Poems of home and country Also, Sacred and Miscellaneous Verse |
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| CIVIC INTERESTS AND OCCASIONS. |
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 | Poems of home and country |  |
111
CIVIC INTERESTS AND OCCASIONS.
THE WORLD'S NEED.
Oh, labor in darkness and labor by day,—
The world waits for workmen, the brave and the true.
Go, work in all fields, and toil while you may,—
The world waits your coming; there 's something to do.
The world waits for workmen, the brave and the true.
Go, work in all fields, and toil while you may,—
The world waits your coming; there 's something to do.
O men, for the times, in the mission of life,
Be strong in the conflict, be brave in the strife!
There 's a crown for the good and joy for the brave
Whom toil cannot conquer, nor pleasure enslave,—
That joy, may you taste; that crown, may it shine
On each glorified brow with a lustre divine.
Be strong in the conflict, be brave in the strife!
There 's a crown for the good and joy for the brave
Whom toil cannot conquer, nor pleasure enslave,—
That joy, may you taste; that crown, may it shine
On each glorified brow with a lustre divine.
TRUE GREATNESS.
What is true greatness?—where and whence?
Who knows its secret drifts?
Bright and mysterious as the light,
Shot from the cloudland rifts?
Whose life, in splendid blazonry,
Shall find immortal fame;
Who, 'mid the wreck of quaking worlds,
Shall wear a deathless name?
Who knows its secret drifts?
Bright and mysterious as the light,
Shot from the cloudland rifts?
Whose life, in splendid blazonry,
Shall find immortal fame;
Who, 'mid the wreck of quaking worlds,
Shall wear a deathless name?
112
Not piles of masonry, or pomp,
Statue, nor marble bust,
Arrest oblivion, and preserve
The frame from kindred dust;
Yet how shall human spirits shine,
As shines the sparkling gem,
And, fadeless, glow like glorious stars
In night's fair diadem?
Statue, nor marble bust,
Arrest oblivion, and preserve
The frame from kindred dust;
Yet how shall human spirits shine,
As shines the sparkling gem,
And, fadeless, glow like glorious stars
In night's fair diadem?
No spirit of the cultured East,
No wealth of skill nor pen,
No grain-fields of the widening West,
Avail to build true men;
No genius, born of earthly germs,
No haughty, base desire,
But nobler breath, imbreathed of God,
Wakes in the soul new fire.
No wealth of skill nor pen,
No grain-fields of the widening West,
Avail to build true men;
No genius, born of earthly germs,
No haughty, base desire,
But nobler breath, imbreathed of God,
Wakes in the soul new fire.
O mystery of human life!
O wondrous end of man!
O theme, with curious questions rife,
With God's divinest plan,—
Plan which no human mind can reach,
No human tongue can tell;
Too deep for angel's speech or thought,
Boundless, ineffable.
O wondrous end of man!
O theme, with curious questions rife,
With God's divinest plan,—
Plan which no human mind can reach,
No human tongue can tell;
Too deep for angel's speech or thought,
Boundless, ineffable.
How doth the acorn from the germ
Become the mighty tree?
How grows the infant spark of thought,
Broader than land and sea?
The mighty oak its crumbling boughs
Back to earth's bosom gives;
But ages come, and ages pass,—
Mind, still expanding, lives.
Become the mighty tree?
How grows the infant spark of thought,
Broader than land and sea?
The mighty oak its crumbling boughs
Back to earth's bosom gives;
But ages come, and ages pass,—
Mind, still expanding, lives.
113
What wealth, of faithful work is born!
What greatness, won by toil,
E'en as the farmer's golden corn
Grows from the deep-worked soil!
Spoil not thy soul with nerveless aim,
With idle, weak desire;
Strive nobly for a noble name,—
To all high deeds aspire.
What greatness, won by toil,
E'en as the farmer's golden corn
Grows from the deep-worked soil!
Spoil not thy soul with nerveless aim,
With idle, weak desire;
Strive nobly for a noble name,—
To all high deeds aspire.
As from the crucible the gold,
Refined by fierce heat, flows;
As from the sculptor's dust and grime
The chiselled wonder grows,—
So, from earth's friction, toil and grief
Bring beauty, love, and truth,
Garments of praise for ripened days,
The light and crown of youth.
Refined by fierce heat, flows;
As from the sculptor's dust and grime
The chiselled wonder grows,—
So, from earth's friction, toil and grief
Bring beauty, love, and truth,
Garments of praise for ripened days,
The light and crown of youth.
