+all gay with life, all eloquent with bliss
+what shall we call them? piles of crystal light
+a glorious company of golden streams
+lamps of celestial ether burning bright
+suns lighting systems with their joyous beams
+but thou to these art as the noon to night
+
+yes! as a drop of water in the sea
+all this magnificence in thee is lost
+what are ten thousand worlds compared to thee
+and what am i then?--heaven's unnumbered host
+though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
+in all the glory of sublimest thought
+is but an atom in the balance, weighed
+against thy greatness--is a cipher brought
+against infinity! what am i then? naught
+
+naught! but the effluence of thy light divine
+pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too
+yes! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine
+as shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew
+naught! but i live, and on hope's pinions fly
+eager toward thy presence; for in thee
+i live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high
+even to the throne of thy divinity
+i am, o god! and surely thou must be
+
+thou art!--directing, guiding all--thou art
+direct my understanding then to thee
+control my spirit, guide my wandering heart
+though but an atom midst immensity
+still i am something, fashioned by thy hand
+i hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth
+on the last verge of mortal being stand
+close to the realm where angels have their birth
+just on the boundaries of the spirit-land
+
+the chain of being is complete in me
+in me is matter's last gradation lost
+and the next step is spirit--deity
+i can command the lightning, and am dust
+a monarch and a slave--a worm, a god
+whence came i here, and how? so marvelously
+constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod
+lives surely through some higher energy
+for from itself alone it could not be
+
+creator, yes! thy wisdom and thy word
+created me! thou source of life and good
+thou spirit of my spirit, and my lord
+thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude
+filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
+over the abyss of death; and bade it wear
+the garments of eternal day, and wing
+its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere
+even to its source--to thee--its author there
+
+o thoughts ineffable! o visions blest
+though worthless our conceptions all of thee
+yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast
+and waft its homage to thy deity
+god! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar
+thus seek thy presence--being wise and good
+midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore
+and when the tongue is eloquent no more
+the soul shall speak in tears of gratitude
+
+
+
+the boy stood on the burning deck
+whence all but him had fled
+the flame that lit the battle's wreck
+shone round him o'er the dead
+
+yet beautiful and bright he stood
+as born to rule the storm
+a creature of heroic blood
+a proud, though childlike form
+
+the flames roll'd on--he would not go
+without his father's word
+that father, faint in death below
+his voice no longer heard
+
+he called aloud: "say, father, say
+if yet my task is done
+he knew not that the chieftain lay
+unconscious of his son
+
+and but the booming shots replied
+and fast the flames roll'd on
+
+upon his brow he felt their breath
+and in his waving hair
+and looked from that lone post of death
+in still, yet brave despair
+
+and shouted but once more aloud
+while o'er him fast, through sail and shroud
+the wreathing fires made way
+
+they wrapt the ship in splendor wild
+they caught the flag on high
+and streamed above the gallant child
+like banners in the sky
+
+there came a burst of thunder sound
+the boy--oh! where was he
+ask of the winds that far around
+with fragments strewed the sea
+
+with mast, and helm, and pennon fair
+that well had borne their part
+but the noblest thing that perished there
+was that young, faithful heart
+
+
+
+we were not many,--we who stood
+before the iron sleet that day
+yet many a gallant spirit would
+give half his years if he but could
+have been with us at monterey
+
+now here, now there, the shot it hailed
+in deadly drifts of fiery spray
+yet not a single soldier quailed
+when wounded comrades round them wailed
+their dying shout at monterey
+
+and on, still on our column kept
+through walls of flame, its withering way
+where fell the dead, the living stept
+still charging on the guns which swept
+the slippery streets of monterey
+
+the foe himself recoiled aghast
+when, striking where he strongest lay
+we swooped his flanking batteries past
+and braving full their murderous blast
+stormed home the towers of monterey
+
+our banners on those turrets wave
+and there our evening bugles play
+where orange boughs above their grave
+keep green the memory of the brave
+who fought and fell at monterey
+
+we are not many, we who pressed
+beside the brave who fell that day
+but who of us has not confessed
+he'd rather share their warrior rest
+than not have been at monterey
+
+
+
+if you can take your dreams into the classroom
+and always make them part of each day's work
+if you can face the countless petty problems
+nor turn from them nor ever try to shirk
+if you can live so that the child you work with
+deep in his heart knows you to be a man
+if you can take "i can't" from out his language
+and put in place a vigorous "i can
+
+if you can take love with you to the classroom
+and yet on firmness never shut the door
+if you can teach a child the love of nature
+so that he helps himself to all her store
+if you can teach him life is what we make it
+that he himself can be his only bar
+if you can tell him something of the heavens
+or something of the wonder of a star
+
+if you, with simple bits of truth and honor
+his better self occasionally reach
+and yet not overdo nor have him dub you
+as one who is inclined to ever preach
+if you impart to him a bit of liking
+for all the wondrous things we find in print
+yet have him understand that to be happy
+play, exercise, fresh air he must not stint
+
+if you can give of all the best that's in you
+and in the giving always happy be
+if you can find the good that's hidden somewhere
+deep in the heart of every child you see
+if you can do these things and all the others
+that teachers everywhere do every day
+you're in the work that you were surely meant for
+take hold of it! know it's your place and stay
+
+
+
+there were ninety and nine
+of a flock, sleek and fine
+in a sheltering cote in the vale
+but a lamb was away
+on the mountain astray
+unprotected within the safe pale
+
+then the sleet and the rain
+on the mountain and plain
+and the wind fiercely blowing a gale
+and the night's growing dark
+and the wolf's hungry bark
+stir the soul of the shepherd so hale
+
+and he says, "hireling, go
+for a lamb's in the snow
+and exposed to the wild hungry beast
+nor to rest weary feet
+nor to sit at a bounteous feast
+
+then the hireling replied
+all your flock save this one little sheep
+are the ninety and nine
+all so safe and so fine
+not enough for the shepherd to keep
+
+then the shepherd replied
+presses near, very near, to my heart
+not its value in pay
+makes me urge in this way
+but the longings and achings of heart
+
+o good shepherd, i pray
+for i shudder to go in the dark
+on the mountain so high
+and its precipice nigh
+
+then the shepherd said, "no
+surely some one must go
+who can rescue my lamb from the cold
+from the wolf's hungry maw
+and the lion's fierce paw
+and restore it again to the fold
+
+then the shepherd goes out
+with his cloak girt about
+and his rod and his staff in his hand
+what cares he for the cold
+if his sheep to the fold
+he can bring from the dark mountain land
+
+you can hear his clear voice
+as the mountains rejoice
+up the hillside so steep
+into caverns so deep
+
+now he hears its weak "baa
+and he answers it, "ah
+sheepy sheep, sheepy sheep, sheepy sheep
+then its answering bleat
+hurries on his glad feet
+and his arms gather up his lost sheep
+
+wet and cold on his breast
+the lost lamb found its rest
+as he bore it adown to the fold
+and the ninety and nine
+bleat for joy down the line
+that it's safe from the wolf and the cold
+
+then he said to his friends
+for the steeps and the deeps i have crossed
+for the pelting of sleet
+and my sore, weary feet
+for i've found the dear lamb that was lost
+
+let the hirelings upbraid
+for the nights that he stayed
+on the mountains so rugged and high
+surely never a jeer
+from my lips shall one hear
+
+while the eons shall roll
+o'er my glad ransomed soul
+i will praise the good shepherd above
+for a place on his breast
+for its comfort and rest
+for his wonderful, wonderful love
+
+
+
+if you have a friend worth loving
+love him. yes, and let him know
+that you love him ere life's evening
+tinge his brow with sunset glow
+why should good words ne'er be said
+of a friend--till he is dead
+
+if you hear a song that thrills you
+sung by any child of song
+praise it. do not let the singer
+wait deserved praises long
+why should one that thrills your heart
+lack that joy it may impart
+
+if you hear a prayer that moves you
+by its humble pleading tone
+join it. do not let the seeker
+bow before his god alone
+why should not your brother share
+the strength of "two or three" in prayer
+
+if you see the hot tears falling
+from a loving brother's eyes
+share them, and by sharing
+own your kinship with the skies
+why should anyone be glad
+when his brother's heart is sad
+
+if a silver laugh goes rippling
+through the sunshine on his face
+share it. 'tis the wise man's saying
+for both grief and joy a place
+there's health and goodness in the mirth
+in which an honest laugh has birth
+
+if your work is made more easy
+by a friendly helping hand
+say so. speak out brave and truly
+ere the darkness veil the land
+should a brother workman dear
+falter for a word of cheer
+
+scatter thus your seed of kindness
+all enriching as you go
+leave them, trust the harvest-giver
+he will make each seed to grow
+so, until its happy end
+your life shall never lack a friend
+
+
+you sail and you seek for the fortunate isles
+the old greek isles of the yellow bird's song
+then steer right on through the watery miles
+straight on, straight on, and you can't go wrong
+nay, not to the left, nay, not to the right
+but on, straight on, and the isles are in sight
+the fortunate isles, where the yellow birds sing
+and life lies girt with a golden ring
+
+these fortunate isles, they are not far
+they lie within reach of the lowliest door
+you can see them gleam by the twilight star
+you can hear them sing by the moon's white shore
+nay, never look back! those leveled gravestones
+they were landing steps; they were steps unto thrones
+of glory for souls that have sailed before
+and have set white feet on the fortunate shore
+
+and what are the names of the fortunate isles
+why, duty and love and a large content
+lo! there are the isles of the watery miles
+that god let down from the firmament
+lo! duty and love, and a true man's trust
+your forehead to god and your feet in the dust
+lo! duty and love, and a sweet babe's smiles
+and there, o friend, are the fortunate isles
+
+
+
+a foolish little maiden bought a foolish little bonnet
+with a ribbon, and a feather, and a bit of lace upon it
+and that the other maidens of the little town might know it
+she thought she'd go to meeting the next sunday just to show it
+
+but though the little bonnet was scarce larger than a dime
+the getting of it settled proved to be a work of time
+so when 'twas fairly tied, all the bells had stopped their ringing
+and when she came to meeting, sure enough the folks were singing
+
+so this foolish little maiden stood and waited at the door
+and she shook her ruffles out behind and smoothed them down before
+
+this made the little maiden feel so very, very cross
+that she gave her little mouth a twist, her little head a toss
+for she thought the very hymn they sang was all about her bonnet
+with the ribbon, and the feather, and the bit of lace upon it
+
+and she would not wait to listen to the sermon or the prayer
+but pattered down the silent street, and hurried up the stair
+till she reached her little bureau, and in a band-box on it
+had hidden, safe from critics' eyes, her foolish little bonnet
+
+which proves, my little maidens, that each of you will find
+in every sabbath service but an echo of your mind
+and the silly little head, that's filled with silly little airs
+will never get a blessing from sermon or from prayers
+
+
+
+work thou for pleasure; paint or sing or carve
+the thing thou lovest, though the body starve
+who works for glory misses oft the goal
+who works for money coins his very soul
+work for work's sake then, and it well may be
+that these things shall be added unto thee
+
+
+
+i was strolling one day down the lawther arcade
+that place for children's toys
+where you can purchase a dolly or spade
+for your good little girls and boys
+and as i passed a certain stall, said a wee little voice to me
+o, i am a colonel in a little cocked hat, and i ride on a tin gee gee
+o, i am a colonel in a little cocked hat, and i ride on a tin gee gee
+
+then i looked and a little tin soldier i saw
+in his little cocked hat so fine
+he'd a little tin sword that shone in the light
+as he led a glittering line of tin hussars
+whose sabers flashed in a manner à la military
+and that little tin soldier he rode at their head
+so proud on his tin gee gee
+
+then that little tin soldier he sobbed and he sighed
+so i patted his little tin head
+and this is what he said
+i've been on this stall a very long time
+and i'm marked twenty-nine, as you see
+whilst just on the shelf above my head
+there's a fellow marked sixty-three
+
+now he hasn't got a sword and he hasn't got a horse
+and i'm quite as good as he
+so why mark me at twenty-nine
+and him at sixty-three
+there's a pretty little dolly girl over there
+and i'm madly in love with she
+but now that i'm only marked twenty-nine
+she turns up her nose at me
+she turns up her little wax nose at me
+and carries on with sixty-three
+
+and, oh, she's dressed in a beautiful dress
+it's a dress i do admire
+she has pearly blue eyes that open and shut
+when worked inside by a wire
+and once on a time when the folks had gone
+she used to ogle at me
+but now that i'm only marked twenty-nine
+she turns up her nose at me
+she turns up her little snub nose at me
+and carries on with sixty-three
+
+i'll see what i can do
+you're a fine little fellow, and it's a shame
+that she should so treat you
+so i took down the label from the shelf above
+and i labeled him sixty-three
+and i marked the other one twenty-nine
+which was _very, very_ wrong of me
+but i felt so sorry for that little tin soul
+as he rode on his tin gee gee
+
+now that little tin soldier he puffed with pride
+at being marked sixty-three
+and that saucy little dolly girl smiled once more
+for he'd risen in life, do you see
+and it's so in this world; for i'm in love
+with a maiden of high degree
+but i am only marked twenty-nine
+and the other chap's sixty-three
+and a girl never looks at twenty-nine
+with a possible sixty-three
+
+
+
+i went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer
+the publican 'e up an' sez, "we serve no red-coats here
+the girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die
+o it's tommy this, an' tommy that, an' "tommy go away
+but it's "thank you, mister atkins," when the band begins to play
+the band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play
+o it's "thank you, mister atkins," when the band begins to play
+
+i went into a theater as sober as could be
+they give a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me
+they sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls
+but when it comes to fightin', lord! they'll shove me in the stalls
+for it's tommy this, an' tommy that, an' "tommy wait outside
+but it's "special train for atkins," when the trooper's on the tide
+the troopship's on the tide, my boys, etc
+
+o makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
+is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap
+an' hustlin' drunken sodgers when they're goin' large a bit
+is five times better business than paradin' in full kit
+then it's tommy this, an' tommy that, an' "tommy, 'ow's yer soul
+but it's "thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll
+the drums begin to roll, my boys, etc
+
+we aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too
+but single men in barricks, most remarkable like you
+an' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints
+why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints
+while it's tommy this, an' tommy that, an' "tommy fall be'ind
+but it's "please to walk in front, sir," when there's trouble in the wind
+there's trouble in the wind, my boys, etc
+
+you talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all
+we'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational
+don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
+the widow's uniform[1] is not the soldierman's disgrace
+for it's tommy this, an' tommy that, an' "chuck him out, the brute
+but it's "saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot
+an' it's tommy this, an' tommy that, an' anything you please
+an' tommy ain't a bloomin' fool--you bet that tommy sees
+
+
+victoria, who was often affectionately called "the widow of windsor
+
+
+the weaver at his loom is sitting
+throws his shuttle to and fro
+foot and treadle
+hand and pedal
+upward, downward, hither, thither
+how the weaver makes them go
+as the weaver wills they go
+up and down the web is plying
+and across the woof is flying
+what a rattling
+what a battling
+what a shuffling
+what a scuffling
+as the weaver makes his shuttle
+hither, thither, scud and scuttle
+threads in single, threads in double
+how they mingle, what a trouble
+every color, what profusion
+every motion, what confusion
+while the web and woof are mingling
+signal bells above are jingling
+telling how each figure ranges
+telling when the color changes
+as the weaver makes his shuttle
+hither, thither, scud and scuttle
+
+the weaver at his loom is sitting
+throws his shuttle to and fro
+well the weaver seems to know
+as he makes his shuttle go
+what each motion
+and commotion
+what each fusion
+and confusion
+in the grand result will show
+weaving daily
+singing gaily
+as he makes his busy shuttle
+hither, thither, scud and scuttle
+
+the weaver at his loom is sitting
+throws his shuttle to and fro
+see you not how shape and order
+from the wild confusion grow
+as he makes his shuttle go
+as the web and woof diminish
+grows beyond the beauteous finish
+tufted plaidings
+shapes, and shadings
+all the mystery
+now is history
+and we see the reason subtle
+why the weaver makes his shuttle
+hither, thither, scud and scuttle
+
+see the mystic weaver sitting
+high in heaven--his loom below
+up and down the treadles go
+takes for web the world's long ages
+takes for woof its kings and sages
+takes the nobles and their pages
+takes all stations and all stages
+thrones are bobbins in his shuttle
+armies make them scud and scuttle
+web into the woof must flow
+up and down the nations go
+as the weaver wills they go
+men are sparring
+powers are jarring
+upward, downward, hither, thither
+just like puppets in a show
+up and down the web is plying
+and across the woof is flying
+what a battling
+what a rattling
+what a shuffling
+what a scuffling
+as the weaver makes his shuttle
+hither, thither, scud and scuttle
+
+calmly see the mystic weaver
+throw his shuttle to and fro
+well the weaver seems to know
+what each motion
+and commotion
+what each fusion
+and confusion
+in the grand result will show
+as the nations
+kings and stations
+upward, downward, hither, thither
+as in mystic dances, go
+in the present all is mystery
+in the past, 'tis beauteous history
+o'er the mixing and the mingling
+how the signal bells are jingling
+see you not the weaver leaving
+finished work behind, in weaving
+see you not the reason subtle
+as the web and woof diminish
+changing into beauteous finish
+hither, thither, scud and scuttle
+
+glorious wonder! what a weaving
+to the dull beyond believing
+such, no fabled ages know
+only _faith_ can see the mystery
+how, along the aisle of history
+where the feet of sages go
+loveliest to the purest eyes
+grand the mystic tapet lies
+soft and smooth, and even spreading
+every figure has its plaidings
+as if made for angels' treading
+tufted circles touching ever
+inwrought figures fading never
+brighter form and softer shadings
+each illumined,--what a riddle
+from a cross that gems the middle
+
+that its light is all reflected
+that the tapet's hues are given
+by a sun that shines in heaven
+that great god himself is weaving
+bringing out the world's dark mystery
+in the light of truth and history
+and as web and woof diminish
+comes the grand and glorious finish
+when begin the golden ages
+long foretold by seers and sages
+
+
+and when the world was light and gay, i could not even smile
+it stood before me like a giant, outstretched its iron arm
+no matter where i looked, i saw the mortgage on the farm
+
+i'll tell you how it happened, for i want the world to know
+how glad i am this winter day whilst earth is white with snow
+i'm just as happy as a lark. no cause for rude alarm
