Poems we all love

Collected by Montrose L. Barnet

Published by Acmegraph Company Chicago

Copyright 1911 The Acmegraph Co.

Contents

Abou ben Adhem "There are loyal hearts..." Press On Daffodils Serenity Onward To Live Concord Hymn "Wouldst shape a noble life?" "Though to-day may not fulfill" At the End of all Desire Judge Not Be Strong? "Who looks to heaven..." Where Ignorance is Bliss The Brave at Home Love of Country Fair Ines "Be though the rainbow..." Action "Westward the star of empire..." On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in America The Arrow and the Song "The summer vanishes..." Courage "All is of God..." Loss of the Royal George Character O, Captain! My Captain! Forbearance L'Envoi "If you and I..." Pippa's Song Song "The common problem..." At Nightfall "Ah, be not false" "Let us love so well" My Creed Victory A Prayer A Psalm of Life "High thoughts and noble in all lands" "So I will trudge with heart elate" Service "Whichever way the wind doth blow" Faith The World Over It's Raining Violets Action Clear the Way "If you have gracious words to say" How Sleep the Brave Warren's Address Worth The Chambered Nautilus "If I can stop one heart from breaking" "He taught us" The Task of Happiness

Three Kinds of Courage Friendship "O! joyous day! O! Smile of God" Friends "We just shake hands at meeting" The Rosary of my Years Mercy Haste Not, Rest Not Freedom Character of a Happy Life The Splendor Falls Lead Kindly Light The Rosary The Spring of Love Times go by Turns Opportunity "The star of the unconquered will" Service When the Birds go North Again Balancing "Believe not each accusing tongue" The Inevitable Sympathy Come Good or Evil "Then let us smile..." Resolve The Sluggard Crossing the Bar Young and Old "Yes, they whose feet..." When in Disgrace "But in the mud..." Mizpah Twenty Years Ago "'Tis not the weight of jewel or plate..."

Introduction

The poems contained in this volume have been carefully selected from the vast storehouse of poetical works, and comprise only those that I feel will be helpful and pleasure-giving. The poetical gems contained herein are teeming with life and inspiration and will touch a responsive chord in all who may read them. It is hoped that this book may become a "ready reference" volume that will be found pleasurable in times of joy, and strengthening in the vicissitudes of daily life. Each poem is selected with the idea of lifting us out of the commonplace—up to the plane of higher and better living. This uplifting influence, combined with the inspiration that comes only from such a source, will make us better and happier men and women. Many of these poems have long been the "favorites" of the lovers of poetry, and it is the hope of the editor that these masterpieces of the poets may be brought within easy reach of all—without necessitating a reference to large and cumbersome volumes.

I hope that this book may be found by many a fountain of inspiration and exalted pleasure—a means of sweetening solitude or animating friendly intercourse. May it be a companion of good and beautiful thoughts that will teach us to love and appreciate with enduring life—these our poets—who have given us their best, that we thereby might be strengthened, encouraged and beautified.

—M.L.B.

ABOU BEN ADHEM

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, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," 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 blest, And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. —Leigh Hunt

"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 to you. Give love, and love to your heart will flow, A strength in your utmost need; Have faith, and a score of hearts will show Their faith in your word and deed."

"It is easy enough to be pleasant When life flows by like a song, But the man worth while is the man who will smile When everything goes dead wrong; For the test of the heart is trouble, And it always comes with the years, And the smile that comes with the praise of earth Is the smile that shines through tears."

PRESS ON

Press on! Surmount the rocky steeps, Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch; He fails alone who feebly creeps, He wins who dares the hero's march. Be thou a hero! Let thy might Tramp on eternal snows its way, And through the ebon walls of night Hew down a passage unto day.

Press on! If once and twice thy feet Slip back and stumble, harder try; From him who never dreads to meet Danger and death they're sure to fly. To coward ranks the bullet speeds, While on their breasts who never quail, Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds, Bright courage like a coat of mail.

Press on! If Fortune play thee false To-day, to-morrow she'll be true; Whom now she sinks she now exalts, Taking old gifts and granting new, The wisdom of the present hour Makes up the follies past and gone; To weakness strength succeeds, and power From frailty springs! Press on, press on! —Park Benjamin.

DAFFODILS

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. —William Wordsworth.

SERENITY

Here's a sigh to those who love me And a smile to those who hate; And whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. —Lord Byron.

ONWARD

We are living, we are dwelling, In a grand and awful time, In an age on ages telling To be living is sublime. Hark! the waking up of nations, Gog and Magog to the fray. Hark! what soundeth is creation Groaning for its latter day.

Will ye play then, will ye dally With your music and your wine? Up! it is Jehovah's rally! God's own arm hath need of thine. Hark! the onset! will ye fold your Faith-clad arms in lazy lock? Up, oh up, thou drowsy soldier! Worlds are charging to the shock.

Worlds are charging—heaven beholding; Thou hast but an hour to fight; Now the blazoned cross unfolding, On—right onward for the right. On! let all the soul within you For the truth's sake go abroad! Strike! let every nerve and sinew Tell on ages—tell for God. —Arthur Cleveland Coxe.

TO LIVE

To live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To that mysterious realm 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. —William Cullen Bryant.

CONCORD HYMN

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 the 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 those heroes dare To die, or leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee. —Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Wouldst share a noble life? Then cast No backward glances toward the past, And though somewhat be lost and gone, Yet do thou act as one new-born; What each day needs, that shalt thou ask. Each day will set its proper task. —Goethe.

Though to-day may not fulfill All thy hopes, have patience still; For perchance to-morrow's sun Sees thy happier day begun. —P. Gerhardt.