They waste, they spoil, their time and toil,
Who pleasure's goblet drain,
And fondly hope by idle wish
Life's high rewards to gain;
Like some bright, beauteous bird whose wing
Is torn, or clipped, or bound,
And his rich dyes he vainly trails
Along the dusty ground.
Who pleasure's goblet drain,
And fondly hope by idle wish
Life's high rewards to gain;
Like some bright, beauteous bird whose wing
Is torn, or clipped, or bound,
And his rich dyes he vainly trails
Along the dusty ground.
On wealth intent, in fierce pursuit
O'er distant climes and isles,
The merchant drives with eager haste,
And heap on heap he piles;
Like sand-hills on the wave-washed shore,
Like clouds of drifting spray,
Like mole-hills in the ploughman's path,
His treasures melt away.
O'er distant climes and isles,
The merchant drives with eager haste,
And heap on heap he piles;
Like sand-hills on the wave-washed shore,
Like clouds of drifting spray,
Like mole-hills in the ploughman's path,
His treasures melt away.
114
Ambition mounts his fiery steeds,
Plumed o'er new heights to soar,
And waves aloft his potent wand
O'er subject sea and shore,—
Nurse thy fair bubble, man of pride,
Thyself, thy mighty care,
Reach forth for other worlds to rule,
And grasp,—but empty air.
Plumed o'er new heights to soar,
And waves aloft his potent wand
O'er subject sea and shore,—
Nurse thy fair bubble, man of pride,
Thyself, thy mighty care,
Reach forth for other worlds to rule,
And grasp,—but empty air.
The athlete struggles in the race,—
The expected crown, his life;
Muscle and bone, and blood and nerve,
Tense with the eager strife;
O bootless task, such wreath to win!
Triumph, alas, how brief!
His valor, nought but force of limb;
His crown, a fading leaf.
The expected crown, his life;
Muscle and bone, and blood and nerve,
Tense with the eager strife;
O bootless task, such wreath to win!
Triumph, alas, how brief!
His valor, nought but force of limb;
His crown, a fading leaf.
Proud of the flag that o'er him waves,
Of deeds his bravery wrought,
Of rights secured, of wrongs redrest,
Of battles grandly fought,—
The warrior, with his sword unsheathed,
Cries, “Victory—or—death!”
How soon his vaunted glory pales,—
Brief as a passing breath.
Of deeds his bravery wrought,
Of rights secured, of wrongs redrest,
Of battles grandly fought,—
The warrior, with his sword unsheathed,
Cries, “Victory—or—death!”
How soon his vaunted glory pales,—
Brief as a passing breath.
Scorched on the line, chilled at the pole,
Tossed on the billowy foam,—
Hope vainly lures the explorer on,
With tireless zeal to roam.
Perchance, he finds nor sea nor land;
The phantom onward leads:
The fame, the wealth, the rest he seeks,
False to his hopes, recedes.
Tossed on the billowy foam,—
Hope vainly lures the explorer on,
With tireless zeal to roam.
Perchance, he finds nor sea nor land;
The phantom onward leads:
The fame, the wealth, the rest he seeks,
False to his hopes, recedes.
115
But gold, nor art, nor costly show,
Nor birth, nor regal state,
Nor palace tall, nor acres wide
Make him who holds them great;
But wisdom, grace, and knowledge broad,
A great and noble soul,
And God's blest image, God's high thought,
Stamped grandly on the whole.
Nor birth, nor regal state,
Nor palace tall, nor acres wide
Make him who holds them great;
But wisdom, grace, and knowledge broad,
A great and noble soul,
And God's blest image, God's high thought,
Stamped grandly on the whole.
Oh, winnow grains of truth and love
From this world's useless straw!
Who rules his life, he rules the end,—
'T is Nature's changeless law.
Oh, blest the man, supremely blest,
Whose life sublimely flows,
And God's approving sentence sheds
A halo round its close!
From this world's useless straw!
Who rules his life, he rules the end,—
'T is Nature's changeless law.
Oh, blest the man, supremely blest,
Whose life sublimely flows,
And God's approving sentence sheds
A halo round its close!
O man, in God's own image formed,
Offspring of God's great thought;
O man, for lofty aims designed,
For noble purpose wrought,—
Build not on Time's illusive sands
The pillar of thy fame,
But high, on monuments unseen,
Carve an immortal name.