+confronts us now, for lifted is the mortgage on the farm
+
+the children they were growing up and they were smart and trim
+to some big college in the east we'd sent our youngest, jim
+and every time he wrote us, at the bottom of his screed
+he tacked some latin fol-de-rol which none of us could read
+
+the girls they ran to music, and to painting, and to rhymes
+they said the house was out of style and far behind the times
+they suddenly diskivered that it didn't keep'm warm
+another step of course towards a mortgage on the farm
+
+we took a cranky notion, hannah jane and me one day
+while we were coming home from town, a-talking all the way
+the old house wasn't big enough for us, although for years
+beneath its humble roof we'd shared each other's joys and tears
+
+we built it o'er and when 'twas done, i wish you could have seen it
+it was a most tremendous thing--i really didn't mean it
+why, it was big enough to hold the people of the town
+and not one half as cosy as the old one we pulled down
+
+i bought a fine pianner and it shortened still the pile
+but, then, it pleased the children and they banged it all the while
+no matter what they played for me, their music had no charm
+for every tune said plainly: "there's a mortgage on the farm
+
+i worked from morn till eve, and toiled as often toils the slave
+to meet that grisly interest; i tried hard to be brave
+and oft when i came home at night with tired brain and arm
+the chickens hung their heads, they felt the mortgage on the farm
+
+but we saved a penny now and then, we laid them in a row
+the girls they played the same old tunes, and let the new ones go
+and when from college came our jim with laurels on his brow
+i led him to the stumpy field and put him to the plow
+
+he something said in latin which i didn't understand
+but it did me good to see his plow turn up the dewy land
+and when the year had ended and empty were the cribs
+we found we'd hit the mortgage, sir, a blow between the ribs
+
+to-day i harnessed up the team and thundered off to town
+and in the lawyer's sight i planked the last bright dollar down
+and when i trotted up the lanes a-feeling good and warm
+the old red rooster crowed his best: "no mortgage on the farm
+
+i'll sleep almighty good to-night, the best for many a day
+the skeleton that haunted us has passed fore'er away
+the girls can play the brand-new tunes with no fears to alarm
+and jim can go to congress, with no mortgage on the farm
+
+
+that is what the vision said
+
+in his chamber all alone
+kneeling on the floor of stone
+prayed the monk in deep contrition
+for his sins of indecision
+prayed for greater self-denial
+in temptation and in trial
+it was noonday by the dial
+and the monk was all alone
+
+suddenly, as if it lightened
+an unwonted splendor brightened
+all within him and without him
+in that narrow cell of stone
+and he saw the blessed vision
+of our lord, with light elysian
+like a vesture wrapped about him
+like a garment round him thrown
+
+not as crucified and slain
+not in agonies of pain
+not with bleeding hands and feet
+did the monk his master see
+but as in the village street
+in the house or harvest field
+halt and lame and blind he healed
+when he walked in galilee
+
+in as attitude imploring
+hands upon his bosom crossed
+wondering, worshiping, adoring
+knelt the monk, in rapture lost
+lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest
+who am i that thus thou deignest
+to reveal thyself to me
+who am i, that from the center
+of thy glory thou shouldst enter
+this poor cell, my guest to be
+
+then amid his exaltation
+loud the convent bell appalling
+from its belfrey calling, calling
+rang through court and corridor
+with persistent iteration
+he had never heard before
+it was now the appointed hour
+when alike in shine or shower
+winter's cold or summer's heat
+to the convent portals came
+all the blind and halt and lame
+all the beggars of the street
+for their daily dole of food
+dealt them by the brotherhood
+
+and their almoner was he
+who upon his bended knees
+rapt in silent ecstasy
+of divinest self-surrender
+saw the vision and the splendor
+
+deep distress and hesitation
+mingled with his adoration
+should he go, or should he stay
+should he leave the poor to wait
+hungry at the convent gate
+till the vision passed away
+should he slight his radiant guest
+slight this visitant celestial
+for a crowd of ragged, bestial
+beggars at the convent gate
+would the vision there remain
+would the vision come again
+then a voice within his breast
+whispered audible and clear
+as if to the outward ear
+leave unto thy lord the rest
+
+straightway to his feet he started
+and with longing look intent
+on the blessed vision bent
+slowly from his cell departed
+slowly on his errand went
+
+at the gate the poor were waiting
+looking through the iron grating
+with that terror in the eye
+that is only seen in those
+who amid their wants and woes
+hear the sound of doors that close
+and of feet that pass them by
+grown familiar with disfavor
+grown familiar with the savor
+of the bread by which men die
+but to-day, they knew not why
+like the gate of paradise
+seemed the convent gate to rise
+like a sacrament divine
+seemed to them the bread and wine
+in his heart the monk was praying
+thinking of the homeless poor
+what they suffer and endure
+what we see not, what we see
+and the inward voice was saying
+to the least of mine and lowest
+that thou doest unto me
+
+unto me! but had the vision
+come to him in beggar's clothing
+come a mendicant imploring
+would he then have knelt adoring
+or have listened with derision
+and have turned away with loathing
+
+thus his conscience put the question
+full of troublesome suggestion
+as at length, with hurried pace
+toward his cell he turned his face
+and beheld the convent bright
+with a supernatural light
+like a luminous cloud expanding
+over floor and wall and ceiling
+
+but he paused with awe-struck feeling
+at the threshold of his door
+for the vision still was standing
+as he left it there before
+when the convent bell appalling
+from its belfry calling, calling
+summoned him to feed the poor
+through the long hour intervening
+it had waited his return
+and he felt his bosom burn
+comprehending all the meaning
+when the blessed vision said
+
+
+
+into a ward of the whitewashed halls
+where the dead and dying lay
+wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls
+somebody's darling was borne one day
+
+somebody's darling, so young and so brave
+wearing yet on his pale, sweet face
+soon to be hid by the dust of the grave
+the lingering light of his boyhood's grace
+
+matted and damp are the curls of gold
+kissing the snow of the fair young brow
+pale are the lips of delicate mold
+somebody's darling is dying now
+
+back from his beautiful blue-veined brow
+brush all the wandering waves of gold
+cross his hands on his bosom now
+somebody's darling is still and cold
+
+kiss him once for somebody's sake
+murmur a prayer both soft and low
+one bright curl from its fair mates take
+they were somebody's pride, you know
+
+somebody's hand hath rested there
+was it a mother's, soft and white
+and have the lips of a sister fair
+been baptized in their waves of light
+
+god knows best! he was somebody's love
+somebody's heart enshrined him there
+somebody wafted his name above
+night and morn on the wings of prayer
+
+somebody wept when he marched away
+looking so handsome, brave, and grand
+somebody's kiss on his forehead lay
+somebody clung to his parting hand
+
+somebody's waiting and watching for him
+yearning to hold him again to her heart
+and there he lies with his blue eyes dim
+and the smiling, child-like lips apart
+
+tenderly bury the fair young dead
+pausing to drop on his grave a tear
+carve in the wooden slab at his head
+
+
+
+south mountain towered upon our right, far off the river lay
+and over on the wooded height we held their lines at bay
+at last the muttering guns were still; the day died slow and wan
+at last the gunners pipes did fill, the sergeant's yarns began
+when, as the wind a moment blew aside the fragrant flood
+our brierwoods raised, within our view a little maiden stood
+a tiny tot of six or seven, from fireside fresh she seemed
+and as we stared, her little hand went to her curly head
+in grave salute. "and who are _you_?" at length the sergeant said
+my home? why, that was burned away, and pa and ma are dead
+and so i ride the guns all day along with sergeant ned
+and i've a drum that's not a toy, a cap with feathers, too
+and i march beside the drummer boy on sundays at review
+but now our 'bacca's all give out, the men can't have their smoke
+and so they're cross--why, even ned won't play with me and joke
+and the big colonel said to-day--i hate to hear him swear
+he'd give a leg for a good pipe like the yanks had over there
+and so i thought when beat the drum,  and the big guns were still
+i'd creep beneath the tent and come out here across the hill
+and beg, good mister yankee men, you'd give me some 'lone jack
+please do: when we get some again, i'll surely bring it back
+indeed i will, for ned--says he,--if i do what i say
+i'll be a general yet, maybe, and ride a prancing bay
+
+we brimmed her tiny apron o'er; you should have heard her laugh
+as each man from his scanty store shook out a generous half
+to kiss the little mouth stooped down a score of grimy men
+until the sergeant's husky voice said,"'tention squad!" and then
+we gave her escort, till good-night the pretty waif we bid
+and watched her toddle out of sight--or else 'twas tears that hid
+her tiny form--nor turned about a man, nor spoke a word
+till after awhile a far, hoarse shout upon the wind we heard
+we sent it back, then cast sad eyes upon the scene around
+a baby's hand had touched the ties that brothers once had bound
+
+that's all--save when the dawn awoke again the work of hell
+and through the sullen clouds of smoke the screaming missiles fell
+our general often rubbed his glass, and marveled much to see
+
+
+
+it was kept out in the kitchen, and 'twas long and deep and wide
+and the poker hung above it and the shovel stood beside
+and the big, black cookstove, grinnin' through its grate from ear to ear
+seemed to look as if it loved it like a brother, pretty near
+flowered oilcloth tacked around it kept its cracks and knot-holes hid
+and a pair of leather hinges fastened on the heavy lid
+and it hadn't any bottom--or, at least, it seemed that way
+when you hurried in to fill it, so's to get outside and play
+
+when the noons was hot and lazy and the leaves hung dry and still
+and the locust in the pear tree started up his planin'-mill
+and the drum-beat of the breakers was a soothin', temptin' roll
+and you knew the "gang" was waitin' by the brimmin' "swimmin' hole
+louder than the locust's buzzin,' louder than the breakers' roar
+you could hear the wood-box holler, "come and fill me up once more
+and the old clock ticked and chuckled as you let each armful drop
+like it said, "another minute, and you're nowheres near the top
+
+in the chilly winter mornin's when the bed was snug and warm
+and the frosted winders tinkled 'neath the fingers of the storm
+and your breath rose off the piller in a smoky cloud of steam
+then that wood-box, grim and empty, came a-dancin' through your dream
+came and pounded at your conscience, screamed in aggravatin' glee
+land! how plain it is this minute--shed and barn and drifted snow
+and the slabs of oak a-waitin!, piled and ready, in a row
+
+never was a fishin' frolic, never was a game of ball
+but that mean, provokin' wood-box had to come and spoil it all
+you might study at your lessons and 'twas full and full to stay
+but jest start an injun story, and 'twas empty right away
+seemed as if a spite was in it, and although i might forgit
+all the other chores that plagued me, i can hate that wood-box yit
+and when i look back at boyhood--shakin' off the cares of men
+still it comes to spoil the picture, screamin', "fill me up again
+
+
+
+good deacon roland--"may his tribe increase
+awoke one sabbath morn feeling at peace
+with god and all mankind. his wants supplied
+he read his bible and then knelt beside
+the family altar, and uplifted there
+his voice to god in fervent praise and prayer
+in praise for blessings past, so rich and free
+and prayer for benedictions yet to be
+then on a stile, which spanned the dooryard fence
+he sat him down complacently, and thence
+surveyed with pride, o'er the far-reaching plain
+his flocks and herds and fields of golden grain
+his meadows waving like the billowy seas
+and orchards filled with over-laden trees
+quoth he: "how vast the products of my lands
+abundance crowns the labor of my hands
+great is my substance; god indeed is good
+who doth in love provide my daily food
+
+while thus he sat in calm soliloquy
+a voice aroused him from his reverie
+a childish voice from one whose shoeless feet
+brought him unnoticed to the deacon's seat
+if i had money i would gladly pay
+for bread; but i am poor, and cannot buy
+should ask for something, just for what you call
+cold pieces from your table, that is all
+the deacon listened to the child's request
+the while his penetrating eye did rest
+on him whose tatters, trembling, quick revealed
+the agitation of the heart concealed
+within the breast of one unskilled in ruse
+who asked not alms like one demanding dues
+then said the deacon: "i am not inclined
+to give encouragement to those who find
+it easier to beg for bread betimes
+than to expend their strength in earning dimes
+wherewith to purchase it. a parent ought
+to furnish food for those whom he has brought
+into this world, where each one has his share
+of tribulation, sorrow, toil and care
+i sympathize with you, my little lad
+your destitution makes me feel so sad
+but, for the sake of those who should supply
+your wants, i must your earnest plea deny
+and inasmuch as giving food to you
+would be providing for your parents, too
+thus fostering vagrancy and idleness
+i cannot think such charity would bless
+who gives or takes; and therefore i repeat
+i cannot give you anything to eat
+before this "vasty deep" of logic stood
+the child nor found it satisfying food
+nor did he tell the tale he might have told
+of parents slumbering in the grave's damp mould
+but quickly shrank away to find relief
+in giving vent to his rekindled grief
+while deacon roland soon forgot the appeal
+in meditating on his better weal
+
+ere long the sabbath bells their peals rang out
+to summon worshippers, with hearts devout
+to wait on god and listen to his word
+and then the deacon's pious heart was stirred
+and in the house of god he soon was found
+engaged in acts of worship most profound
+wearied, however, with his week-day care
+he fell asleep before the parson's prayer
+was ended; then he dreamed he died and came
+to heaven's grand portal, and announced his name
+to join the saints; please set the gates ajar
+that i may 'join the everlasting song
+and mingle ever with the ransomed throng
+then lo! "a horror of great darkness" came
+upon him, as he heard a voice exclaim
+i never knew you, for indeed, howe'er
+you may have wrought on earth, the sad, sad fact
+remains, that life's sublimest, worthiest act
+the deacon woke to find it all a dream
+just as the minister announced his theme
+as practice charity; for 'inasmuch
+as ye have done it to the least of these
+my little ones' saith he who holds the keys
+of heaven, 'ye have done it unto me
+and i will give you immortality
+
+straightway the deacon left his cushioned pew
+and from the church in sudden haste withdrew
+and up the highway ran, on love's swift feet
+to overtake the child of woe, and greet
+him as the worthy representative
+of christ the lord and to him freely give
+all needful good, that thus he might atone
+for the neglect which he before had shown
+thus journeying, god directed all his way
+o'er hill and dale, to where the outcast lay
+beside the road bemoaning his sad fate
+and then the deacon said, "my child, 'tis late
+make haste and journey with me to my home
+to guide you thither, i myself have come
+and you shall have the food you asked in vain
+for god himself hath made my duty plain
+if he demand it, all i have is thine
+shrink not, but trust me; place thy hand in mine
+and as they journeyed toward the deacon's home
+the child related how he came to roam
+until the listening deacon understood
+the touching story of his orphanhood
+then, finding in the little waif a gem
+worthy to deck the saviour's diadem
+he drew him to his loving breast, and said
+nor shall you go from hence again to roam
+while god in love provides for us a home
+and as the weeks and months roll on apace
+the deacon held the lad in love's embrace
+and being childless did on him confer
+the boon of sonship
+
+thus the almoner
+of god's great bounty to the destitute
+the deacon came to be; and as the fruit
+of having learned to keep the golden rule
+his charity became all-bountiful
+and from thenceforth he lived to benefit
+mankind; and when in life's great book were writ
+their names who heeded charity's request
+lo! deacon roland's "name led all the rest
+
+
+
+talking of sects quite late one eve
+what one and another of saints believe
+that night i stood in a troubled dream
+by the side of a darkly-flowing stream
+
+and a "churchman" down to the river came
+when i heard a strange voice call his name
+you must leave your robes on the other side
+
+but the aged father did not mind
+and his long gown floated out behind
+as down to the stream his way he took
+his hands firm hold of a gilt-edged book
+
+i shall want my book of common prayer
+and though i put on a starry crown
+i should feel quite lost without my gown
+
+then he fixed his eye on the shining track
+but his gown was heavy and held him back
+and the poor old father tried in vain
+a single step in the flood to gain
+
+i saw him again on the other side
+but his silk gown floated on the tide
+and no one asked, in that blissful spot
+if he belonged to "the church" or not
+
+then down to the river a quaker strayed
+his dress of a sober hue was made
+i cannot go any other way
+
+then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin
+and staidly, solemnly, waded in
+and his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight
+over his forehead, so cold and white
+
+but a strong wind carried away his hat
+and he sighed a few moments over that
+and then, as he gazed to the farther shore
+the coat slipped off and was seen no more
+
+poor, dying quaker, thy suit of gray
+is quietly sailing--away--away
+but thou'lt go to heaven, as straight as an arrow
+whether thy brim be broad or narrow
+
+next came dr. watts with a bundle of psalms
+tied nicely up in his aged arms
+and hymns as many, a very wise thing
+that the people in heaven, "all round," might sing
+
+but i thought that he heaved an anxious sigh
+as he saw that the river ran broad and high
+and looked rather surprised, as one by one
+the psalms and hymns in the wave went down
+
+came wesley, the pattern of godliness
+but he cried, "dear me, what shall i do
+the water has soaked them through and through
+
+and there, on the river, far and wide
+away they went on the swollen tide
+and the saint, astonished, passed through alone
+without his manuscripts, up to the throne
+
+then gravely walking, two saints by name
+down to the stream together came
+but as they stopped at the river's brink
+i saw one saint from the other shrink
+
+how you attained to life's great end
+
+as i'm 'close communion,' to cross with you
+you're bound, i know, to the realms of bliss
+but you must go that way, and i'll go this
+
+and straightway plunging with all his might
+away to the left--his friend at the right
+apart they went from this world of sin
+but how did the brethren "enter in
+
+and now where the river was rolling on
+a presbyterian church went down
+of women, there seemed an innumerable throng
+but the men i could count as they passed along
+
+and concerning the road they could never agree
+the _old_ or the _new_ way, which it could be
+nor ever a moment paused to think
+that both would lead to the river's brink
+
+and a sound of murmuring long and loud
+came ever up from the moving crowd
+that is the false, and this is the true
+or, "i'm in the old way, and you're in the new
+
+but the brethren only seemed to speak
+modest the sisters walked, and meek
+and if ever one of them chanced to say
+what troubles she met with on the way
+how she longed to pass to the other side
+nor feared to cross over the swelling tide
+a voice arose from the brethren then
+for have ye not heard the words of paul
+
+i watched them long in my curious dream
+till they stood by the border of the stream
+then, just as i thought, the two ways met
+but all the brethren were talking yet
+and would talk on, till the heaving tide
+carried them over, side by side
+side by side, for the way was one
+the toilsome journey of life was done
+and priest and quaker, and all who died
+came out alike on the other side
+no forms or crosses, or books had they
+no gowns of silk, or suits of gray
+for all had put on "christ's righteousness
+
+
+
+i can't tell much about the thing, 'twas done so powerful quick
+but 'pears to me i got a most outlandish heavy lick
+it broke my leg, and tore my skulp, and jerked my arm 'most out
+but take a seat: i'll try and tell jest how it kem about
+
+you see, i'd started down to town, with that 'ere team of mine