AT THE END OF ALL DESIRE

I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep; Of what may come hereafter, For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers, And everything but sleep.

We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; To-day will die to-morrow; Time stoops to no man's lure; And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful, Sighs, and with eyes forgetful, Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives forever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere to the sea. —Swinburne.

JUDGE NOT

Judge not! the workings of his brain And of his heart thou canst not see; What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, In God's pure light may only be A scar, brought from some well won field, Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

The look, the air, that frets thy sight May be a token, that below The soul has closed in deadly fight With some infernal fiery foe. Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, And cast thee shuddering on thy face.

The fall thou darest to despise— May be the angel's slackened hand Has suffered it, that he may rise And take a firmer, surer stand; Or, trusting less to earthly things, May henceforth learn to use his wings.

And judge none lost; but wait and see, With hopeful pity, not disdain; The depth of the abyss may be The measure of the height and pain And love and glory that may raise This soul to God in after days! —Adelaide A. Proctor.

BE STRONG?

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. —Maltbie Davenport Babcock.

Who looks to heaven alone to save his soul May keep the path, but will not reach the goal: But he who walks in love may wander far, And God will bring him where the blessed are. —Henry Van Dyke.

WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS

To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemned alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, The unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah, why should they know their fate Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise! No more—where ignorance is bliss 'Tis folly to be wise. —Thomas Gray.

THE BRAVE AT HOME

The maid who binds her warrior's sash With smile that all her pain dissembles, The while beneath her drooping lash One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, Though heaven alone records the tear, And Fame shall never know her story, Her heart has shed a drop as dear As e'er bedewed the field of glory.

The wife who girds her husband's sword, 'Mid little ones who weep or wonder, And bravely speaks the cheering word, What though her heart be rent asunder, Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear The bolts of death around him rattle, Has shed as sacred blood as e'er Was poured upon the field of battle.

The mother who conceals her grief While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor. —Thomas Buchanan Read.

LOVE OF COUNTRY

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. —Sir Walter Scott.

FAIR INES

I saw you not fair Ines? She's gone into the West, To dazzle when the sun is down, And rob the world of rest. She took our daylight with her, The smiles that we love best, With morning blushes on her cheek, And pearls upon her breast.

Oh, turn again, fair Ines Before the fall of night, For fear the moon should shine alone, And stars unrivalled bright. And blessed will the lover be, That wakes beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek, I dare not even write!

Would I had been, fair Ines, That gallant cavalier, Who rode so gaily by thy side And whispered thee so near! Were there no loving dames at home, Or no true lovers here, That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear?

I saw thee, lovely Ines, Descend along the shore, With a band of noble gentlemen, And banners waved before. And gentle youths and maidens gay— And snowy plumes they wore; It would have been a beauteous dream— If it had been no more!

Alas, alas, fair Ines! She went away with song, With music waiting on her steps, And shouting of the throng. And some were sad, and felt no mirth, But only music's wrong, In sounds that sang, farewell, farewell! To her you've loved so long.

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, That vessel never bore So fair a lady on its decks, Nor danced so light before. Alas, for pleasure on the sea, And sorrow on the shore; The smile that blest one lover's heart, Had broken many more! —Thomas Hood.

Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life! The evening beam that smiles the clouds away And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray. —Byron.

ACTION

How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world. Heaven doth with us as we with torches do; Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. —Shakespeare.

ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA

The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime Barren of every glorious theme, In distant lands now waits a better time, Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes, where from the genial sun And virgin earth such scenes ensue, The force of art by nature seems outdone, And fancied beauties by the true.

In happy climes, the seat of innocence, Where nature guides and virtue rules, Where men shall not impose for truth and sense The pedantry of courts and schools.

There shall be sung another golden age, The rise of empire and of arts, The good and great inspiring epic rage, The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay; Such as she bred when fresh and young, When heavenly flame did animate her clay, By future poets shall be sung.

THE ARROW AND THE SONG

I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I know 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. —Longfellow.

"The summer vanishes, but soon shall come The glad young days of yet another year. So do not mourn the passing of a joy, But rather wait the coming of a good, And know God never takes a gift away But He sends other gifts to take its place."

COURAGE

What if the morn no joy to you shall bring, No gleam of sunbeam shine across your way; What if no bird one joyous note shall sing Into your listening ear through all the day!

What if no word of comfort you shall hear As through the hours long you toil and strive; What if to you no vision bright appear To keep your hungry heart and soul alive!

What if the blest companionship men crave Come not to you through all the day's long length, But, bound and fettered even as a slave Within yourself you have to find your strength!

And if, when you have toiled and wrought alone, The sweet reward you sought you do not gain, And find the hoped-for bread is but a stone, In that sad hour for grief, should you complain?

Ah no! It matters not if shade or sun, Or good or ill, your efforts shall attend: In doing you have but your duty done As best you knew—and should do to the end. —Thomas F. Porter.

All is of God that is, or is to be, And God is good. —John G. Whittier.

LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE

Toll for the Brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore!

Eight hundred of the brave Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel And laid her on her side.

A land-breeze shook the shrouds And she was overset; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main:

But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. —W. Cowper.

CHARACTER

The sun set, but not his hope: Stars rose: his faith was earlier up: Fixed on the enormous galaxy, Deeper and older seemed his eye; And matched his sufferance sublime The taciturnity of time. He spoke, and words more soft than rain Brought the Age of Gold again: His action won such reverence sweet As hid all measure of the feat. —Emerson.

O, CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

O, Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather'd 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 the bouquets and ribbon'd 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 anchor'd 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. —Walt Whitman.

FORBEARANCE