Offspring of God's great thought;
O man, for lofty aims designed,
For noble purpose wrought,—
Build not on Time's illusive sands
The pillar of thy fame,
But high, on monuments unseen,
Carve an immortal name.
What harvest fields of joy and hope
Whiten the world's broad face!
A sickle waits each willing hand,
Each heart God's helping grace;
No seed is lost, no precious grain
To earth can, useless, fall.
God guards the reapers and the seed;
His love shall garner all.
Whiten the world's broad face!
A sickle waits each willing hand,
Each heart God's helping grace;
No seed is lost, no precious grain
To earth can, useless, fall.
God guards the reapers and the seed;
His love shall garner all.
116
WOMEN'S RIGHTS.
'T is the question of the day;
They discuss it every May,
With all their wit and learning;
And renew it in October,—
Dames, strong-minded, and men, sober,
Stupid souls, and souls discerning.
They discuss it every May,
With all their wit and learning;
And renew it in October,—
Dames, strong-minded, and men, sober,
Stupid souls, and souls discerning.
Oh, for wisdom to pronounce,
To the tittle of an ounce,
For our wives, and for some prim men,
The number, weight, and measure
Of that rich and precious treasure,—
The rights, to wit, of women.
To the tittle of an ounce,
For our wives, and for some prim men,
The number, weight, and measure
Of that rich and precious treasure,—
The rights, to wit, of women.
'T is my creed,—perhaps I'm wrong,
But I'll say it for a song,—
Their right is to promote us
From bachelors to men,
To excel us with the pen,
But never to outvote us.
But I'll say it for a song,—
Their right is to promote us
From bachelors to men,
To excel us with the pen,
But never to outvote us.
Should we let her vote at all,—
Woman great or woman small,—
Such majorities might aid her,
That the lords of this creation
Would lose their right and station,
And their claim to run the nation,
From zenith down to nadir.
Woman great or woman small,—
Such majorities might aid her,
That the lords of this creation
Would lose their right and station,
And their claim to run the nation,
From zenith down to nadir.
117
'T is their right, throughout the strife
Of this weary, toiling life,
To be gentle, loving, sweet,
And receive from us, the strong,—
Be the struggle brief or long,—
Shelter 'mid the dust and heat.
Of this weary, toiling life,
To be gentle, loving, sweet,
And receive from us, the strong,—
Be the struggle brief or long,—
Shelter 'mid the dust and heat.
'T is their right in days of pain,
To calm the fevered brain,
Kind as the gentle rain
Or summer dew;
And to find in us relief
In days of toil and grief,—
Like them, patient, mild, and true.
To calm the fevered brain,
Kind as the gentle rain
Or summer dew;
And to find in us relief
In days of toil and grief,—
Like them, patient, mild, and true.
We yield to them the right
To be witty, brave, and bright,
In repartee to shine;
Better than sparkling toys,
To be mothers to our boys,
Famed for quiet or for noise,
Be the youngsters one or nine.
To be witty, brave, and bright,
In repartee to shine;
Better than sparkling toys,
To be mothers to our boys,
Famed for quiet or for noise,
Be the youngsters one or nine.
'T is their matchless right,—we claim,—
Their glory and their fame,
Not for foreign joys to roam;
But to break the clouds of sadness,
To strew earth's paths with gladness,
To be the sunlight of the home.
Their glory and their fame,
Not for foreign joys to roam;
But to break the clouds of sadness,
To strew earth's paths with gladness,
To be the sunlight of the home.
'T is their right in love to stand,
With tender heart and hand,
And to watch beside the bed,
Till the spirit upward flies;
And down the opening skies,
Like gleams from Paradise,
Heaven's light is round them shed.
With tender heart and hand,
And to watch beside the bed,
118
And down the opening skies,
Like gleams from Paradise,
Heaven's light is round them shed.
'T is their right, with holy feeling,
To be found, all meekly kneeling,
Before the throne of prayer.
'T is there they find their power,—
Grace is their richest dower;
Their dearest rights are there.
To be found, all meekly kneeling,
Before the throne of prayer.
'T is there they find their power,—
Grace is their richest dower;
Their dearest rights are there.
Oh, no, we would not take
One right,—for their dear sake,—
Nor pull their power down;
Theirs to strew the earth with good,
As earth's lords never could,
And then wear Heaven's crown.