+a-haulin' down a load o' corn to ebenezer kline
+and drivin' slow; for, jest about a day or two before
+the off-horse run a splinter in his foot, and made it sore
+
+you know the railroad cuts across the road at martin's hole
+well, thar i seed a great big sign, raised high upon a pole
+i thought i'd stop and read the thing, and find out what it said
+and so i stopped the hosses on the railroad-track, and read
+
+i ain't no scholar, rekollect, and so i had to spell
+and that spelt "rail" as clear as mud; r-o-a-d was "road
+i lumped 'em: "railroad" was the word, and that 'ere much i knowed
+
+c-r-o and double s, with i-n-g to boot
+made "crossing" jest as plain as noah webster dared to do't
+and i wos lookin' all the time, and spellin' like a book
+
+o-u-t spelt "out" just right; and there it was, "look out
+i's kinder cur'us like, to know jest what't was all about
+f-o-r and t-h-e; 'twas then "look out for the
+
+i'd got that fur, when suddintly there came an awful whack
+a thousand fiery thunderbolts just scooped me off the track
+the hosses went to davy jones, the wagon went to smash
+and i was histed seven yards above the tallest ash
+
+i didn't come to life ag'in fur 'bout a day or two
+but, though i'm crippled up a heap, i sorter struggled through
+it ain't the pain, nor 'taint the loss o' that 'ere team of mine
+but, stranger, how i'd like to know the rest of that 'ere sign
+
+
+
+
+turn back the leaves of history. on yon pacific shore
+a world-known city's fall and rise shall thrill your hearts once more
+effulgent in the splendor of the dying orb of day
+that bathed in flood of crimson light mount tamalpais' lonely height
+and kissed the sister towns "goodnight" across the misty bay
+
+it burst in glory on the hills, lit up the princely homes
+and gleamed from lofty towers and spires and flashed from gilded domes
+it glorified the massive blocks caught in its widening flow
+engulfed the maze of streets and parks that stretched away below
+till marble white and foliage green and vales of gray, and silvery sheen
+of ocean's surface vast, serene, were tinted by its glow
+
+the tranquil murmurs of the deep were borne on balmy air
+all odorous with lily breath and roses sweet and rare
+the zephyrs sang a lullaby as the slow, fiery ball
+ended its trail of gorgeousness behind horizon's wall
+then gray absorbed each rainbow hue and dark the beauteous landscape grew
+as shadowy evening softly drew her curtain over all
+
+
+that night around the festal board, 'mid incandescence gay
+sat pomp and pride and wealth and power, in sumptuous array
+that night the happy, careless throng were all on pleasure bent
+and beauty in her jewelled robes to ball and opera went
+the sunset city sank to rest in peace, secure, content
+
+
+unconscious of approaching doom, old san francisco sleeps
+while from the east, all smilingly, the april morning creeps
+see! playful sunbeams tinge with gold the mountains in the sky
+and hazy clouds of gray unfold--but, hark! what means that cry
+the ground vibrates with sadden shock. the buildings tremble, groan
+and rock
+wild fears the waking senses mock, and some wake but to die
+
+a frightful subterranean force the earth's foundation shakes
+the city quivers in the throes of fierce, successive quakes
+and massive structures thrill like giant oaks before the blast
+into the streets with deafening crash the frailer ones are cast
+half garbed, the multitude rush out in frantic haste, with prayer and
+shout
+to join the panic stricken rout. ho! death is marching past
+
+a rumbling noise! the streets upheave, and sink again, like waves
+and shattered piles and shapeless wrecks are strewn with human graves
+danger at every corner lurks. destruction fills the air
+death-laden showers of mortar, bricks, are falling everywhere
+
+
+to their hearts
+are struggling for the open parts in frenzy of despair
+
+a hundred tiny tongues of flame forth from the ruins burst
+no water! god! what shall we do to slake their quenchless thirst
+the shocks have broken all the mains! "_use wine!_" the people cry
+the red flames laugh like drunken fiends; they stagger as to die
+then up again in fury spring, on high their crimson draperies fling
+from block to block they leap and swing, and smoke clouds hide the sky
+
+ha! from the famed presidio that guards the golden gate
+come funston and his regulars to match their strength with fate
+the soldiers and the citizens are fighting side by side
+to check that onslaught of red wrath, to stem destruction's tide
+with roar, and boom, and blare, and blast, an open space is cleared at
+the fiends of fury gallop past with flanks outstretched and wide
+
+around the city's storehouses they wreathe and twine and dance
+and wealth and splendor shrivel up before their swift advance
+before their devastating breath the stricken people flee
+into that vortex of red hell sink church and theatre, store, hotel
+with thunderous roar and hissing yell on sweeps the crimson sea
+
+again with charge of dynamite the lurid clouds are riven
+again with heat and sulphur smoke the troops are backward driven
+all day, all night, all day again, with that infernal host
+they strive in vain for mastery. each vantage gained is lost
+on comes the bellowing flood of flame in furious wrath its own to claim
+resistless in its awful aim each space is bridged and crossed
+
+ah god! the miles and miles of waste! one half the city gone
+and westward now--toward van ness--the roaring flames roll on
+and there, at broad van ness, the troops make their heroic stand
+the fight is now for life--sweet life, for helpless babe and homeless
+the culmination of the strife spectacularly grand
+
+on sweeps the hurricane of fire. the fatal touch is given
+the detonation of the blast goes shrieking up to heaven
+the mansions of bonanza kings are tottering to their doom
+that swirling tide of fiery fate halts at the gaping tomb
+beyond the cataclysm's brink, the multitude, too dazed to think
+behold the red waves rise and--sink into the smoldering gloom
+
+
+the fire has swept the waterfront and burned the mission down
+the business section--swallowed up, and wiped out chinatown
+full thirty thousand homes destroyed, nob hill in ashes lies
+and ghastly skeletons of steel on market street arise
+a gruesome picture everywhere! 'tis desolation grim and bare
+waits artisan and millionaire beneath rank sulphurous skies
+
+to-night, within the city parks, famished, benumbed and mute
+two hundred thousand refugees, homeless and destitute
+upon the hard, cold ground they crouch--the wrecks of pomp and pride
+milady and the city waifs are huddled side by side
+and there, 'neath shelter rude and frail, we hear the new-born infants
+while' nations read the tragic tale--how san francisco died
+
+
+prophecy--1906
+
+not dead! though maimed, her soul yet lives--indomitable will
+the faith, the hope, the spirit bold nor quake nor fire can kill
+to-morrow hearts shall throb again with western enterprise
+and from the ruins of to-day a city shall arise
+a monument of beauty great reared by the conquerors of fate
+the city of the golden gate and matchless sunset skies
+
+
+fulfillment--1915
+
+reborn, rebuilt, she rose again, far vaster in expanse
+a radiant city smiling from the ashes of romance
+a san francisco glorified, more beauteous than of yore
+enthroned upon her splendid hills, queen of the sunset shore
+her flags of industry unfurled, her portals open to the world
+thus, in the book of destiny, she lives for evermore
+
+
+
+
+the autumn is old
+the sere leaves are flying
+he hath gathered up gold
+and now he is dying
+old age, begin sighing
+
+the vintage is ripe
+the harvest is heaping
+but some that have sowed
+have no riches for reaping
+poor wretch, fall a-weeping
+
+the year's in the wane
+there is nothing adorning
+the night has no eve
+and the day has no morning
+cold winter gives warning
+
+the rivers run chill
+the red sun is sinking
+and i am grown old
+and life is fast shrinking
+here's enow for sad thinking
+
+
+
+why, yes, dear, we can put it by. it does seem out of place
+on top of these down comforts and this spread of silk and lace
+you see, i'm used to having it lie so, across my feet
+but maybe i won't need it here, with this nice furnace heat
+i made it? yes, dear, long ago. 'twas lots of work, you think
+oh, not so much. my rose quilt, now, all white and green and pink
+is really handsome. this is just a plain, log cabin block
+pieced out of odds and ends; but still--now that's your papa's frock
+before he walked, and this bit here is his first little suit
+i trimmed it up with silver braid. my, but he did look cute
+that red there in the centers, was your aunt ruth's for her name
+her grandmother almost clothed the child, before the others came
+those plaids? the younger girls', they were. i dressed them just alike
+and this was baby winnie's sack--the precious little tyke
+ma wore this gown to visit me (they drove the whole way then
+and little edson wore this waist. he never came again
+this lavender par'matta was your great-aunt jane's--poor dear
+mine was a sprig, with the lilac ground; see, in the corner here
+such goods were high in war times. ah, that scrap of army blue
+your bright eyes spied it! yes, dear child, that has its memories, too
+they sent him home on furlough once--our soldier brother ned
+but somewhere, now, the dear boy sleeps among the unknown dead
+that flowered patch? well, now, to think you'd pick that from the rest
+why, dearie--yes, it's satin ribbed--that's grandpa's wedding vest
+just odds and ends! no great for looks. my rose quilt's nicer, far
+or the one in basket pattern, or the double-pointed star
+but, somehow--what! we'll leave it here? the bed won't look so neat
+but i think i would sleep better with it so, across my feet
+
+
+two angels, one of life and one of death
+passed o'er our village as the morning broke
+the dawn was on their faces, and beneath
+the sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke
+
+their attitude and aspect were the same
+alike their features and their robes of white
+but one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame
+and one with asphodels, like flakes of light
+
+i saw them pause on their celestial way
+then said i, with deep fear and doubt oppressed
+the place where thy beloved are at rest
+
+and he who wore the crown of asphodels
+descending, at my door began to knock
+and my soul sank within me, as in wells
+the waters sink before an earthquake's shock
+
+i recognized the nameless agony
+the terror and the tremor and the pain
+that oft before had filled or haunted me
+and now returned with threefold strength again
+
+the door i opened to my heavenly guest
+and listened, for i thought i heard god's voice
+and, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best
+dared neither to lament nor to rejoice
+
+then with a smile, that filled the house with light
+and ere i answered, passing out of sight
+on his celestial embassy he sped
+
+the angel with the amaranthine wreath
+pausing, descended, and with, voice divine
+whispered a word that had a sound like death
+
+then fell upon the house a sudden gloom
+a shadow on those features fair and thin
+and softly, from that hushed and darkened room
+two angels issued, where but one went in
+
+all is of god! if he but waves his hand
+the mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud
+till, with a smile of light on sea and land
+lo! he looks back from the departing cloud
+
+angels of life and death alike are his
+without his leave they pass no threshold o'er
+who, then, would wish or dare, believing this
+against his messengers to shut the door
+
+
+
+it was the pleasant harvest-time
+when cellar-bins are closely stowed
+and garrets bend beneath their load
+and the old swallow-haunted barns
+brown-gabled, long, and full of seams
+through which the moted sunlight streams
+
+and winds blow freshly in, to shake
+the red plumes of the roosted cocks
+and the loose hay-mow's scented locks
+are filled with summer's ripened stores
+its odorous grass and barley sheaves
+from their low scaffolds to their eaves
+
+on esek harden's oaken floor
+with many an autumn threshing worn
+lay the heaped ears of unhusked corn
+and thither came young men and maids
+beneath a moon that, large and low
+lit that sweet eve of long ago
+they took their places; some by chance
+and others by a merry voice
+or sweet smile guided to their choice
+
+how pleasantly the rising moon
+between the shadow of the mows
+looked on them through the great elm-boughs
+on sturdy boyhood, sun-embrowned
+on girlhood with its solid curves
+of healthful strength and painless nerves
+and jests went round, and laughs that made
+the house-dog answer with his howl
+and kept astir the barn-yard fowl
+
+and quaint old songs their fathers sung
+in derby dales and yorkshire moors
+ere norman william trod their shores
+and tales, whose merry license shook
+the fat sides of the saxon thane
+forgetful of the hovering dane
+
+but still the sweetest voice was mute
+that river-valley ever heard
+from lip of maid or throat of bird
+for mabel martin sat apart
+and let the hay-mow's shadow 'fall
+upon the loveliest face of all
+she sat apart, as one forbid
+who knew that none would condescend
+to own the witch-wife's child a friend
+
+the seasons scarce had gone their round
+since curious thousands thronged to see
+her mother on the gallows-tree
+and mocked the palsied limbs of age
+that faltered on the fatal stairs
+and wan lip trembling with its prayers
+
+few questioned of the sorrowing child
+or, when they saw the mother die
+dreamed of the daughter's agony
+they went up to their homes that day
+as men and christians justified
+god willed it, and the wretch had died
+
+dear god and father of us all
+forgive our faith in cruel lies
+forgive the blindness that denies
+forgive thy creature when he takes
+for the all-perfect love thou art
+some grim creation of his heart
+cast down our idols, overturn
+our bloody altars; let us see
+thyself in thy humanity
+
+poor mabel from her mother's grave
+crept to her desolate hearth-stone
+and wrestled with her fate alone
+with love, and anger, and despair
+the phantoms of disordered sense
+the awful doubts of providence
+the school-boys jeered her as they passed
+and, when she sought the house of prayer
+her mother's curse pursued her there
+and still o'er many a neighboring door
+she saw the horseshoe's curved charm
+to guard against her mother's harm
+
+that mother, poor, and sick, and lame
+who daily, by the old arm-chair
+folded her withered hands in prayer
+who turned, in salem's dreary jail
+her worn old bible o'er and o'er
+when her dim eyes could read no more
+
+sore tried and pained, the poor girl kept
+her faith, and trusted that her way
+so dark, would somewhere meet the day
+and still her weary wheel went round
+day after day, with no relief
+small leisure have the poor for grief
+
+so in the shadow mabel sits
+untouched by mirth she sees and hears
+her smile is sadder than her tears
+but cruel eyes have found her out
+and cruel lips repeat her name
+and taunt her with her mother's shame
+
+she answered not with railing words
+but drew her apron o'er her face
+and, sobbing, glided from the place
+and only pausing at the door
+her sad eyes met the troubled gaze
+of one who, in her better days
+had been her warm and steady friend
+ere yet her mother's doom had made
+even esek harden half afraid
+
+he felt that mute appeal of tears
+and, starting, with an angry frown
+hushed all the wicked murmurs down
+i brook no insult to my guest
+
+but god's sweet pity ministers
+unto no whiter soul than hers
+let goody martin rest in peace
+i never knew her harm a fly
+i know who swore her life away
+and, as god lives, i'd not condemn
+an indian dog on word of them
+
+poor mabel, in her lonely home
+sat by the window's narrow pane
+white in the moonlight's silver rain
+the river, on its pebbled rim
+made music such as childhood knew
+the door-yard tree was whispered through
+by voices such as childhood's ear
+had heard in moonlights long ago
+and through the willow boughs below
+she saw the rippled waters shine
+beyond, in waves of shade and light
+the hills rolled off into the night
+
+sweet sounds and pictures mocking so
+the sadness of her human lot
+she saw and heard, but heeded not
+she strove to drown her sense of wrong
+and, in her old and simple way
+to teach, her bitter heart to pray
+
+poor child! the prayer, began in faith
+grew to a low, despairing cry
+of utter misery: "let me die
+oh! take me from the scornful eyes
+and hide me where the cruel speech
+and mocking finger may not reach
+
+a daughter's right i dare not crave
+to weep above her unblest grave
+let me not live until my heart
+with few to pity, and with none
+to love me, hardens into stone
+o god! have mercy on thy child
+whose faith in thee grows weak and small
+and take me ere i lose it all
+
+the broadest lands in all the town
+the skill to guide, the power to awe
+were harden's; and his word was law
+none dared withstand him to his face
+but one sly maiden spake aside
+her mother only killed a cow
+or witched a churn or dairy-pan
+but she, forsooth, must charm a man
+
+a shadow on the moonlight fell
+and murmuring wind and wave became
+a voice whose burden was her name
+had then god heard her? had he sent
+his angel down? in flesh and blood
+before her esek harden stood
+
+he laid his hand upon her arm
+who scoffs at you, must scoff at me
+you know rough esek harden well
+and if he seems no suitor gay
+and if his hair is mixed with gray
+the maiden grown shall never find
+his heart less warm than when she smiled
+upon his knees, a little child
+
+her tears of grief were tears of joy
+as folded in his strong embrace
+she looked in esek harden's face
+and make me worthy of my lot
+
+he led her through his dewy fields
+to where the swinging lanterns glowed
+and through the doors the huskers showed
+in mabel see my chosen wife
+
+the past is past, and all offence
+falls harmless from her innocence
+henceforth she stands no more alone
+you know what esek harden is
+he brooks no wrong to him or his
+
+now let the merriest tales be told
+and let the sweetest songs be sung
+that ever made the old heart young
+for now the lost has found a home
+and a lone hearth shall brighter burn
+as all the household joys return
+
+oh, pleasantly the harvest moon
+between the shadow of the mows
+looked on them through the great elm-boughs
+on mabel's curls of golden hair
+on esek's shaggy strength it fell
+and the wind whispered, "it is well
+
+
+
+king david's limbs were weary. he had fled
+from far jerusalem; and now he stood
+with his faint people for a little rest
+upon the shore of jordan. the light wind
+of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow
+to its refreshing breath; for he had worn
+the mourner's covering, and he had not felt
+that he could see his people until now
+
+they gathered round him on the fresh green bank
+and spoke their kindly words, and as the sun
+rose up in heaven he knelt among them there
+and bowed his head upon his hands to pray
+oh! when the heart is full--where bitter thoughts
+come crowding thickly up for utterance
+and the poor common words of courtesy
+are such a mockery--how much
+the bursting heart may pour itself in prayer
+he prayed for israel--and his voice went up
+strongly and fervently. he prayed for those
+whose love had been his shield--and his deep tones
+grew tremulous. but, oh! for absalom
+for his estranged, misguided absalom
+the proud, bright being who had burst away
+in all his princely beauty to defy
+the heart that cherished him--for him he prayed
+in agony that would not be controll'd
+strong supplication, and forgave him there
+before his god for his deep sinfulness
+
+the pall was settled. he who slept beneath
+was straightened for the grave, and as the folds
+sank to their still proportions, they betrayed
+the matchless symmetry of absalom
+the mighty joab stood beside the bier
+and gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly
+as if he feared the slumberer might stir
+a slow step startled him. he grasped his blade
+as if a trumpet rang, but the bent form
+of david entered; and he gave command
+in a low tone to his few followers
+and left him with the dead
+
+the king stood still
+till the last echo died; then, throwing off
+the sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
+the pall from the still features of his child
+he bowed his head upon him and broke forth
+in the resistless eloquence of woe
+
+thou who were made so beautifully fair
+that death should settle in thy glorious eye
+and leave his stillness in this clustering hair
+how could he mark thee for the silent tomb
+my proud boy, absalom
+
+as to my bosom i have tried to press thee
+how was i wont to feel my pulses thrill
+like a rich harp-string yearning to caress thee
+and hear thy sweet 'my father!' from those dumb
+and cold lips, absalom
+
+of music, and the voices of the young
+and life will pass me in the mantling blush
+and the dark tresses to the soft winds flung
+but thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
+to meet me, absalom
+
+like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken
+how will its love for thee, as i depart
+yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token
+it were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom
+to see thee, absalom
+
+with death so like a gentle slumber on thee
+and thy dark sin! oh! i could drink the cup
+if from this woe its bitterness had won thee
+may god have called thee, like a wanderer, home
+my lost boy, absalom
+
+he covered up his face, and bowed himself
+a moment on his child; then, giving him
+a look of melting tenderness, he clasped
+his hands convulsively, as if in prayer
+and, as if strength were given him of god
+he rose up calmly, and composed the pall
+firmly and decently--and left him there
+as if his rest had been a breathing sleep
+
+
+
+it is christmas day in the workhouse
+and the cold bare walls are bright
+with garlands of green and holly
+and the place is a pleasant sight
+for with clean-washed hands and faces
+in a long and hungry line
+the paupers sit at the tables
+for this is the hour they dine
+
+and the guardians and their ladies
+although the wind is east
+have come in their furs and wrappers
+to watch their charges feast
+to smile and be condescending
+put pudding on pauper plates
+to be hosts at the workhouse banquet
+they've paid for--with the rates
+
+oh, the paupers are meek and lowly
+with their "thank'ee kindly, mum's
+so long as they fill their stomachs
+what matter whence it comes
+but one of the old men mutters
+and pushes his plate aside
+for this is the day _she_ died
+
+the guardians gazed in horror
+the master's face went white
+then the ladies clutched their husbands
+thinking the man would die
+struck by a bolt, or something
+by the outraged one on high
+
+but the pauper sat for a moment
+then rose 'mid a silence grim
+for the others had ceased to chatter
+and trembled in every limb
+he looked at the guardians' ladies
+then, eyeing their lords, he said
+whose hands are foul and red
+
+from their dark unhallowed graves
+who, torn by the hounds and mangled
+declines the vulture's feast
+
+and i won't be dragged away
+just let me have the fit out
+it's only on christmas day
+that the black past comes to goad me
+and prey on my burning brain
+i'll tell you the rest in a whisper
+i swear i won't shout again
+
+hear me right out to the end
+you come here to see how paupers
+the season of christmas spend
+you come here to watch us feeding
+as they watch the captured beast
+hear why a penniless pauper
+spits on your palfry feast
+
+and let you smile and think
+you're doing a noble action
+with the parish's meat and drink
+where is my wife, you traitors
+the poor old wife you slew
+yes, by the god above us
+my nance was killed by you
+
+starved in a filthy den
+i had never been to the parish
+i came to the parish then
+i swallowed my pride in coming
+for, ere the ruin came
+i held up my head as a trader
+and i bore a spotless name
+
+bread for a starving wife
+bread for the woman who'd loved me
+through fifty years of life
+and what do you think they told me
+mocking my awful grief
+that 'the house' was open to us
+but they wouldn't give 'out relief
+
+and the bakers' shops were open
+tempting a man to thieve
+but i clenched my fists together
+holding my head awry
+so i came to her empty-handed
+and mournfully told her why
+
+she had heard of the ways of _that
+for her bloodless cheeks went crimson
+and up in her rags she sat
+crying, 'bide the christmas here, john
+we've never had one apart
+i think i can bear the hunger
+the other would break my heart
+
+holding her hand in mine
+praying the lord, and weeping
+till my lips were salt as brine
+i asked her once if she hungered
+and as she answered 'no
+the moon shone in at the window
+set in a wreath of snow
+
+and i saw in my darling's eyes
+the far-away look of wonder
+that comes when the spirit flies
+and her lips were parched and parted
+and her reason came and went
+for she raved of our home in devon
+where our happiest years were spent
+
+came back to the tongue once more
+for she talked like the country lassie
+i woo'd by the devon shore
+then she rose to her feet and trembled
+and fell on the rags and moaned
+and, 'give me a crust--i'm famished
+for the love of god!' she groaned
+
+and flew to the workhouse gate
+crying 'food for a dying woman
+and the answer came, 'too late
+they drove me away with curses
+then i fought with a dog in the street
+and tore from the mongrel's clutches
+a crust he was trying to eat
+
+back, through the trampled slush
+up to the crazy garret
+wrapped in an awful hush
+my heart sank down at the threshold
+and i paused with a sudden thrill
+for there in the silv'ry moonlight
+my nance lay, cold and still
+
+the sunken eyes were cast
+i knew on those lips all bloodless
+my name had been the last
+she'd called for her absent husband
+o god! had i but known
+had called in vain, and in anguish
+had died in that den--_alone
+
+lay a loving woman dead
+cruelly starved and murdered
+for a loaf of the parish bread
+at yonder gate, last christmas
+i craved for a human life
+you, who would feast us paupers
+
+don't mind me in the least
+think of the happy paupers
+eating your christmas feast
+and when you recount their blessings
+in your snug, parochial way
+say what you did for _me_, too
+only last christmas day
+
+
+
+first on the list is washington, virginia's proudest name
+john adams next, the federalist, from massachusetts came
+three sons of old virginia into the white house go
+
+and tennessee a democrat, brave jackson staunch and true
+martin van buren of new york, and harrison we see
+and tyler of virginia, and polk of tennessee
+
+louisiana taylor sent; new york millard fillmore
+new hampshire gave us franklin pierce; when his term was o'er
+the keystone state buchanan sent.  war thunders shook the realm
+abe lincoln wore a martyr's crown, and johnson took the helm
+
+then u.s. grant of illinois who ruled with sword and pen
+and hayes, and garfield who was shot, two noble buckeye men
+chester arthur from new york, and grover cleveland came
+ben harrison served just four years, then cleveland ruled again
+
+mckinley--shot at buffalo--the nation plunged in grief
+and "teddy" roosevelt of new york served seven years as chief
+taft of ohio followed him. then woodrow wilson came
+new jersey's learned democrat; war set the world aflame
+
+and when the tide of strife and hate its baneful course had run
+the country went republican and warren harding won
+no duty would he shirk,--he died while on a western trip
+coolidge of massachusetts then assumed the leadership
+
+
+
+and annie and willie had crept into bed
+there were tears on their pillows, and tears in their eyes
+and each little bosom was heaving with sighs
+for to-night their stern father's command had been given
+that they should retire precisely at seven
+instead of at eight; for they troubled him more
+with questions unheard of than ever before
+he had told them he thought this delusion a sin
+no such being as santa claus ever had been
+and he hoped, after this, he should never more hear
+how he scrambled down chimneys with presents, each year
+and this was the reason that two little heads
+so restlessly tossed on their soft downy beds
+
+eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten
+not a word had been spoken by either till then
+when willie's sad face from the blanket did peep
+and whispered, "dear annie, is oo fast asleep
+for somehow, it makes me so sorry because
+dear papa has said there is no santa claus
+now we know there is, and it can't be denied
+for he came every year before mamma died
+but then i've been thinking that she used to pray
+and god would hear everything mamma would say
+and perhaps she asked him to send santa claus here
+with the sacks full of presents he brought every year
+and ask him to send him with presents aden
+four little bare feet bounded out on the floor
+and four little knees the soft carpet pressed
+and two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast
+that the presents we ask for we're sure to receive
+you must wait just as still till i say the 'amen
+and by that you will know that your turn has come then
+dear jesus, look down on my brother and me
+and grant as the favor we are asking of thee
+i want a wax dolly, a tea-set and ring
+and an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring
+bless papa, dear jesus, and cause him to see
+that santa claus loves us far better than he
+don't let him get fretful and angry again
+at dear brother willie, and annie, amen
+and bing us some pesents before it is 'ight
+i want he should div me a nice ittle sed
+with bight, shiny unners, and all painted yed
+a box full of tandy, a book and a toy
+amen--and then desus, i'll be a dood boy
+their prayers being ended they raised up their heads
+and with hearts light and cheerful again sought their beds
+they were soon lost in slumber both peaceful and deep
+and with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep
+
+eight, nine, and the little french clock had struck ten
+ere the father had thought of his children again
+he seems now to hear annie's half suppressed sighs
+and to see the big tears stand in willie's blue eyes
+but then i was troubled,--my feelings found vent
+for bank-stock to-day has gone down ten per cent
+but of course they've forgotten their troubles ere this
+and that i denied them the thrice asked-for kiss
+but just to make sure i'll steal up to their door
+for i never spoke harsh to my darlings before
+so saying, he softly ascended the stairs
+and arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers
+his annie's "bless papa" draws forth the big tears
+and willie's grave promise falls sweet on his ears
+i'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said
+
+then he turned to the stairs, and softly went down
+threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing-gown
+donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the street
+a millionaire facing the cold driving sleet
+nor stopped he until he had bought everything
+from the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring
+indeed he kept adding so much to his store
+that the various presents outnumbered a score
+then homeward he turned with his holiday load
+and with aunt mary's aid in the nursery 'twas stowed
+miss dolly was seated beneath a pine-tree
+by the side of a table spread out for a tea
+a work-box well filled in the centre was laid
+and on it the ring for which annie had prayed
+a soldier in uniform stood by a sled
+with bright shining runners, and all painted red
+there were balls, dogs and horses, books pleasing to see
+and birds of all colors--were perched in the tree
+while santa claus, laughing, stood up in the top
+as if getting ready more presents to drop
+and as the fond father the picture surveyed
+he thought for his trouble he had amply been paid
+and he said to himself as he brushed off a tear
+i've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before
+what care i if bank-stocks fall ten per cent more
+hereafter i'll make it a rule, i believe
+to have santa claus visit us each christmas eve
+so thinking he gently extinguished the light
+and tripped down the stairs to retire for the night
+
+as soon as the beams of the bright morning sun
+put the darkness to flight, and the stars, one by one
+four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide
+and at the same moment the presents espied
+then out of their beds they sprang with a bound
+and the very gifts prayed for were all of them found
+they laughed and they cried in their innocent glee
+and shouted for papa to come quick and see
+what presents old santa claus brought in the night
+while dear little willie climbed up on his knee
+determined no secret between them should be
+and told in soft whispers how annie had said
+that their blessed mamma, so long ago dead
+used to kneel down and pray by the side of her chair
+and that god, up in heaven, had answered her prayer
+and dod answered our payers; now wasn't he dood
+
+and knew just what presents my children would please
+well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf
+
+blind father! who caused your proud heart to relent
+and the hasty word spoken so soon to repent
+and made you his agent to answer their prayers
+
+
+
+i wandered lonely where the pine-trees made
+against the bitter east their barricade
+and, guided by its sweet
+perfume, i found, within a narrow dell
+the trailing spring flower tinted like a shell
+amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet
+
+from under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines
+moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming vines
+lifted their glad surprise
+while yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees
+his feathers ruffled by the chill sea-breeze
+and snow-drifts lingered under april skies
+
+as, pausing, o'er the lonely flower i bent
+i thought of lives thus lowly clogged and pent
+which yet find room
+through care and cumber, coldness and decay
+to lend a sweetness to the ungenial day
+and make the sad earth happier for their bloom
+
+
+
+tho' yer lamp o' life is burnin' with a clear and steady light
+an' it never seems ter flicker, but it's allers shinin' bright
+tho' it sheds its rays unbroken for a thousand happy days
+father time is ever turnin' down the wick that feeds yer blaze
+so it clearly is yer duty ef you've got a thing to do
+ter put yer shoulder to ther wheel an' try to push her through
+ef yer upon a wayward track you better turn about
+you've lost ther chance to do it
+when the
+light
+
+speak kindly to the woman who is working fer yer praise
+ther same way as you used ter in those happy courtin' days
+she likes appreciation just the same ez me an' you
+and it's only right and proper that yer give her what is due
+don't wait until her lamp o' life is burnin' dim an' low
+afore you tell her what you orter told her long ago
+now's ther time ter cheer her up an' put her blues to rout
+you've lost ther chance to do it
+when the
+light
+
+don't keep a-puttin' matters off an' settin' dates ahead
+to-morrow's sun'll find a hundred thousand of us dead
+don't think because yer feelin well you won't be sick no more
+sometimes the reddest pippin has a  worm-hole to the core
+don't let a killin' habit grow upon you soft and still
+because you think thet you ken throw  it from you at your will
+now's ther time ter quit it when yer feelin' brave an' stout
+you've lost ther chance to do it
+when the
+light
+
+i'd rather die with nothin' then ter hev ther people say
+that i had got my money in a robbin', graspin' way
+no words above my restin' place from any tongue or pen
+would hev a deeper meanin' than "he helped his fellow-men
+so ef you hev a fortune and you want to help the poor
+don't keep a-stavin' off until yon get a little more
+ef yer upon a miser's track you better turn about
+yer record keeps on burnin
+when the
+light
+
+
+
+an old lady sat in her old arm-chair
+with wrinkled visage and disheveled hair
+and pale and hunger-worn features
+for days and for weeks her only fare
+as she sat there in her old arm-chair
+had been potatoes
+
+but now they were gone; of bad or good
+not one was left for the old lady's food
+of those potatoes
+and she sighed and said, "what shall i do
+where shall i send, and to whom shall i go
+for more potatoes
+
+and she thought of the deacon over the way
+the deacon so ready to worship and pray
+whose cellar was full of potatoes
+and she said: "i will send for the deacon to come
+he'll not mind much to give me some
+of such a store of potatoes
+
+and the deacon came over as fast as he could
+thinking to do the old lady some good
+but never thought of potatoes
+he asked her at once what was her chief want
+and she, simple soul, expecting a grant
+immediately answered, "potatoes
+
+but the deacon's religion didn't lie that way
+he was more accustomed to preach and pray
+than to give of his hoarded potatoes
+so, not hearing, of course, what the old lady said
+he rose to pray with uncovered head
+but _she_ only thought of potatoes
+
+he prayed for patience, and wisdom, and grace
+but when he prayed, "lord, give her peace
+she audibly sighed "give potatoes
+and at the end of each prayer which he said
+he heard, or thought that he heard in its stead
+the same request for potatoes
+
+the deacon was troubled; knew not what to do
+about "those carnal potatoes
+so, ending his prayer, he started for home
+as the door closed behind him, he heard a deep groan
+
+and that groan followed him all the way home
+in the midst of the night it haunted his room
+he could bear it no longer; arose and dressed
+from his well-filled cellar taking in haste
+a bag of his best potatoes
+
+again he went to the widow's lone hut
+her sleepless eyes she had not shut
+but there she sat in that old arm-chair
+with the same wan features, the same sad air
+and, entering in, he poured on the floor
+a bushel or more from his goodly store
+of choicest potatoes
+
+the widow's cup was running o'er
+her face was haggard and wan no more
+and he kneeled him down on the sanded floor
+where he had poured his goodly store
+and such a prayer the deacon prayed
+as never before his lips essayed
+no longer embarrassed, but free and full
+he poured out the voice of a liberal soul
+and the widow responded aloud "amen
+but spake no more of potatoes
+
+and would you, who hear this simple tale
+pray for the poor, and praying, "prevail
+then preface your prayers with alms and good deeds
+search out the poor, their wants and their needs
+pray for peace, and grace, and spiritual food
+for wisdom and guidance,-for all these are good
+
+
+
+three little words you often see
+are articles _a_, _an_, and _the
+a noun's the name of anything
+as _house_ or _garden_, _hoop_ or _swing
+instead of nouns the pronouns stand
+adjectives tell the kind of noun
+as _great_, _small_, _pretty_, _white_ or _brown
+verbs tell something to be done
+to _read_, _count_, _sing_, _laugh_ or _run
+how things are done the adverbs tell
+as _slowly_, _quickly_, _ill_ or _well
+conjunctions join the words together
+as men _and_ women, wind _or_ weather
+the preposition stands before
+a noun, as _in_ or _through_ a door
+the interjection shows surprise
+as _oh!_ how pretty, _ah!_ how wise
+the whole are called nine parts of speech
+which reading, writing, speaking teach
+
+
+he came to my desk with, quivering lip
+the lesson was done
+i took the old leaf, stained and blotted
+and gave him a new one all unspotted
+and into his sad eyes smiled
+
+i went to the throne with a quivering soul
+the old year was done
+i have spoiled this one
+he took the old leaf, stained and blotted
+and gave me a new one all unspotted
+and into my sad heart smiled
+
+
+
+how are you hoeing your row, my boy
+say, how are you hoeing your row
+do you hoe it fair
+do you hoe it square
+do you hoe it the best that you know
+do you cut out the weeds as you ought to do
+do you plant what is beautiful there
+for the harvest, you know
+will be just what you sow
+are you working it on the square
+
+say, are you killing the weeds, my boy
+are you hoeing your row neat and clean
+are you going straight
+at a hustling gait
+are you cutting out all that is mean
+do you whistle and sing as you toil along
+are you finding your work a delight
+if you do it this way
+you will gladden the day
+and your row will be tended right
+
+hoeing your row with a will, my boy
+and giving it thought and care
+will insure success
+and your efforts bless
+as the crop to the garner you bear
+for the world will look on as you hoe your row
+and will judge you by that which you do
+therefore, try for first prize
+though your utmost it tries
+for the harvest depends on you
+
+
+
+fling it from mast and steeple
+symbol o'er land and sea
+of the life of a happy people
+gallant and strong and free
+proudly we view its colors
+flag of the brave and true
+with the clustered stars and the steadfast bars
+the red, the white, and the blue
+
+flag of the fearless-hearted
+flag of the broken chain
+flag in a day-dawn started
+never to pale or wane
+dearly we prize its colors
+with the heaven light breaking through
+the clustered stars and the steadfast bars
+the red, the white, and the blue
+
+flag of the sturdy fathers
+flag of the loyal sons
+beneath its folds it gathers
+earth's best and noblest ones
+boldly we wave its colors
+our veins are thrilled anew
+by the steadfast bars, the clustered stars
+the red, the white, and the blue
+
+
+
+hey! little evergreens
+sturdy and strong
+summer and autumn-time
+hasten along
+harvest the sunbeams, then
+bind them in sheaves
+range them and change them
+to tufts of green leaves
+delve in the mellow-mold
+far, far below
+and so
+little evergreens, grow
+grow! grow
+grow, little evergreens, grow
+
+up, up so airily
+to the blue sky
+lift up your leafy tips
+stately and high
+clasp tight your tiny cones
+tawny and brown
+by and by buffeting
+rains will pelt down
+by and by bitterly
+chill winds will blow
+and so
+little evergreens, grow
+grow! grow
+grow, little evergreens, grow
+
+gather all uttermost
+beauty, because
+hark, till i tell it now
+how santa claus
+out of the northern land
+over the seas
+soon shall come seeking you
+evergreen trees
+seek you with reindeer soon
+over the snow
+and so
+little evergreens, grow
+grow! grow
+grow, little evergreens, grow
+
+what if the maple flare
+flaunting and red
+you shall wear waxen white
+taper instead
+what if now, otherwhere
+birds are beguiled
+you shall yet nestle
+the little christ-child
+ah! the strange splendor
+the fir-trees shall know
+and so
+little evergreens, grow
+grow! grow
+grow, little evergreens, grow
+
+
+
+the sun's heat will give out in ten million years more