One right,—for their dear sake,—
Nor pull their power down;
Theirs to strew the earth with good,
As earth's lords never could,
And then wear Heaven's crown.
Oh, no, we are not wrong,
Say we it in prose, or song!
'T is our pleasure to promote them
To the headship of our table,
To whatever good we 're able;
But we always will outvote them.
Say we it in prose, or song!
'T is our pleasure to promote them
To the headship of our table,
To whatever good we 're able;
But we always will outvote them.
119
DEDICATION HYMN.
CHAMBER OF COMMERCE, BOSTON, JANUARY 21, 1892.
So, the fair structure stands,
The work of human hands
And human will;
Here, where the rippling wave
The sea-sands used to lave,
Soar towers and architrave,
Beauty and skill.
The work of human hands
And human will;
Here, where the rippling wave
The sea-sands used to lave,
Soar towers and architrave,
Beauty and skill.
Here shall fair Commerce sit,
With wisdom, grace, and wit,
The state to bless;
Here land shall speak to land,
And hand be clasped in hand,
And noblest deeds be planned,
In righteousness.
With wisdom, grace, and wit,
The state to bless;
Here land shall speak to land,
And hand be clasped in hand,
And noblest deeds be planned,
In righteousness.
Peace her white wings shall spread
O'er all the paths we tread;
Truth guide our way:
While patriot sire and son
Bends to the work begun,
And new successes, won,
Shall crown the day.
O'er all the paths we tread;
Truth guide our way:
While patriot sire and son
Bends to the work begun,
And new successes, won,
Shall crown the day.
To Thee, great God, to Thee,
God of the land and sea,
These towers we raise;
Establish here Thy throne;
Rule in all hearts alone;
Thy sovereign right we own,
Thy name we praise!
God of the land and sea,
These towers we raise;
Establish here Thy throne;
Rule in all hearts alone;
Thy sovereign right we own,
Thy name we praise!
120
FOR THE DINNER OF THE FIRST CITY GOVERNMENT OF NEWTON, MASS.
BOSTON, FRIDAY, JANUARY 1, 1886.
I suppose I'm the aim of your eloquent battery,
And you wish for my rhymes as the pay for your flattery;
I own it accords with the ways of society,
And humbly I yield to the laws of propriety.
And you wish for my rhymes as the pay for your flattery;
I own it accords with the ways of society,
And humbly I yield to the laws of propriety.
You'll pardon my verse, if 't is undiplomatical,
Not Republican, Mugwump, or pure Democratical;
My calling is not to discussions political,
Nor yours, at a banquet, to be sharply critical.
Not Republican, Mugwump, or pure Democratical;
My calling is not to discussions political,
Nor yours, at a banquet, to be sharply critical.
To raise to a city this place of our habitat,
With aldermen, mayor, common council, and all of that,
Was better than marring the town and dividing it,
Or trotting some hobby out boldly and riding it,—
Making twain what is one by right systematical,
And calling that two which is one, geographical.
For praising it, people may charge us with vanity;
Not praising it, people would call it—insanity.
Our city régime was not sour grapes, pendulous;
But clusters, the fairest, of these we were emulous.
The young city, launched, like a ship on the sea to sail,
Was manned by a crew whose lot never should be to fail;
But, as good men and true need to props and no garnishing,
'T were useless to take up the business of varnishing.
My verse is sincere and hearty in praising them;
The people were wise to such office in raising them.
Fair city! they struck for success in beginning it,
And with every new year their successors are winning it.
It is just to speak well of the people who merit it;
Their praise, it is fair that their sons should inherit it.
They were temperate men, never charged with ebriety,
Whose walk, like a deacon's, was marked by sobriety;
Not ruled by some party end, blindly and slavishly,
Not planning, and fencing, and junketing knavishly;
Not famed, in debate, for their fluent loquacity,
Not noted, in contracts, for grasping rapacity;
Not eager to seek entertainments aquatical;
Not puffed, like balloons, with soaring ecstatical;
Not privily chasing some shadow they 're driving at,
And blind to foresee the ends they 're arriving at;
With their fame nibbled thin, by their secret chicanery,
Like fair ears of corn by a mouse in the granary;
Above playing fast, playing loose with their politics,
Like lobbyists, zealously plying their jolly tricks:
The men for the times,—and the times were a rarity,—
The times and the men were a wonderful parity.
Expenses, 't is true, in the ledger are debited,
But good things unnumbered, per contra, are credited.