+and he worried about it
+it will sure give out then, if it doesn't before
+and he worried about it
+it will surely give out, so the scientists said
+in all scientifical books he had read
+and the whole boundless universe then will be dead
+and he worried about it
+
+and some day the earth will fall into the sun
+and he worried about it
+just as sure and as straight as if shot from a gun
+and he worried about it
+when strong gravitation unbuckles her straps
+it will come in a few million ages, perhaps
+and he worried about it
+
+and the earth will become much too small for the race
+and he worried about it
+when we'll pay thirty dollars an inch for pure space
+and he worried about it
+the earth will be crowded so much, without doubt
+that there won't be room for one's tongue to stick out
+nor room for one's thought to wander about
+and he worried about it
+
+and the gulf stream will curve, and new england grow torrider
+and he worried about it
+than was ever the climate of southernmost florida
+and he worried about it
+our ice crop will be knocked into small smithereens
+and crocodiles block up our mowing-machines
+and we'll lose our fine crops of potatoes and beans
+and he worried about it
+
+and in less than ten thousand years, there's no doubt
+and he worried about it
+our supply of lumber and coal will give out
+and he worried about it
+just then the ice-age will return cold and raw
+frozen men will stand stiff with arms outstretched in awe
+as if vainly beseeching a general thaw
+and he worried about it
+
+his wife took in washing--half a dollar a day
+he didn't worry about it
+his daughter sewed shirts the rude grocer to pay
+he didn't worry about it
+while his wife beat her tireless rub-a-dub-dub
+on the washboard drum of her old wooden tub
+he sat by the stoves and he just let her rub
+he didn't worry about it
+
+
+
+no gilt or tinsel taints the dress
+of him who holds the natal power
+no weighty helmet's fastenings press
+on brow that shares columbia's dower
+no blaring trumpets mark the step
+of him with mind on peace intent
+and so--hats off! here comes the state
+a modest king
+
+no cavalcade with galloping squads
+surrounds this man, whose mind controls
+the actions of the million minds
+whose hearts the starry banner folds
+instead, in simple garb he rides
+the king to whom grim fate has lent
+her dower of righteousness and faith
+to guide his will
+
+the ancient lands are struck with awe
+here stands a power at which they  scoffed
+kings, rulers, scribes of pristine states
+are dazed,--at columbia they mocked
+yet human wills have forged new states
+their wills on justice full intent
+and fashioned here a lowly king
+the people's choice
+
+war-ravaged, spent, and torn--old worlds
+with hatred rent, turn to the west
+on every side our kingdom's pressed
+and see! columbia hastens forth
+her healing hand to peace is lent
+her sword unsheathed has forged the calm
+her sons sent by
+
+full many a storm has tossed the barque
+since first it had its maiden trip
+full many a conflagration's spark
+has scorched and seared the laboring ship
+and yet it ploughs a straightway course
+through wrack of billows; wind-tossed, spent
+on sails the troubled ship of state
+steered forward by
+
+stand up! hats off! he's coming by
+no roll of drums peals at his course
+now give a cheer! he's part of you
+your will with his: the nation's force
+and--as he passes--breathe a prayer
+may justice to his mind be lent
+and may the grace of heaven be with
+the man who rules
+
+
+
+sleepy little, creepy little goblins in the gloaming
+with their airy little, fairy little faces all aglow
+winking little, blinking little brownies gone a-roaming
+hear the rustling little, bustling little footfalls as they go
+laughing little, chaffing little voices sweetly singing
+in the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies
+creep! creep! creep
+time to go to sleep
+baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes
+
+cricket in the thicket with the oddest little clatter
+sings his rattling little, prattling little, tattling little tune
+fleet the feet of tiny stars go patter, patter, patter
+as they scamper from the heavens at the rising of the moon
+beaming little, gleaming little fireflies go dreaming
+to the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies
+creep! creep! creep
+time to go to sleep
+baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes
+
+quaking little, shaking little voices all a-quiver
+in the mushy little, rushy little, weedy, reedy bogs
+droning little, moaning little chorus by the river
+in the croaking little, joking little cadence of the frogs
+eerie little, cheery little glowworms in the gloaming
+where the clover heads like fairy little nightcaps rise
+creep! creep! creep
+time to go to sleep
+baby playing 'possum with his big brown eyes
+
+
+
+if we should be shipwrecked together
+and only had water for one
+and it was the hottest of weather
+right out in the boiling sun
+he'd tell me--no matter how bad he
+might want it--to take a drink first
+and then he would smile--oh, so glad he
+had saved me!--and perish from thirst
+
+or, if we were lost on the prairie
+and only had food for a day
+he'd come and would give me the share he
+had wrapped up and hidden away
+and after i ate it with sadness
+he'd smile with his very last breath
+and lay himself down full of gladness
+to save me--and starve right to death
+
+and if i was wounded in battle
+and out where great danger might be
+he'd come through the roar and the rattle
+of guns and of bullets to me
+he'd carry me out, full of glory
+no matter what trouble he had
+and then he would fall down, all gory
+with wounds, and would die--but be glad
+
+we're chums--that's the reason he'd do it
+and that's what a chum ought to be
+and if it was fire he'd go through it
+if i should call him to me
+you see other fellows may know you
+and friends that you have go and come
+but a boy has one boy he can go to
+for help all the time--that's his chum
+
+
+
+jim brady's big brother's a wonderful lad
+and wonderful, wonderful muscles he had
+he swung by one arm from the limb of a tree
+and hung there while jim counted up forty-three
+just as slow as he could; and he leaped at a bound
+across a wide creek and lit square on the ground
+just as light as a deer; and the things he can do
+so jimmy told us, you would hardly think true
+
+jim brady's big brother could throw a fly ball
+from center to home just like nothing at all
+and often while playing a game he would stand
+and take a high fly with just only one hand
+jim brady showed us where he knocked a home run
+and won the big game when it stood three to one
+against the home team, and jim brady, he showed
+the place where it lit in the old wagon road
+
+jim brady's big brother could bat up a fly
+that you hardly could see, for it went up so high
+he'd bring up his muscle and break any string
+that you tied on his arm like it wasn't a thing
+he used to turn handsprings, and cartwheels, and he
+could jump through his hands just as slick as could be
+and circuses often would want him to go
+and be in the ring, but his mother said no
+
+jim brady's big brother would often make bets
+with boys that he'd turn two complete summersets
+from off of the spring-board before he would dive
+and you'd hardly think he would come up alive
+and nobody else who went there to swim
+could do it, but it was just easy for him
+and they'd all be scared, so jim said, when he'd stay
+in under and come up a half mile away
+
+jim brady's big brother, so jim said, could run
+five miles in a race just as easy as one
+right often he walked on his hands half a block
+and could have walked more if he'd wanted to walk
+and jimmy says wait till he comes home from school
+where he is gone now, and some day, when it's cool
+he'll get him to prove everything to be true
+that jimmy told us his big brother could do
+
+
+
+is my little lad, my elihu
+a-sailing with your ship
+the sailor's eyes were dim with dew
+he said with trembling lip
+
+another such a one as he
+what little lad, do you say
+why, elihu, that took to the sea
+the moment i put him off my knee
+it was just the other day
+the _gray swan_ sailed away
+
+stood open with a great surprise
+his heart began in his throat to rise
+the jacket he had on
+
+with her anchor clutching hold of the sand
+for a month, and never stir
+like a lover kissing his lady's hand
+the wild sea kissing her
+a sight to remember, sir
+
+all this was twenty years ago
+i stood on the _gray swan's_ deck
+and to that lad i saw you throw
+taking it off, as it might be, so
+the kerchief from your neck
+
+that has made you sick and made you sad
+sail with the _gray swan's_ crew
+the best boy ever mother had
+be sure he sailed with the crew
+what would you have him do
+
+nor sent you word, nor made you sign
+to say he was alive
+besides, he may be in the brine
+and could he write from the grave
+tut, man, what would you have
+
+but if the lad still live
+and come back home, think you you can
+forgive him?"--"miserable man
+you're mad as the sea,--you rave
+what have i to forgive
+
+the sailor twitched his shirt so blue
+and from within his bosom drew
+the kerchief. she was wild
+my little lad, my elihu
+my blessed boy, my child
+my dead,--my living child
+
+
+
+
+the joys of living wreathe my face
+my heart keeps time to freshet's race
+of balmy airs i drink my fill
+why, there's a yellow daffodil
+along the stream a soft green tinge
+gives hint of feathery willow fringe
+methinks i heard a robin's "cheer
+i'm glad spring's here
+
+
+an afternoon of buzzing flies
+heat waves that sear, and quivering rise
+the long white road, the plodding team
+the deep, cool grass in which to dream
+the distant cawing of the crows
+tall, waving grain, long orchard rows
+the peaceful cattle in the stream
+midsummer's dream
+
+
+a cold, gray day, a lowering sky
+a lonesome pigeon wheeling by
+the soft, blue smoke that hangs and fades
+the shivering crane that flaps and wades
+dead leaves that, whispering, quit their tree
+the peace the river sings to me
+the chill aloofness of the fall
+i love it all
+
+
+a sheet of ice, the ring of steel
+the crunch of snow beneath the heel
+loud, jingling bells, the straw-lined sleigh
+a restless pair that prance and neigh
+the early coming of the night
+red glowing logs, a shaded light
+the firelit realm of books is mine
+oh, winter's fine
+
+
+
+
+
+hamelin town's in brunswick
+by famous hanover city
+the river weser, deep and wide
+washes its wall on the southern side
+a pleasanter spot you never spied
+but, when begins my ditty
+almost five hundred years ago
+to see the townsfolk suffer so
+from vermin, was a pity
+
+
+they fought the dogs and killed the cats
+and bit the babies in the cradles
+and ate the cheeses out of the vats
+and licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles
+split open the kegs of salted sprats
+made nests inside men's sunday hats
+and even spoiled the women's chats
+by drowning their speaking
+with shrieking and squeaking
+in fifty different sharps and flats
+
+
+at last the people in a body
+to the town hall came flocking
+and as for our corporation--shocking
+to think we buy gowns lined with ermine
+for dolts that can't or won't determine
+what's best to rid us of our vermin
+you hope, because you're old and obese
+to find in the furry civic robe ease
+rouse up, sirs! give your brains a racking
+to find the remedy we're lacking
+or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing
+at this the mayor and corporation
+quaked with a mighty consternation
+
+
+an hour they sat in council
+at length the mayor broke silence
+i wish i were a mile hence
+it's easy to bid one rack one's brain
+i'm sure my poor head aches again
+i've scratched it so, and all in vain
+oh, for a trap, a trap, a trap
+just as he said this, what should hap
+at the chamber-door but a gentle tap
+looking little though wondrous fat
+nor brighter was his eye, nor moister
+than a too-long-opened oyster
+save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous
+for a plate of turtle green and glutinous
+anything like the sound of a rat
+makes my heart go pit-a-pat
+
+
+and in did come the strangest figure
+his queer long coat from heel to head
+was half of yellow and half of red
+and he himself was tall and thin
+with sharp blue eyes, each like a pin
+and light loose hair, yet swarthy skin
+no tuft on cheek nor beard on chin
+but lips where smiles went out and in
+there was no guessing his kith and kin
+and nobody could enough admire
+the tall man and his quaint attire
+quoth one: "it's as my great-grandsire
+starting up at the trump of doom's tone
+had walked this way from his painted tombstone
+
+
+he advanced to the council-table
+and, "please your honours," said he, "i'm able
+by means of a secret charm, to draw
+all creatures living beneath the sun
+that creep or swim or fly or run
+after me so as you never saw
+and i chiefly use my charm
+on creatures that do people harm
+the mole and toad and newt and viper
+and people call me the pied piper
+a scarf of red and yellow stripe
+to match with his coat of the self-same cheque
+and at the scarf's end hung a pipe
+and his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying
+as if impatient to be playing
+upon this pipe, as low it dangled
+over his vesture so old-fangled
+in tartary i freed the cham
+last june, from his huge swarms of gnats
+i eased in asia the nizam
+of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats
+and as for what your brain bewilders
+if i can rid your town of rats
+will you give me a thousand guilders
+of the astonished mayor and corporation
+
+
+into the street the piper stept
+smiling first a little smile
+as if he knew what magic slept
+in his quiet pipe the while
+then, like a musical adept
+to blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled
+and green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled
+like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled
+and ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered
+you heard as if an army muttered
+and the muttering grew to a grumbling
+and the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling
+and out of the houses the rats came tumbling
+great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats
+brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats
+grave old plodders, gay young friskers
+fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins
+cocking tails and pricking whiskers
+families by tens and dozens
+brothers, sisters, husbands, wives
+followed the piper for their lives
+from street to street he piped advancing
+and step for step they followed dancing
+until they came to the river weser
+wherein all plunged and perished
+swam across and lived to carry
+to rat-land home his commentary
+which was, "at the first shrill notes of the pipe
+i heard a sound as of scraping tripe
+and putting apples, wondrous ripe
+into a cider-press's gripe
+and a moving away of pickle-tub-boards
+and a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards
+and a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks
+and a breaking the hoops of butter-casks
+and it seemed as if a voice
+is breathed) called out, 'oh, rats, rejoice
+the world is grown to one vast drysaltery
+so munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon
+breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon
+and just as a bulky sugar-puncheon
+all ready staved, like a great sun shone
+glorious scarce an inch before me
+just as methought it said, 'come, bore me
+
+
+you should have heard the hamelin people
+ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple
+poke out the nests and block up the holes
+consult with carpenters and builders
+and leave in our town not even a trace
+of the rats!"--when suddenly, up the face
+of the piper perked in the market-place
+with a, "first, if you please, my thousand guilders
+
+
+a thousand guilders! the mayor looked blue
+so did the corporation, too
+for council dinners made rare havoc
+with claret, moselle, vin-de-grave, hock
+and half the money would replenish
+their cellar's biggest butt with rhenish
+to pay this sum to a wandering fellow
+with a gypsy coat of red and yellow
+we saw with our eyes the vermin sink
+and what's dead can't come to life, i think
+so, friend, we're not the folks to shrink
+from the duty of giving you something for drink
+and a matter of money to put in your poke
+but as for the guilders, what we spoke
+of them, as you very well know, was in joke
+beside, our losses have made us thrifty
+a thousand guilders! come, take fifty
+
+
+the piper's face fell, and he cried
+i've promised to visit by dinner-time
+bagdat, and accept the prime
+of the head-cook's pottage, all he's rich in
+for having left, in the caliph's kitchen
+of a nest of scorpions no survivor
+with him i proved no bargain-driver
+with you, don't think i'll bate a stiver
+and folks who put me in a passion
+may find me pipe after another fashion
+
+
+being worse treated than a cook
+insulted by a lazy ribald
+with idle pipe and vesture piebald
+you threaten us, fellow? do your worst
+blow your pipe there till you burst
+
+
+once more he stept into the street
+and to his lips again
+laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane
+and ere he blew three notes (such sweet
+soft notes as yet musician's cunning
+never gave the enraptured air
+there was a rustling that seemed like a bustling
+of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling
+small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering
+little hands clapping and little tongues chattering
+and, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering
+out came the children running
+all the little boys and girls
+with rosy cheeks and flaxen curls
+and sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls
+tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
+the wonderful music with shouting and laughter
+
+
+the mayor was dumb, and the council stood
+as if they were changed into blocks of wood
+unable to move a step, or cry
+to the children merrily skipping by
+that joyous crowd at the piper's back
+but how the mayor was on the rack
+and the wretched council's bosoms beat
+as the piper turned from the high street
+to where the weser rolled its waters
+right in the way of their sons and daughters
+however, he turned from south to west
+and to koppelberg hill his steps addressed
+and after him the children pressed
+great was the joy in every breast
+he's forced to let the piping drop
+and we shall see our children stop
+when, lo, as they reached the mountainside
+a wondrous portal opened wide
+as if a cavern was suddenly hollowed
+and the piper advanced and the children followed
+and when all were in to the very last
+the door in the mountainside shut fast
+did i say, all? no! one was lame
+and could not dance the whole of the way
+and in after years, if you would blame
+his sadness, he was used to say
+i can't forget that i'm bereft
+of all the pleasant sights they see
+which the piper also promised me
+for he led us, he said, to a joyous land
+joining the town and just at hand
+where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew
+and flowers put forth a fairer hue
+and everything was strange and new
+the sparrows were brighter than peacocks here
+and their dogs outran our fallow deer
+and honey-bees had lost their stings
+and horses were born with eagles' wings
+and just as i became assured
+my lame foot would be speedily cured
+the music stopped and i stood still
+and found myself outside the hill
+left alone against my will
+to go now limping as before
+and never hear of that country more
+
+
+alas, alas for hamelin
+there came into many a burgher's pate
+a text which says that heaven's gate
+opes to the rich at as easy rate
+as the needle's eye takes a camel in
+the mayor sent east, west, north, and south
+to offer the piper, by word of mouth
+wherever it was men's lot to find him
+silver and gold to his heart's content
+if he'd only return the way he went
+and bring the children behind him
+but when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour
+and piper and dancers were gone for ever
+they made a decree that lawyers never
+should think their records dated duly
+if, after the day of the month and year
+these words did not as well appear
+on the twenty-second of july
+thirteen hundred and seventy-six
+and the better in memory to fix
+the place of the children's last retreat
+they called it, the pied piper's street
+where any one playing on pipe or tabour
+was sure for the future to lose his labour
+nor suffered they hostelry or tavern
+to shock with mirth a street so solemn
+but opposite the place of the cavern
+they wrote the story on a column
+and on the great church-window painted
+the same, to make the world acquainted
+how their children were stolen away
+and there it stands to this very day
+and i must not omit to say
+that in transylvania there's a tribe
+of alien people who ascribe
+the outlandish ways and dress
+on which their neighbours lay such stress
+to their fathers and mothers having risen
+out of some subterraneous prison
+into which they were trepanned
+long time ago in a mighty band
+out of hamelin town in brunswick land
+but how or why, they don't understand
+
+
+so, willy, let me and you be wipers
+of scores out with all men--especially pipers
+and, whether they pipe us free fróm rats or fróm mice
+if we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise
+
+
+
+on the sea and at the hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two
+did the english fight the french,--woe to france
+and, the thirty-first of may, helter-skelter through the blue
+like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue
+came crowding ship on ship to saint malo on the rance
+with the english fleet in view
+
+
+first and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, damfreville
+close on him fled, great and small
+twenty-two good ships in all
+and they signalled to the place
+get us guidance, give us harbour, take us quick--or, quicker still
+here's the english can and will
+
+
+then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board
+laughed they
+and scored
+shall the _formidable_ here with her twelve and eighty guns
+think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way
+trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons
+and with flow at full beside
+now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide
+reach the mooring? rather say
+while rock stands or water runs
+not a ship will leave the bay
+
+
+then was called a council straight
+brief and bitter the debate
+all that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow
+for a prize to plymouth sound
+better run the ships aground
+let the captains all and each
+shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach
+france must undergo her fate
+
+
+was ever spoke or heard
+for up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these
+no such man of mark, and meet
+with his betters to compete
+but a simple breton sailor pressed by tourville for the fleet
+a poor coasting-pilot he, hervé riel the croisickese
+
+
+and "what mockery or malice have we here?" cries hervé riel
+talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell
+on my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell
+are you bought by english gold? is it love the lying's for
+morn and eve, night and day
+have i piloted your bay
+entered free and anchored fast at the foot of solidor
+burn the fleet and ruin france? that were worse than fifty hogues
+sirs, they know i speak the truth! sirs, believe me there's a way
+only let me lead the line
+have the biggest ship to steer
+get this _formidable_ clear
+make the others follow mine
+and i lead them, most and least, by a passage i know well
+right to solidor past grève
+and there lay them safe and sound
+and if one ship misbehave
+why, i've nothing but my life,--here's my head!" cries hervé riel
+
+
+not a minute more to wait
+take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief
+captains, give the sailor place
+he is admiral, in brief
+still the north wind, by god's grace
+see the noble fellow's face
+as the big ship, with a bound
+clears the entry like a hound
+keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound
+see, safe through shoal and rock
+how they follow in a flock
+not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground
+not a spar that comes to grief
+the peril, see, is past
+all are harboured to the last
+and just as hervé riel hollas "anchor!"--sure as fate
+up the english come--too late
+
+
+so, the storm subsides to calm
+they see the green trees wave
+on the heights o'erlooking grève
+hearts that bled are stanched with balm
+let the english rake the bay
+gnash their teeth and glare askance
+as they cannonade away
+how hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance
+out burst all with one accord
+let france, let france's king
+thank the man that did the thing
+what a shout, and all one word
+as he stepped in front once more
+not a symptom of surprise
+in the frank blue breton eyes
+just the same man as before
+
+
+then said damfreville, "my friend
+i must speak out at the end
+though i find the speaking hard
+praise is deeper than the lips
+you have saved the king his ships
+you must name your own reward
+demand whate'er you will
+france remains your debtor still
+ask to heart's content and have! or my name's not damfreville
+
+
+then a beam of fun outbroke
+on the bearded mouth that spoke
+as the honest heart laughed through
+those frank eyes of breton blue
+since on board the duty's done
+and from malo roads to croisic point, what is it but a run
+since 'tis ask and have, i may
+since the others go ashore
+come! a good whole holiday
+leave to go and see my wife, whom i call the belle aurore
+that he asked and that he got,--nothing more
+
+
+name and deed alike are lost
+not a pillar nor a post
+in his croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell
+not a head in white and black
+on a single fishing-smack
+in memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack
+all that france saved from the fight whence england bore the bell
+go to paris: rank on rank
+search the heroes flung pell-mell
+on the louvre, face and flank
+you shall look long enough ere you come to hervé riel
+so, for better and for worse
+hervé riel, accept my verse
+in my verse, hervé riel, do thou once more
+save the squadron, honour france, love thy wife the belle aurore
+
+
+
+
+kentish sir byng stood for his king
+bidding the crop-headed parliament swing
+and, pressing a troop unable to stoop
+and see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop
+marched them along, fifty-score strong
+great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song
+
+god for king charles! pym and such carles
+to the devil that prompts 'em their treasonous parles
+cavaliers, up! lips from the cup
+hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup
+till you're
+
+chorus.--marching along, fifty-score strong
+great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song
+
+hampden to hell, and his obsequies' knell
+serve hazelrig, fiennes, and young harry as well
+england, good cheer! rupert is near
+kentish and loyalists, keep we not here
+
+cho.--marching along, fifty-score strong
+great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song
+
+then, god for king charles! pym and his snarls
+to the devil that pricks on such pestilent carles
+hold by the right, you double your might
+so, onward to nottingham, fresh for the fight
+
+cho.--march we along, fifty-score strong
+great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song
+
+
+king charles, and who'll do him right now
+king charles, and who's ripe for fight now
+give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now
+king charles
+
+who gave me the goods that went since
+who raised me the house that sank once
+who helped me to gold i spent since
+who found me in wine you drank once
+
+cho.--king charles, and who'll do him right now
+king charles, and who's ripe for fight now
+give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now
+king charles
+
+to whom used my boy george quaff else
+by the old fool's side that begot him
+for whom did he cheer and laugh else
+while noll's damned troopers shot him
+
+cho.--king charles, and who'll do him right now
+king charles, and who's ripe for fight now
+give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now
+king charles
+
+
+boot, saddle, to horse, and away
+rescue my castle before the hot day
+brightens to blue from its silvery gray
+
+cho.--"boot, saddle, to horse, and away
+
+ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say
+many's the friend there, will listen and pray
+
+cho.--"boot, saddle, to horse, and away
+
+forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay
+flouts castle brancepeth the roundheads' array
+who laughs, "good fellows ere this, by my fay
+
+cho.--"boot, saddle, to horse, and away
+
+who? my wife gertrude; that, honest and gay
+laughs when you talk of surrendering, "nay
+i've better counsellors; what counsel they
+
+cho.--"boot, saddle, to horse and away
+
+
+
+i sprang to the stirrup, and joris, and he
+i galloped, dirck galloped, we galloped all three
+behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest
+and into the midnight we galloped abreast
+
+not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
+neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place
+i turned in my saddle and made its girths tight
+then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right
+rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit
+nor galloped less steadily roland a whit
+
+lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear
+at boom, a great yellow star came out to see
+at düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be
+and from mecheln church-steeple we heard the half chime
+so joris broke silence with, "yet there is time
+
+at aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun
+and against him the cattle stood black every one
+to stare through the mist at us galloping past
+and i saw my stout galloper roland at last
+with resolute shoulders, each butting away
+the haze, as some bluff river headland its spray
+
+and his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
+for my voice, and the other pricked out on his track
+and one eye's black intelligence,--ever that glance
+o'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance
+and the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
+his fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on
+
+by hasselt, dirck groaned; and cried joris, "stay spur
+your roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her
+we'll remember at aix"--for one heard the quick wheeze
+of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees
+and sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank
+as down on her haunches she shuddered and sank
+past looz and past tongres, no cloud in the sky
+the broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh
+till over by dalhem a dome-spire sprang white
+and "gallop," gasped joris, "for aix is in sight
+
+rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone
+and there was my roland to hear the whole weight
+of the news which alone could save aix from her fate
+with his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim
+and with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim
+
+then i cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall
+shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all
+stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear
+called my roland his pet-name, my horse without peer
+clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good
+till at length into aix roland galloped and stood
+
+and all i remember is--friends flocking round
+as i sat with his head, 'twixt my knees on the ground
+and no voice but was praising this roland of mine
+as i poured down his throat our last measure of wine
+which (the burgesses voted by common consent
+was no more than his due who brought good news from ghent
+
+
+as i ride, as i ride
+with a full heart for my guide
+so its tide rocks my side
+as i ride, as i ride
+that, as i were double-eyed
+he, in whom our tribes confide
+is descried, ways untried
+as i ride, as i ride
+
+as i ride, as i ride
+to our chief and his allied
+who dares chide my heart's pride
+as i ride, as i ride
+or are witnesses denied
+through the desert waste and wide
+do i glide unespied
+as i ride, as i ride
+
+as i ride, as i ride
+when an inner voice has cried
+the sands slide, nor abide
+o'er each visioned homicide
+that came vaunting (has he lied
+to reside--where he died
+as i ride, as i ride
+
+as i ride, as i ride
+ne'er has spur my swift horse plied
+yet his hide, streaked and pied
+as i ride, as i ride
+shows where sweat has sprung and dried
+how has vied stride with stride
+as i ride, as i ride
+
+as i ride, as i ride
+could i loose what fate has tied
+ere i pried, she should hide
+all that's meant me--satisfied
+when the prophet and the bride
+stop veins i'd have subside
+as i ride, as i ride
+
+
+
+you know, we french stormed ratisbon
+a mile or so away
+on a little mound, napoleon
+stood on our storming-day
+with neck out-thrust, you fancy how
+legs wide, arms locked behind
+as if to balance the prone brow
+oppressive with its mind
+
+just as perhaps he mused "my plans
+that soar, to earth may fall
+let once my army-leader, lannes
+waver at yonder wall
+out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
+a rider, bound on bound
+full-galloping; nor bridle drew
+until he reached the mound
+
+then off there flung in smiling joy
+and held himself erect
+by just his horse's mane, a boy
+you hardly could suspect
+scarce any blood came through
+you looked twice ere you saw his breast
+was all but shot in two
+
+we've got you ratisbon
+the marshal's in the market-place
+and you'll be there anon
+to see your flag-bird flap his vans
+where i, to heart's desire
+perched him!" the chief's eye flashed; his plans
+soared up again like fire
+
+the chief's eye flashed; but presently
+softened itself, as sheathes
+a film the mother-eagle's eye
+when her bruised eaglet breathes
+touched to the quick, he said
+smiling the boy fell dead
+
+
+i and clive were friends--and why not? friends! i think you laugh
+my lad
+clive it was gave england india, while your father gives--egad
+england nothing but the graceless boy who lures him on to speak
+your cheek
+very true: in my eyes, your eyes, all the world's eyes, clive was man
+i was, am, and ever shall be--mouse, nay, mouse of all its clan
+sorriest sample, if you take the kitchen's estimate for fame
+while the man clive--he fought plassy, spoiled the clever foreign
+conquered and annexed and englished
+
+never mind! as o'er my punch
+black, unbroken,--thought grows busy, thrids each pathway of old
+years
+notes this forthright, that meander, till the long past life appears
+like an outspread map of country plodded through, each mile and rood
+once, and well remembered still,--i'm startled in my solitude
+ever and anon by--what's the sudden mocking light that breaks
+on me as i slap the table till no rummer-glass but shakes
+while i ask--aloud, i do believe, god help me!--"was it thus
+can it be that so i faltered, stopped when just one step for us
+wealth were handy, honour ticklish, did no writing on the wall
+warn me "trespasser, 'ware man-traps!" him who braves that
+notice--call
+hero! none of such heroics suit myself who read plain words
+doff my hat, and leap no barrier. scripture says, the land's the
+lord's
+louts then--what avail the thousand, noisy in a smock-frocked ring
+all-agog to have me trespass, clear the fence, be clive their king
+higher warrant must you show me ere i set one foot before
+t'other in that dark direction, though i stand for evermore
+poor as job and meek as moses. evermore? no! by and by
+don't object "why call him friend, then?" power is power, my boy
+and still
+marks a man,--god's gift magnific, exercised for good or ill
+you've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's skin
+rarely such a royal monster as i lodged the bullet in
+true, he murdered half a village, so his own death came to pass
+still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage--ah, the brute he was
+why, that clive,--that youth, that greenhorn, that quill-driving
+clerk, in fine
+he sustained a siege in arcot ... but the world knows! pass the wine
+
+where did i break off at? how bring clive in? oh, you mentioned
+just so: and, said i, that minds me of a story you shall hear
+
+we were friends then, clive and i: so, when the clouds, about the orb
+late supreme, encroaching slowly, surely threaten to absorb
+ray by ray its noontide brilliance,--friendship might, with
+steadier eye
+drawing near, hear what had burned else, now no blaze--all majesty
+too much bee's-wing floats my figure? well, suppose a castle's new
+none presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold sure for shoe
+as his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile
+reels that castle thunder-smitten, storm-dismantled? from without
+scrambling up by crack and crevice, every cockney prates about
+towers--the heap he kicks now! turrets--just the measure of his cane
+will that do? observe moreover--(same similitude again
+such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of cannonade
+invade
+grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds congregating find no holes
+fit to build like the topmost sockets made for banner-poles
+so clive crumbled slow in london, crashed at last
+
+a week before
+dining with him,--after trying churchyard chat of days of yore
+both of us stopped, tired as tombstones, head-piece, foot-piece
+when they lean
+each to other, drowsed in fog-smoke, o'er a coffined past between
+as i saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extinguishment
+by the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers went
+where a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor,--"one more throw
+try for clive!" thought i: "let's venture some good rattling
+question!" so
+years hence
+when my boy--suppose i have one--asks me on what evidence
+i maintain my friend of plassy proved a warrior every whit
+worth your alexanders, cæsars, marlboroughs, and--what said pitt
+frederick the fierce himself! clive told me once"--i want to say
+which stood foremost as evincing what clive called courageousness
+come! what moment of the minute, what speck-centre in the wide
+circle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified
+if a friend has leave to question,--when were you most brave
+in short
+
+up he arched his brows o' the instant--formidably clive again
+as another instance that's a brain-lodged crystal--curse it!--here
+freezing when my memory touches--ugh!--the time i felt most fear
+ugh! i cannot say for certain if i showed fear--anyhow
+fear i felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since i shiver now
+
+ticket up in one's museum, _mind-freaks_, _lord clive's fear
+
+down his brows dropped. on the table painfully he pored as though
+tracing, in the stains and streaks there, thoughts encrusted long ago
+when he spoke 'twas like a lawyer reading word by word some will
+some blind jungle of a statement,--beating on and on until
+out there leaps fierce life to fight with
+
+desk-drudge, slaving at saint david's, one must game, or drink, or
+craze
+i chose gaming: and,--because your high-flown gamesters hardly take
+umbrage at a factor's elbow, if the factor pays his stake
+i was winked at in a circle where the company was choice
+captain this and major that, men high of colour, loud of voice
+yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenile
+who not merely risked, but lost his hard-earned guineas with a smile
+
+homebody whose name's a secret--you'll know why--so, if you list
+call him cock o' the walk, my scarlet son of mars from head to heel
+play commenced: and, whether cocky fancied that a clerk must feel
+quite sufficient honour came of bending over one green baize
+i the scribe with him the warrior, guessed no penman dared to raise
+shadow of objection should the honour stay but playing end
+more or less abruptly,--whether disinclined he grew to spend
+practice strictly scientific on a booby born to stare
+at--not ask of--lace-and-ruffles if the hand they hide plays fair
+anyhow, i marked a movement when he bade me 'cut
+
+what, you force a card, you cheat, sir
+
+cause emotion, startle thyrsis locked with chloe in his lap
+as my word and gesture (down i flung my cards to join the pack
+fired the man of arms, whose visage, simply red before, turned black
+
+
+
+busied with his all important balance of accounts, may deem
+weighing words superfluous trouble: cheat to clerkly ears may seem
+just the joke for friends to venture: but we are not friends, you see
+when a gentleman is joked with,--if he's good at repartee
+he rejoins, as do i--sirrah, on your knees, withdraw in full
+beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through your skull
+lets in light and teaches manner to what brain it finds
+choose quick
+have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim yon
+candle-wick
+
+
+to his feet sprang each in fury, fists were clenched and teeth
+were ground
+no delay, begin and finish! stand back, leave the pair a space
+let civilians be instructed: henceforth simply ply the pen
+fly the sword! this clerk's no swordsman? suit him with a pistol
+even odds! a dozen paces 'twixt the most and least expert
+make a dwarf a giant's equal: nay, the dwarf, if he's alert
+likelier hits the broader target
+
+as they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's thirst to try
+then and there conclusions with this bully, tread on and stamp out
+every spark of his existence, that,--crept close to, curled about
+by that toying, tempting, teasing, fool-forefinger's middle joint
+don't you guess?--the trigger yielded. gone my chance! and at
+the point
+of such prime success moreover: scarce an inch above his head
+went my ball to hit the wainscot. he was living, i was dead
+
+just an arm's length. 'now, my clerkling,' chuckled cocky, with a grin
+as the levelled piece quite touched me, 'now, sir counting-house
+repeat
+that expression which i told you proved bad manners! did i cheat
+
+as for me, my homely breeding bids you--fire and go to hell
+
+either spoils a steady lifting. thrice: then, 'laugh at hell who list
+i can't! god's no fable either. did this boy's eye wink once? no
+there's no standing him and hell and god all three against me,--so
+i did cheat
+
+possibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof or floor
+he effected disappearance--i'll engage no glance was sent