So the first city fathers, we'll not rate them badly, sir,
But praise them, and toast them, and honor them gladly, sir.
Your power, good sirs, is a thing of the preterite,
If you did not rule well, 't is too late to better it;
Still, government measures are often a mystery,
But, foolish, or wise,—one year makes them history.
Methinks as we sit here, now eating, now talking fast,
The shades of the fathers are seen grimly stalking past,
Peering here, peering there, with their ancient eyes critical,
Charging this, charging that, as new-fangled, or mystical.
They list to the sound of our steam-engines, clattering;
They hear, in our fountains, the bright water pattering,
They see, in our grounds, fruits and flowers exotical,
And brand our new schemes as insane or quixotical;
Deem some things we do proofs of maddest audacity,
And some,—they must own,—showing highest capacity;
Accusing our speeches of bombast and platitude,
As if lack of depth could be made up in latitude.
O shades of the fathers, suspend your opinions, do,
Or hasten away to your silent dominions, do!
You judge Time's inventions amiss, from not knowing them,
Like men who judge fruits from the seeds, without sowing them;
We know these new things are too good to dispute on, sirs,
And we 're proud of the first city fathers of Newton, sirs.
With aldermen, mayor, common council, and all of that,
Was better than marring the town and dividing it,
Or trotting some hobby out boldly and riding it,—
Making twain what is one by right systematical,
And calling that two which is one, geographical.
For praising it, people may charge us with vanity;
Not praising it, people would call it—insanity.
Our city régime was not sour grapes, pendulous;
But clusters, the fairest, of these we were emulous.
The young city, launched, like a ship on the sea to sail,
Was manned by a crew whose lot never should be to fail;
121
'T were useless to take up the business of varnishing.
My verse is sincere and hearty in praising them;
The people were wise to such office in raising them.
Fair city! they struck for success in beginning it,
And with every new year their successors are winning it.
It is just to speak well of the people who merit it;
Their praise, it is fair that their sons should inherit it.
They were temperate men, never charged with ebriety,
Whose walk, like a deacon's, was marked by sobriety;
Not ruled by some party end, blindly and slavishly,
Not planning, and fencing, and junketing knavishly;
Not famed, in debate, for their fluent loquacity,
Not noted, in contracts, for grasping rapacity;
Not eager to seek entertainments aquatical;
Not puffed, like balloons, with soaring ecstatical;
Not privily chasing some shadow they 're driving at,
And blind to foresee the ends they 're arriving at;
With their fame nibbled thin, by their secret chicanery,
Like fair ears of corn by a mouse in the granary;
Above playing fast, playing loose with their politics,
Like lobbyists, zealously plying their jolly tricks:
The men for the times,—and the times were a rarity,—
The times and the men were a wonderful parity.
Expenses, 't is true, in the ledger are debited,
But good things unnumbered, per contra, are credited.
So the first city fathers, we'll not rate them badly, sir,
But praise them, and toast them, and honor them gladly, sir.
Your power, good sirs, is a thing of the preterite,
If you did not rule well, 't is too late to better it;
Still, government measures are often a mystery,
But, foolish, or wise,—one year makes them history.
122
The shades of the fathers are seen grimly stalking past,
Peering here, peering there, with their ancient eyes critical,
Charging this, charging that, as new-fangled, or mystical.
They list to the sound of our steam-engines, clattering;
They hear, in our fountains, the bright water pattering,
They see, in our grounds, fruits and flowers exotical,
And brand our new schemes as insane or quixotical;
Deem some things we do proofs of maddest audacity,
And some,—they must own,—showing highest capacity;
Accusing our speeches of bombast and platitude,
As if lack of depth could be made up in latitude.
O shades of the fathers, suspend your opinions, do,
Or hasten away to your silent dominions, do!
You judge Time's inventions amiss, from not knowing them,
Like men who judge fruits from the seeds, without sowing them;
We know these new things are too good to dispute on, sirs,
And we 're proud of the first city fathers of Newton, sirs.
123
SACRED, O GOD, TO THEE.
DEDICATION HYMN FOR THE DEDHAM HOME FOR WAIF BOYS.
Sacred, O God, to Thee,
This home of ours,
Its sunny slopes and fields,
Its peaceful bowers;
Sacred, O God, to Thee,
Thine may it ever be,—
Both Thine and ours.