+that way by a single starer, such a blank astonishment
+swallowed up their senses: as for speaking--mute they stood as mice
+
+when his majesty's commission serves a sharper as pretext
+for ... but where's the need of wasting time now? naught requires
+delay
+punishment the service cries for: let disgrace be wiped away
+publicly, in good broad daylight! resignation? no, indeed
+drum and fife must play the rogue's-march, rank and file be free
+to speed
+tardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in the rear
+mister clive, for--though a clerk--you bore yourself--suppose
+we say
+just as would beseem a soldier
+
+first, one word
+
+when i had precise their number, names, and styles, and fully knew
+over whom my supervision thenceforth must extend,--why, then
+
+at the mercy of your friend there. not a single voice was raised
+in arrest of judgment, not one tongue--before my powder blazed
+ventured "can it be the youngster plundered, really seemed to mark
+some irregular proceeding? we conjecture in the dark
+guess at random,--still, for sake of fair play--what if for a freak
+in a fit of absence,--such things have been!--if our friend
+proved weak
+at least
+who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the priest
+yet he spared me! you eleven! whosoever, all or each
+to the disadvantage of the man who spared me, utters speech
+me who promise, if positions change, and mine the chance should be
+not to imitate your friend and waive advantage
+
+years ago this matter happened: and 'tis certain," added clive
+breathed against him: lips were closed throughout his life, or since
+his death
+for if he be dead or living i can tell no more than you
+all i know is--cocky had one chance more; how he used it,--grew
+out of such unlucky habits, or relapsed, and back again
+brought the late-ejected devil with a score more in his train
+that's for you to judge. reprieval i procured, at any rate
+ugh--the memory of that minute's fear makes gooseflesh rise! why prate
+longer? you've my story, there's your instance: fear i did, you see
+
+wholly to your lordship's candour. not that--in a common case
+when a bully caught at cheating thrusts a pistol in one's face
+i should under-rate, believe me, such a trial to the nerve
+fear i naturally look for--unless, of all men alive
+i am forced to make exception when i come to robert clive
+since at arcot, plassy, elsewhere, he and death--the whole world
+knows
+came to somewhat closer quarters
+
+quarters? had we come to blows
+clive and i, you had not wondered--up he sprang so, out he rapped
+such a round of oaths--no matter! i'll endeavour to adapt
+to our modern usage words he--well, 'twas friendly license--flung
+at me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue
+
+instantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick
+undefended in your bulwark? thus laid open,--not to flinch
+the man
+checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a span
+distant from my temple,--curse him!--quietly had bade me, 'there
+keep your life, calumniator!--worthless life i freely spare
+mine you freely would have taken--murdered me and my good fame
+both at once--and all the better! go, and thank your own bad aim
+which permits me to forgive you!' what if, with such words as these
+he had cast away his weapon? how should i have borne me, please
+nay, i'll spare you pains and tell you. this, and only this
+remained
+pick his weapon up and use it on myself. if so had gained
+sleep the earlier, leaving england probably to pay on still
+rent and taxes for half india, tenant at the frenchman's will
+
+fear--i wish i could detect there: courage fronts me, plain enough
+call it desperation, madness--never mind! for here's in rough
+why, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome disgrace
+true, disgrace were hard to bear: but such a rush against god's face
+say the creed my mother taught me! many years in foreign climes
+rub some marks away--not all, though! we poor sinners reach
+life's brink
+overlook what rolls beneath it, recklessly enough, but think
+there's advantage in what's left us--ground to stand on, time to call
+
+oh, he made no answer, re-absorbed into his cloud. i caught
+something like "yes--courage; only fools will call it fear
+
+if aught
+comfort you, my great unhappy hero clive, in that i heard
+next week, how your own hand dealt you doom, and uttered just the word
+i'm no clive, nor parson either: clive's worst deed--we'll hope
+condoned
+
+
+if a stranger passed the tent of hóseyn, he cried "a churl's
+or haply "god help the man who has neither salt nor bread
+more than who spends small thought on the shore-sand, picking pearls
+on his breast a moon-like prize, some orb which of night makes morn
+
+they went when his tribe was mulct, ten thousand camels the due
+blood-value paid perforce for a murder done of old
+muléykeh, peerless mare, owned master the match of you
+and you are my prize, my pearl: i laugh at men's land and gold
+
+do the ten steeds run a race of glory? outstripping all
+ever muléykeh stands first steed at the victor's staff
+who started, the owner's hope, gets shamed and named, that day
+whom the paddock's lord thrusts forth. right, hóseyn, i say
+to laugh
+
+on him i waste nor scorn nor pity, but lavish both
+on duhl the son of sheybán, who withers away in heart
+for envy of hóseyn's luck. such sickness admits no cure
+a certain poet has sung, and sealed the same with an oath
+
+lo, duhl the son of sheybán comes riding to hóseyn's tent
+and he casts his saddle down, and enters and "peace!" bids he
+in her purchase were scarce ill paid: such prudence is far from me
+who proffer a thousand. speak! long parley may last too long
+
+said hóseyn, "you feed young beasts a many, of famous breed
+slit-eared, unblemished, fat, true offspring of múzennem
+there stumbles no weak-eyed she in the line as it climbs the hill
+but i love muléykeh's face: her forefront whitens indeed
+like a yellowish wave's cream-crest. your camels--go gaze on them
+her fetlock is foam-splashed too. myself am the richer still
+
+a year goes by: lo, back to the tent again rides duhl
+why should i speak of sale? be the mare your simple gift
+my son is pined to death for her beauty: my wife prompts 'fool
+beg for his sake the pearl! be god the rewarder, since
+god pays debts seven for one: who squanders on him shows thrift
+
+said hóseyn, "god gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives
+that lamp due measure of oil: lamp lighted--hold high, wave wide
+its comfort for others to share! once quench it, what help is left
+the oil of your lamp is your son: i shine while muléykeh lives
+would i beg your son to cheer my dark if muléykeh died
+it is life against life: what good avails to the life-bereft
+
+another year, and--hist! what craft is it duhl designs
+he alights not at the door of the tent as he did last time
+but, creeping behind, he gropes his stealthy way by the trench
+half-round till he finds the flap in the folding, for night combines
+with the robber--and such is he: duhl, covetous up to crime
+must wring from hóseyn's grasp the pearl, by whatever the wrench
+
+and a gibe was all my thanks. is he generous like spring dew
+account the fault to me who chaffered with such an one
+he has killed, to feast chance comers, the creature he rode
+nay, more
+for a couple of singing-girls his robe has he torn in two
+i will beg! yet i nowise gained by the tale of my wife and son
+
+till i filch his pearl away. fair dealing i tried, then guile
+and now i resort to force. he said we must live or die
+let him die, then,--let me live! be bold--but not too rash
+i have found me a peeping-place: breast, bury your breathing while
+i explore for myself! now, breathe! he deceived me not, the spy
+
+stands tethered the pearl: thrice winds her headstall about his wrist
+and, loose on his left, stands too that other, known far and wide
+buhéyseh, her sister born: fleet is she yet ever missed
+the winning tail's fire-flash a-stream past the thunderous heels
+
+thief
+should enter and seize and fly with the first, as i mean to do
+what then? the pearl is the pearl: once mount her we both escape
+through the skirt-fold in glides duhl,--so a serpent disturbs no leaf
+in a bush as he parts the twigs entwining a nest: clean through
+he is noiselessly at his work: as he planned, he performs the rape
+
+he has set the tent-door wide, has buckled the girth, has clipped
+the headstall away from the wrist he leaves thrice bound as before
+he springs on the pearl, is launched on the desert like bolt from bow
+up starts our plundered man: from his breast though the heart be
+ripped
+yet his mind has the mastery: behold, in a minute more
+he is out and off and away on buhéyseh, whose worth we know
+
+and hóseyn--his blood turns flame, he has learned long since to ride
+and buhéyseh does her part,--they gain--they are gaining fast
+on the fugitive pair, and duhl has ed-dárraj to cross and quit
+and to reach the ridge el-sabán,--no safety till that he spied
+and buhéyseh is, bound by bound, but a horse-length off at last
+for the pearl has missed the tap of the heel, the touch of the bit
+
+she shortens her stride, she chafes at her rider the strange and
+queer
+buhéyseh is mad with hope--beat sister she shall and must
+though duhl, of the hand and heel so clumsy, she has to thank
+she is near now, nose by tail--they are neck by croup--joy! fear
+what folly makes hóseyn shout "dog duhl, damned son of the dust
+touch the right ear and press with your foot my pearl's left flank
+
+and duhl was wise at the word, and muléykeh as prompt perceived
+who was urging redoubled pace, and to hear him was to obey
+and a leap indeed gave she, and evanished for evermore
+and hóseyn looked one long last look as who, all bereaved
+looks, fain to follow the dead so far as the living may
+then he turned buhéyseh's neck slow homeward, weeping sore
+
+and, lo, in the sunrise, still sat hóseyn upon the ground
+weeping: and neighbours came, the tribesmen of bénu-asád
+in the vale of green er-rass, and they questioned him of his grief
+and he told from first to last how, serpent-like, duhl had wound
+his way to the nest, and how duhl rode like an ape, so bad
+and how buhéyseh did wonders, yet pearl remained with the thief
+
+and they jeered him, one and all: "poor hóseyn is crazed past hope
+how else had he wrought himself his ruin, in fortune's spite
+to have simply held the tongue were a task for boy or girl
+and here were muléykeh again, the eyed like an antelope
+the child of his heart by day, the wife of his breast by night
+my pearl
+
+
+sing me a hero! quench my thirst
+of soul, ye bards
+
+quoth bard the first
+his helm and eke his habergeon
+sir olaf and his bard
+
+my hero to some steep, beneath
+which precipice smiled tempting death
+you too without your host have reckoned
+
+sang to herself at careless play
+and fell into the stream. 'dismay
+help, you the standers-by!' none stirred
+
+and children ere they risk their lives
+over the balustrade has bounced
+a mere instinctive dog, and pounced
+plumb on the prize. 'how well he dives
+
+in mouth, alive too, clutched from quite
+a depth of ten feet--twelve, i bet
+good dog! what, off again? there's yet
+another child to save? all right
+
+it's instinct in the animal
+good dog! but he's a long while under
+if he got drowned i should not wonder
+strong current, that against the wall
+
+now, did you ever? reason reigns
+in man alone, since all tray's pains
+have fished--the child's doll from the slime
+
+trotted my hero off,--old tray
+till somebody, prerogatived
+with reason, reasoned: 'why he dived
+his brain would show us, i should say
+
+purchase--that animal for me
+by vivisection, at expense
+of half-an-hour and eighteenpence
+how brain secretes dog's soul, we'll see
+
+
+what a pretty tale you told me
+once upon a time
+was it prose or was it rhyme
+greek or latin? greek, you said
+while your shoulder propped my head
+
+anyhow there's no forgetting
+this much if no more
+that a poet (pray, no petting
+yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore
+went where suchlike used to go
+singing for a prize, you know
+
+well, he had to sing, nor merely
+sing but play the lyre
+playing was important clearly
+quite as singing: i desire
+sir, you keep the fact in mind
+for a purpose that's behind
+
+there stood he, while deep attention
+held the judges round
+to detect the slightest sound
+sung or played amiss: such ears
+had old judges, it appears
+
+none the less he sang out boldly
+played in time and tune
+till the judges, weighing coldly
+each note's worth, seemed, late or soon
+sure to smile "in vain one tries
+picking faults out: take the prize
+
+when, a mischief! were they seven
+strings the lyre possessed
+oh, and afterwards eleven
+thank you! well, sir,--who had guessed
+such ill luck in store?--it happed
+one of those same seven strings snapped
+
+all was lost, then! no! a cricket
+for mere love of music--flew
+with its little heart on fire
+lighted on the crippled lyre
+
+so that when (ah, joy!) our singer
+for his truant string
+feels with disconcerted finger
+what does cricket else but fling
+fiery heart forth, sound the note
+wanted by the throbbing throat
+
+ay, and ever to the ending
+cricket chirps at need
+executes the hand's intending
+promptly, perfectly,--indeed
+saves the singer from defeat
+with her chirrup low and sweet
+
+till, at ending, all the judges
+cry with one assent
+such a voice and instrument
+why, we took your lyre for harp
+so it shrilled us forth f sharp
+
+did the conqueror spurn the creature
+once its service done
+that's no such uncommon feature
+in the case when music's son
+finds his lotte's power too spent
+for aiding soul-development
+
+no! this other, on returning
+homeward, prize in hand
+satisfied his bosom's yearning
+of this cricket's help to me
+
+so, he made himself a statue
+marble stood, life-size
+on the lyre, he pointed at you
+perched his partner in the prize
+never more apart you found
+her, he throned, from him, she crowned
+
+that's the tale: its application
+somebody i know
+hopes one day for reputation
+through his poetry that's--oh
+all so learned and so wise
+and deserving of a prize
+
+if he gains one, will some ticket
+when his statue's built
+tell the gazer "'twas a cricket
+helped my crippled lyre, whose lilt
+sweet and low, when strength usurped
+softness' place i' the scale, she chirped
+
+while i sang and played
+with my lyre at lowest, highest
+right alike,--one string that made
+never to be heard again
+
+perched upon the place
+vacant left, and duly uttered
+asked the treble to atone
+for its somewhat sombre drone
+
+but you don't know music! wherefore
+keep on casting pearls
+to a--poet? all i care for
+is--to tell him that a girl's
+grows his singing. (there, enough
+
+
+
+oh, the beautiful girl, too white
+who lived at pornic, down by the sea
+just where the sea and the loire unite
+and a boasted name in brittany
+she bore, which i will not write
+
+too white, for the flower of life is red
+her flesh was the soft seraphic screen
+of a soul that is meant (her parents said
+to just see earth, and hardly be seen
+and blossom in heaven instead
+
+yet earth saw one thing, one how fair
+one grace that grew to its full on earth
+smiles might be sparse on her cheek so spare
+and her waist want half a girdle's girth
+but she had her great gold hair
+
+hair, such a wonder of flix and floss
+freshness and fragrance--floods of it, too
+gold, did i say? nay, gold's mere dross
+here, life smiled, "think what i meant to do
+and love sighed, "fancy my loss
+
+so, when she died, it was scarce more strange
+than that, when delicate evening dies
+and you follow its spent sun's pallid range
+there's a shoot of colour startles the skies
+with sudden, violent change
+
+that, while the breath was nearly to seek
+as they put the little cross to her lips
+she changed; a spot came out on her cheek
+a spark from her eye in mid-eclipse
+and she broke forth, "i must speak
+
+but the last, last grace, my all, my own
+let it stay in the grave, that the ghosts may know
+leave my poor gold hair alone
+
+the passion thus vented, dead lay she
+her parents sobbed their worst on that
+all friends joined in, nor observed degree
+for indeed the hair was to wonder at
+as it spread--not flowing free
+
+but curled around her brow, like a crown
+and coiled beside her cheeks, like a cap
+and calmed about her neck--ay, down
+to her breast, pressed flat, without a gap
+i' the gold, it reached her gown
+
+all kissed that face, like a silver wedge
+e'en the priest allowed death's privilege
+as he planted the crucifix with care
+on her breast, 'twixt edge and edge
+
+and thus was she buried, inviolate
+of body and soul, in the very space
+by the altar; keeping saintly state
+in pornic church, for her pride of race
+pure life and piteous fate
+
+and in after-time would your fresh tear fall
+though your mouth might twitch with a dubious smile
+as they told you of gold, both robe and pall
+how she prayed them leave it alone awhile
+so it never was touched at all
+
+years flew; this legend grew at last
+the life of the lady; all she had done
+all been, in the memories fading fast
+of lover and friend, was summed in one
+sentence survivors passed
+
+to wit, she was meant for heaven, not earth
+had turned an angel before the time
+yet, since she was mortal, in such dearth
+of frailty, all you could count a crime
+was--she knew her gold hair's worth
+
+it chanced, the pavement wanted repair
+was taken to pieces: left in the lurch
+a certain sacred space lay bare
+and the boys began research
+
+a benefactor,--a bishop, suppose
+a baron with armour-adornments quaint
+dame with chased ring and jewelled rose
+things sanctity saves from taint
+
+so we come to find them in after-days
+when the corpse is presumed to have done with gauds
+of use to the living, in many ways
+for the boys get pelf, and the town applauds
+and the church deserves the praise
+
+they grubbed with a will: and at length--_o cor
+humanum, pectora cæca_, and the rest
+they found--no gaud they were prying for
+no ring, no rose, but--who would have guessed
+a double louis-d'or
+
+here was a case for the priest: he heard
+marked, inwardly digested, laid
+finger on nose, smiled, "there's a bird
+chirps in my ear:" then, "bring a spade
+dig deeper!"--he gave the word
+
+and lo, when they came to the coffin-lid
+or rotten planks which composed it once
+why, there lay the girl's skull wedged amid
+a mint of money, it served for the nonce
+to hold in its hair-heaps hid
+
+hid there? why? could the girl be wont
+money, earth's trash and heaven's affront
+had a spider found out the communion-cup
+was a toad in the christening-font
+
+truth is truth: too true it was
+gold! she hoarded and hugged it first
+longed for it, leaned o'er it, loved it--alas
+till the humour grew to a head and burst
+and she cried, at the final pass
+
+nor lover nor friend--be gold for both
+gold i lack; and, my all, my own
+it shall hide in my hair. i scarce die loth
+if they let my hair alone
+
+louis-d'or, some six times five
+and duly double, every piece
+now, do you see? with the priest to shrive
+with parents preventing her soul's release
+by kisses that kept alive
+
+with heaven's gold gates about to ope
+with friends' praise, gold-like, lingering still
+an instinct had bidden the girl's hand grope
+for gold, the true sort--"gold in heaven, if you will
+but i keep earth's too, i hope
+
+enough! the priest took the grave's grim yield
+the parents, they eyed that price of sin
+as if _thirty pieces_ lay revealed
+on the place _to bury strangers in
+the hideous potter's field
+
+but the priest bethought him: "'milk that's spilt
+saints tumble to earth with so slight a tilt
+it would build a new altar; that, we may
+and the altar therewith was built
+
+why i deliver this horrible verse
+as the text of a sermon, which now i preach
+evil or good may be better or worse
+in the human heart, but the mixture of each
+is a marvel and a curse
+
+the candid incline to surmise of late
+that the christian faith proves false, i find
+for our essays-and-reviews' debate
+begins to tell on the public mind
+and colenso's words have weight
+
+i still, to suppose it true, for my part
+see reasons and reasons; this, to begin
+at the head of a lie--taught original sin
+the corruption of man's heart
+
+
+do you happen to know in ross-shire
+mount ben ... but the name scarce matters
+of the naked fact i am sure enough
+though i clothe it in rags and tatters
+
+you may recognise ben by description
+behind him--a moor's immenseness
+up goes the middle mount of a range
+fringed with its firs in denseness
+
+rimming the edge, its fir-fringe, mind
+for an edge there is, though narrow
+from end to end of the range, a strip
+of path runs straight as an arrow
+
+and the mountaineer who takes that path
+saves himself miles of journey
+he has to plod if he crosses the moor
+through heather, peat, and burnie
+
+but a mountaineer he needs must be
+for, look you, right in the middle
+projects bluff ben--with an end in _ich
+why planted there, is a riddle
+
+since all ben's brothers little and big
+keep rank, set shoulder to shoulder
+and only this burliest out must bulge
+till it seems--to the beholder
+
+from down in the gully,--as if ben's breast
+to a sudden spike diminished
+would signify to the boldest foot
+
+yet the mountaineer who sidles on
+and on to the very bending
+discovers, if heart and brain be proof
+no necessary ending
+
+foot up, foot down, to the turn abrupt
+having trod, he, there arriving
+finds--what he took for a point was breadth
+a mercy of nature's contriving
+
+so, he rounds what, when 'tis reached, proves straight
+from one side gains the other
+the wee path widens--resume the march
+and he foils you, ben my brother
+
+but donald--(that name, i hope, will do
+i wrong him if i call "foiling
+the tramp of the callant, whistling the while
+as blithe as our kettle's boiling
+
+he had dared the danger from boyhood up
+and now,--when perchance was waiting
+a lass at the brig below,--'twixt mount
+and moor would he standing debating
+
+moreover this donald was twenty-five
+a glory of bone and muscle
+did a fiend dispute the right of way
+donald would try a tussle
+
+lightsomely marched he out of the broad
+on to the narrow and narrow
+a step more, rounding the angular rock
+reached the front straight as an arrow
+
+he stepped it, safe on the ledge he stood
+when--whom found he full-facing
+what fellow in courage and wariness too
+had scouted ignoble pacing
+
+and left low safety to timid mates
+and made for the dread dear danger
+and gained the height where--who could guess
+he would meet with a rival ranger
+
+gigantic and magnific
+by the wonder--ay, and the peril--struck
+intelligent and pacific
+
+for a red deer is no fallow deer
+grown cowardly through park-feeding
+he batters you like a thunderbolt
+if you brave his haunts unheeding
+
+i doubt he could hardly perform _volte-face
+had valour advised discretion
+you may walk on a rope, but to turn on a rope
+no blondin makes profession
+
+yet donald must turn, would pride permit
+though pride ill brooks retiring
+each eyed each--mute man, motionless beast
+less fearing than admiring
+
+these are the moments when quite new sense
+to meet some need as novel
+springs up in the brain: it inspired resource
+
+and slowly, surely, never a whit
+relaxing the steady tension
+of eye-stare which binds man to beast
+by an inch and inch declension
+
+sank donald sidewise down and down
+till flat, breast upwards, lying
+at his six-foot length, no corpse more still
+
+minutes were an eternity
+but a new sense was created
+in the stag's brain too; he resolves! slow, sure
+with eye-stare unabated
+
+feelingly he extends a foot
+which tastes the way ere it touches
+earth's solid and just escapes man's soft
+nor hold of the same unclutches
+
+till its fellow foot, light as a feather whisk
+lands itself no less finely
+so a mother removes a fly from the face
+of her babe asleep supinely
+
+and now 'tis the haunch and hind-foot's turn
+yes, traversing half the prostrate length
+his hoof-tip does not graze it
+
+just one more lift! but donald, you see
+was sportsman first, man after
+a fancy lightened his caution through
+
+unrivalled, unexampled
+all sporting feats with this feat matched
+were down and dead and trampled
+
+the last of the legs as tenderly
+follows the rest: or never
+or now is the time! his knife in reach
+and his right hand loose--how clever
+
+for this can stab up the stomach's soft
+while the left hand grasps the pastern
+a rise on the elbow, and--now's the time
+or never: this turn's the last turn
+
+i shall dare to place myself by god
+who scanned--for he does--each feature
+of the face thrown up in appeal to him
+by the agonising creature
+
+nay, i hear plain words: "thy gift brings this
+up he sprang, back he staggered
+over he fell, and with him our friend
+
+yet he was not dead when they picked next day
+from the gully's depth the wreck of him
+his fall had been stayed by the stag beneath
+who cushioned and saved the neck of him
+
+but the rest of his body--why, doctors said
+whatever could break was broken
+legs, arms, ribs, all of him looked like a toast
+in a tumbler of port wine soaken
+
+said they when--the slow cure ended
+they opened the hospital door, and thence
+
+and minor damage left wisely alone
+like an old shoe clouted and cobbled
+out--what went in a goliath wellnigh
+some half of a david hobbled
+
+sell the stag's head for a bracket
+with its grand twelve tines--i'd buy it myself
+and use the skin for a jacket
+
+he was wiser, made both head and hide
+his win-penny: hands and knees on
+would manage to crawl--poor crab--by the roads
+in the misty stalking season
+
+and if he discovered a bothy like this
+why, harvest was sure: folk listened
+he told his tale to the lovers of sport
+lips twitched, cheeks glowed, eyes glistened
+
+and when he had come to the close, and spread
+his spoils for the gazers' wonder
+with "gentlemen, here's the skull of the stag
+i was over, thank god, not under
+
+the company broke out in applause
+have a munch of grouse and a hunk of bread
+and a tug, besides, at our tipple
+
+and "there's my pay for your pluck!" cried this
+cried that, while t'other--but he was drunk
+hiccupped "a trump, a tory
+
+i hope i gave twice as much as the rest
+for, as homer would say, "within grate
+though teeth kept tongue," my whole soul growled
+
+
+
+
+when a man's busy, why, leisure
+strikes him as wonderful pleasure
+straightway he wants to be busy
+here we've got peace; and aghast i'm
+caught thinking war the true pastime
+is there a reason in metre
+give us your speech, master peter
+i who, if mortal dare say so
+ne'er am at a loss with my naso
+men are the merest ixions
+here the king whistled aloud, "let's
+such are the sorrowful chances
+if you talk fine to king francis
+
+and so, to the courtyard proceeding
+our company, francis was leading
+increased by new followers tenfold
+before he arrived at the penfold
+lords, ladies, like clouds which bedizen
+at sunset the western horizon
+and sir de lorge pressed 'mid the foremost
+with the dame he professed to adore most
+oh, what a face! one by fits eyed
+her, and the horrible pitside
+for the penfold surrounded a hollow
+which led where the eye scarce dared follow
+and shelved to the chamber secluded
+where bluebeard, the great lion, brooded
+the king hailed his keeper, an arab
+as glossy and black as a scarab
+and bade him make sport and at once stir
+up and out of his den the old monster
+they opened a hole in the wire-work
+across it, and dropped there a firework
+and fled: one's heart's beating redoubled
+a pause, while the pit's mouth was troubled
+the blackness and silence so utter
+by the firework's slow sparkling and sputter
+then earth in a sudden contortion
+gave out to our gaze her abortion
+such a brute! were i friend clement marot
+and whose faculties move in no small mist
+when he versifies david the psalmist
+i should study that brute to describe you
+
+one's whole blood grew curdling and creepy
+to see the black mane, vast and heapy
+the tail in the air stiff and straining
+the wide eyes, nor waxing nor waning
+as over the barrier which bounded
+his platform, and us who surrounded
+the barrier, they reached and they rested
+on space that might stand him in best stead
+for who knew, he thought, what the amazement
+the eruption of clatter and blaze meant
+and if, in this minute of wonder
+no outlet, 'mid lightning and thunder
+lay broad, and, his shackles all shivered
+the lion at last was delivered
+ay, that was the open sky o'erhead
+and you saw by the flash on his forehead
+by the hope in those eyes wide and steady
+he was leagues in the desert already
+driving the flocks up the mountain
+or catlike couched hard by the fountain
+to waylay the date-gathering negress
+so guarded he entrance or egress
+and so can afford the confession
+we exercise wholesome discretion
+in keeping aloof from his threshold
+once hold you, those jaws want no fresh hold
+their first would too pleasantly purloin
+the visitor's brisket or sirloin
+but who's he would prove so foolhardy
+not the best man of marignan, pardie
+
+the sentence no sooner was uttered
+than over the rails a glove fluttered
+fell close to the lion, and rested
+the dame 'twas, who flung it and jested
+with life so, de lorge had been wooing
+for months past; he sat there pursuing
+his suit, weighing out with nonchalance
+fine speeches like gold from a balance
+
+sound the trumpet, no true knight's a tarrier
+de lorge made one leap at the barrier
+walked straight to the glove,--while the lion
+ne'er moved, kept his far-reaching eye on
+the palm-tree-edged desert-spring's sapphire
+and the musky oiled skin of the kaffir
+picked it up, and as calmly retreated
+leaped back where the lady was seated
+and full in the face of its owner
+flung the glove
+
+so should i!"--cried the king--"'twas mere vanity
+not love, set that task to humanity
+lords and ladies alike turned with loathing
+from such a proved wolf in sheep's clothing
+
+not so, i; for i caught an expression
+in her brow's undisturbed self-possession
+amid the court's scoffing and merriment
+as if from no pleasing experiment
+she rose, yet of pain not much heedful
+so long as the process was needful
+as if she had tried in a crucible
+to what "speeches like gold" were reducible
+and, finding the finest prove copper
+felt the smoke in her face was but proper
+to know what she had _not_ to trust to
+was worth all the ashes and dust too
+she went out 'mid hooting and laughter
+clement marot stayed; i followed after
+and asked, as a grace, what it all meant
+if she wished not the rash deed's recallment
+human nature,--behooves that i know it
+
+she told me, "too long had i heard
+of the deed proved alone by the word
+for my love--what de lorge would not dare
+with my scorn--what de lorge could compare
+and the endless descriptions of death
+he would brave when my lip formed a breath
+i must reckon as braved, or, of course
+doubt his word--and moreover, perforce
+for such gifts as no lady could spurn
+must offer my love in return
+when i looked on your lion, it brought
+all the dangers at once to my thought
+encountered by all sorts of men
+before he was lodged in his den
+from the poor slave whose club or bare hands
+dug the trap, set the snare on the sands
+with no king and no court to applaud
+by no shame, should he shrink, overawed
+yet to capture the creature made shift
+that his rude boys might laugh at the gift
+of the pit, on no greater pretence
+than to get back the bonnet he dropped
+lest his pay for a week should be stopped
+so, wiser i judged it to make
+one trial what 'death for my sake
+really meant, while the power was yet mine
+than to wait until time should define
+who took it to mean just 'to die
+the blow a glove gives is but weak
+does the mark yet discolour my cheek
+but when the heart suffers a blow
+will the pain pass so soon, do you know
+
+i looked, as away she was sweeping
+and saw a youth eagerly keeping
+as close as he dared to the doorway
+no doubt that a noble should more weigh
+his life than befits a plebeian
+and yet, had our brute been nemean
+the youth stepped with, forward to serve her
+if you whispered, "friend, what you'd get, first earn
+and when, shortly after, she carried
+her shame from the court, and they married
+to that marriage some happiness, maugre
+the voice of the court, i dared augur
diff --git a/corpus_cleaner.py b/corpus_cleaner.py
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab5330e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/corpus_cleaner.py
@@ -0,0 +1,34 @@
+import string
+
+
+corpus = open('poem_corpus.txt')
+new_corpus = open('corpus.txt', 'w')
+rhymes = open('rhymes.txt', 'w')
+c = 1
+corpus.readline()
+
+blank_count = 3
+for line in corpus.readlines():
+    line = line.lstrip()
+    line = line.rstrip(string.punctuation + string.whitespace)
+    
+    if line == '':
+        blank_count += 1
+        if blank_count < 2:
+            print(line.lower())
+            new_corpus.write(line.lower() + '\n')
+    else:
+        if blank_count <= 2:
+            istitle = line[-1] in string.ascii_uppercase
+            isauthor = line[0] in string.punctuation 
+            if len(line) >= 5 and not istitle and not isauthor:
+                last_word = line.split()[-1]
+                rhymes.write(last_word + '\n')
+                print(line.lower())
+                new_corpus.write(line.lower() + '\n')
+        blank_count = 0
+    c += 1
+
+corpus.close()
+new_corpus.close()
+rhymes.close()
\ No newline at end of file
diff --git a/rhymes.txt b/rhymes.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab7cfb5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/rhymes.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,34517 @@
+men
+be
+sea
+refrain
+day
+say
+born
+star
+war
+morn
+birth
+mirth
+tree
+men
+again
+thee
+earth
+birth
+now
+low
+fell
+so
+vain
+well
+tree
+fell
+leaves
+me
+above
+melody
+tree
+low
+evermore
+woe
+land
+glee
+night
+sea
+land
+night
+appeared
+light
+lonely
+day
+brightness
+away
+raiment
+night
+darkness
+light
+Envy
+woe
+companion
+fro
+gliding
+pain
+forever
+again
+floating
+on
+succession
+gone
+recalling
+woe
+fleeting
+go
+us
+night
+follow
+bright
+passing
+be
+sorrow
+eternity
+pen
+convey
+would
+to-day
+flow
+flowing
+fast
+going
+me
+go
+future
+woe
+picture
+destiny
+raptures
+me
+raving
+high
+safely
+nigh
+upward
+form
+me
+storm
+raptures
+nigh
+fancies
+by
+threshold
+wall
+windows
+hall
+it
+more
+ones
+door
+voices
+dead
+enemies
+head
+ruin
+floor
+voices
+evermore
+it
+tread
+hallowed
+dead
+lonely
+dwell
+people
+tell
+resting
+bed
+kingdom
+dead
+wind
+wild
+fancies
+mild
+lost
+wind
+phantoms
+behind
+spirits
+night
+groaning
+flight
+fancies
+Evermore
+Hades
+roar
+wind
+quiver
+lost
+forever
+valley
+green
+grasses
+seen
+me
+day
+spirit
+way
+skyward
+there
+onward
+tear
+battle
+woe
+rattle
+foe
+listens
+on
+parents
+gone
+woods
+hair
+log
+there
+o’er
+sway
+locks
+gray
+find
+field
+store
+yield
+friend
+him
+cheer
+grim
+sings
+stream
+past
+dream
+along
+free
+tongue
+cheerily
+too
+find
+leave
+behind
+sit
+love
+below
+above
+love
+know
+paradise
+below
+haunts
+high
+water-wheel
+fly
+cloaks
+house
+turn
+mouse
+fit
+bell
+tall
+knell
+way
+vines
+dirt
+lines
+sea
+blue
+mariner
+two
+overhead
+sea
+become
+glee
+aghast
+eyes
+wings
+skies
+by
+now
+breath
+plow
+mariners
+before
+again
+more
+ship
+roar
+again
+more
+find
+coast
+tar
+boast
+Africa
+home
+zone
+roam
+pole
+there
+cold
+bare
+sides
+south
+go
+mouth
+spring
+stand
+boughs
+land
+about
+sky
+go
+around
+ev’rywhere
+too
+scare
+trees
+man
+him
+began
+Bethlehem
+sing
+Christ
+king
+Rome
+high
+earth
+die
+years
+day
+rise
+away
+Washington
+fought
+bonds,”
+thought
+history
+light
+heart
+fright
+seen
+eye
+men
+die
+deed
+vain
+face
+pain
+known
+me
+last
+free
+along
+evermore
+you
+door
+story
+reign
+demon
+again
+ages
+more
+ocean
+shore
+ocean
+constant
+fly
+future
+been
+transgressions
+sin
+odors
+sweet
+perfume
+greet
+speeding
+leaves
+farmer
+sheaves
+smithy
+clear
+irons
+hear
+speeding
+fly
+floating
+“good-bye.”
+crown
+king
+around
+thing
+word
+pay
+cut
+to-day.”
+sent
+head
+right
+bled
+crown
+save
+to
+grave
+fight
+fly
+fate
+die
+men
+line
+death
+divine
+joy
+around
+noise
+sound
+gone
+clay
+gone
+day
+comes
+earth
+between
+birth
+night
+tent
+light
+bent
+they
+fight
+lie
+light
+round
+prayer
+kept
+there
+said
+scene
+by
+mien
+array
+dead
+hands
+overhead
+bright
+sword
+those
+word
+all
+high
+there
+buy
+forth
+fray
+there
+day
+came
+bright
+men
+sight
+pierced
+ground
+noise
+sound
+fell
+blood
+shout
+rood!”
+go
+sail
+still
+gale
+board
+woe
+right
+go
+green
+breast
+don
+rest
+ship
+woe
+right
+go
+Memory
+land
+clear
+hand
+stairway
+gold
+them
+cold
+Memory
+there
+evermore
+fair
+pictures
+hand
+near
+stand
+picture
+upon
+time
+gone
+Memory
+high
+me
+buy
+clear
+throw
+near
+go
+scene
+fly
+still
+by
+come
+pain
+lives
+again
+sky
+on
+night
+gone
+land
+river
+clouds
+forever
+sky
+play
+land
+away
+sad
+gray
+land
+away
+last
+past
+sleep
+keep
+away
+day
+close
+repose
+away
+day?”
+spirits
+inherit
+say
+day?”
+close
+repose
+away
+day?”
+wings
+home
+shore
+foam
+high
+gale
+torn
+sail
+deep
+fast
+sea
+blast
+morn
+o’er
+still
+shore
+life
+roll
+lost
+soul
+roll
+within
+around
+sin
+clime
+alone
+sight
+stone
+off
+away
+stands
+day
+spot
+stand
+clime
+land
+eyes
+shore
+been
+evermore
+bonds
+brought
+parks
+thought
+haunts
+be
+lie
+sea
+plains
+way
+stood
+pay
+gone
+there
+race
+fair
+ground
+air
+sound
+care
+leaves
+fro
+grieves
+snow
+friend
+round
+send
+found
+here
+tear
+day
+life
+way
+strife
+indeed
+hour
+weed
+flow’r
+thee
+obtain
+flee
+reighn
+light
+bright
+present
+more
+forever
+o’er
+future
+hand
+country
+land
+present
+more
+forever
+o’er
+receiving
+blest
+acting
+rest
+present
+more
+forever
+o’er
+gone
+above
+comes
+love
+away
+light
+ones
+bright
+parents
+woe
+children
+below
+heaven
+light
+forever
+sight
+gone
+above
+comes
+love
+mountain
+gray
+me
+day
+summit
+bright
+land
+night
+darkness
+hell
+other
+well
+slumber
+day
+path
+way
+dram-shop
+in
+granite
+thin
+entered
+white
+be
+night
+reasoned
+knew
+ragged
+too
+pocket
+night
+daughter
+white
+over
+more
+happy
+before
+breath
+spring
+about
+bring
+tree
+glee
+melody
+spring
+above
+glad
+love
+tree
+glee
+melody
+bloom
+amain
+joys
+again
+tree
+flee
+melody
+delights
+here
+come
+year
+tree
+be
+melody
+drops
+night
+flashes
+sight
+rain-drops
+window-pane
+patter
+rain
+hidden
+more
+sunshine
+yore
+rain-drops
+make
+thunder
+break
+sunshine
+rain
+rain-drops
+again
+grew
+seen
+fair
+world
+sky
+scene
+frowned
+tow’rs
+prince
+men
+once
+roar
+ere
+gave
+shout
+day
+Sardinia
+earth
+fray
+war
+was
+day
+wild
+sea
+borne
+fray
+were
+prevailed
+until
+unchecked
+away
+learn
+wrought
+shore
+bay
+surf
+gray
+still
+town
+hill
+down
+on
+shore
+about
+roar
+some
+wide
+come
+side
+night
+ashore
+sight
+nevermore
+alas
+by
+pass
+cry
+land
+away
+come
+day
+flies
+move
+gray
+love
+wave
+sky
+west
+die
+lies
+river
+stands
+forever
+fair
+yonder
+light
+wander
+domes
+air
+solitude
+there
+lies
+river
+side
+forever
+west
+near
+shroud
+bier
+land
+sky
+scene
+by
+still
+below
+hill
+flow
+waters
+glee
+on
+melody
+spectres
+sleep
+time
+keep
+east
+light
+meet
+bright
+river
+there
+agan
+fair
+earth
+guide
+appeared
+side
+echoed
+again
+answered
+orbit
+light
+advancing
+flight
+peacefully
+near
+ever
+clear
+unceasing
+yore
+helper
+evermore
+to
+her
+favourite
+air
+where
+sight
+flight
+air
+where
+strong
+song
+oak
+unbroke
+end
+friend
+this
+Cleveland
+lines
+wings
+taes
+feet
+snaw
+sweet
+pink
+chin
+mou
+within
+een
+things
+face
+wings
+were
+die
+bite
+so
+fight
+too
+let
+rise
+made
+eyes
+water
+sand
+ocean
+land
+minutes
+be
+ages
+eternity
+Ancient
+of
+crime
+tell
+Wedding-Guest
+well
+beast
+best
+small
+us
+all
+star
+are
+high
+sky
+set
+wet
+light
+night
+keep
+peep
+eye
+sky
+spark
+dark
+are
+star
+and
+schoolroom
+spring
+morn
+seven
+pearled
+wing
+thorn
+heaven
+world
+anonymous
+September
+November
+alone
+thirty-one
+time
+twenty-nine
+Balkis
+end
+butterfly
+friend
+Solomon
+began
+butterfly
+man
+Lord
+butterflies
+abroad
+sing
+tree
+string
+me
+because
+behave
+was
+Cave
+till
+paw
+window-sill
+mews
+attend
+choose
+Friend
+head
+hard
+bed
+yard
+light
+pretend
+night
+Friend
+young
+pupils
+well
+me
+see
+head
+bed
+grow
+slow
+ball
+all
+play
+way
+see
+me
+up
+buttercup
+sleepy-head
+bed
+volume
+has
+Macdonald's
+and
+delight
+Lily
+stone
+waiting
+shone
+Lily
+fed
+Lily
+head
+Lily
+good
+Lily's
+food
+Lily
+bride
+whiteness
+beside
+Lily
+pain
+waiting
+rain
+Lily
+cup
+falling
+up
+Lily
+again
+thirsty
+rain
+stronger
+cool
+me
+full
+Lily
+sweet
+sunshine
+feet
+sunshine
+rain
+Lily
+again
+to
+childhood
+said
+Red
+bed
+grief
+away
+day
+clung
+way
+swung
+among
+spring
+fret
+thing
+whispering
+prayer
+wide
+everywhere
+air
+lay
+swarm
+away
+arm
+warm
+smiled
+child
+murmured
+from
+and
+year
+town
+nicht-gown
+lock
+ben
+hen
+cheep
+asleep
+moon
+spoon
+cock
+folk
+creel
+eel
+thrums
+comes
+wean
+lane
+ee
+me
+and
+imagination
+it
+sea
+boat
+money
+note
+above
+guitar
+are
+are
+are
+fowl
+sing
+tarried
+ring
+day
+grows
+stood
+nose
+nose
+nose
+will
+day
+hill
+quince
+spoon
+sand
+moon
+moon
+moon
+adventurers
+night
+shoe
+light
+dew
+three
+sea
+we
+Wynken
+Blynken
+Nod
+song
+shoe
+long
+dew
+herring-fish
+sea
+we
+three
+Wynken
+Blynken
+Nod
+threw
+foam
+shoe
+home
+be
+dreamed
+sea
+three
+Wynken
+Blynken
+Nod
+eyes
+head
+skies
+trundle-bed
+sings
+be
+things
+sea
+three
+Wynken
+Blynken
+Nod
+a
+delicate
+and
+it
+cat
+sat
+wink
+plate
+fate
+spat
+plate
+"bow-wow-wow
+"mee-ow
+so
+calico
+chimney-place
+face
+row
+true
+blue
+do
+cat
+that
+claw
+saw
+flew
+plate
+sat
+cat
+day
+away
+pup
+up
+that
+know
+few
+been
+revived
+boy
+eye
+truth
+lie
+school
+cry
+lie
+so
+truth
+up
+near
+why
+this
+street
+home
+meet
+come
+agree
+sight
+family
+fight
+gone
+throne
+home
+dwell
+Bluebell
+well
+wings
+bird
+dear
+things
+here
+fly
+sleep
+own
+alone
+good
+you
+gray
+you
+day
+clever
+long
+forever
+song
+a
+parent
+deck
+fled
+wreck
+dead
+stood
+storm
+blood
+form
+go
+word
+below
+heard
+say
+done
+lay
+son
+replied
+on
+breath
+hair
+death
+despair
+aloud
+shroud
+way
+wild
+high
+child
+sky
+sound
+he
+sea
+fair
+part
+there
+heart
+children
+power
+cabin
+sleep
+waters
+deep
+blast
+trumpet
+mast
+silence
+breath
+roaring
+Death
+darkness
+prayers
+stairs
+whispered
+hand
+land
+maiden
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+rest
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+busy
+I'm
+pastime
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