This home of ours,
Its sunny slopes and fields,
Its peaceful bowers;
Sacred, O God, to Thee,
Thine may it ever be,—
Both Thine and ours.
Here may the children learn
To lisp Thy praise;
Here infant hearts grow strong
In wisdom's ways;
All that is evil spurn,
For all true goodness yearn,—
All to Thy praise.
To lisp Thy praise;
Here infant hearts grow strong
In wisdom's ways;
All that is evil spurn,
For all true goodness yearn,—
All to Thy praise.
And let Thy favor rest
On those whose love
Opened this rural home,
Garden, and grove;
As all the good are blest,
Thy blessing on them rest,
Heaven and love.
On those whose love
Opened this rural home,
Garden, and grove;
As all the good are blest,
Thy blessing on them rest,
Heaven and love.
After the weeping May,
Springs a bright June;
After a brief eclipse,
Shines the full moon;
After earth's twilight ray,
Be ours a peaceful day,—
Heaven's glorious noon.
Springs a bright June;
After a brief eclipse,
Shines the full moon;
After earth's twilight ray,
Be ours a peaceful day,—
Heaven's glorious noon.
June 11, 1886.
124
THE CONSECRATION OF A CEMETERY.
[_]
Written June 6, 1857, for the dedication of Newton Cemetery; also sung at dedication of Rose Hill Cemetery, Chicago, Ill.
Deep 'mid these dim and silent shades
The slumbering dead shall lie,
Tranquil as summer evening fades
Along the western sky.
The slumbering dead shall lie,
Tranquil as summer evening fades
Along the western sky.
The whispering winds shall linger here
To lull their deep repose,—
Like music on the dewy air,
Like nightfall on the rose.
To lull their deep repose,—
Like music on the dewy air,
Like nightfall on the rose.
Light through the twining boughs shall shed
Its calm and cheerful ray,
As hope springs from the dying bed
And points to perfect day.
Its calm and cheerful ray,
As hope springs from the dying bed
And points to perfect day.
Around each funeral urn shall cling
The fairest, freshest flowers,—
Emblem of heaven's eternal spring,
And brighter lands than ours.
The fairest, freshest flowers,—
Emblem of heaven's eternal spring,
And brighter lands than ours.
Gathered from thousand homes, the dust
In soft repose shall lie,
Like garnered seed in holy trust
For immortality.
In soft repose shall lie,
Like garnered seed in holy trust
For immortality.
Room for the households! till the morn
Its glories shall restore,
And on the silent sleepers dawn
The day that fades no more.
Its glories shall restore,
And on the silent sleepers dawn
The day that fades no more.
125
CHANGE AND WORK.
PROEM.
As I sat, on “the Fourth,” in the land of the free,
With the banner of freedom above my head waving,
And sang of the bliss which true liberty gives,
And praised the brave men who our blessings are saving,
With the banner of freedom above my head waving,
And sang of the bliss which true liberty gives,
And praised the brave men who our blessings are saving,
A vessel of war sailed down on my lee,
And calmly invited my bark to surrender,
With broadsides of compliments, such as you hear,
When the borrower comes to pay court to the lender.
And calmly invited my bark to surrender,
With broadsides of compliments, such as you hear,
When the borrower comes to pay court to the lender.
I found it was useless to plead for release,
Or in terms of excuse to beseech him for quarter;
What landsman would venture to parry with words,
The shots of an iron-clad craft of the water?
Or in terms of excuse to beseech him for quarter;
What landsman would venture to parry with words,
The shots of an iron-clad craft of the water?
For safety, steer clear of all naval rigs,
Or gun-boats or monitors, frigates or brigs.
My bark to his mercy, I chose to surrender,—
“Lady Muse” is her name; of course he'll defend her.
Or gun-boats or monitors, frigates or brigs.
My bark to his mercy, I chose to surrender,—
“Lady Muse” is her name; of course he'll defend her.
So, here, Mr. Briggs, is your poem on “work;”
I could n't refuse it, you good-natured Turk;
You 're a despot of learning, and in power to-day;
So be absolute monarch, and have your own way!
I could n't refuse it, you good-natured Turk;
You 're a despot of learning, and in power to-day;
So be absolute monarch, and have your own way!
126
POEM.
In nursery, college, work, fashion, and art;
In country and city, in village and mart;
In trade and mechanics, on land and on sea;
In climes ruled by despots, or ruled by the free;
Where flashes the flame of war's lurid glare;
Where wave the sweet banners of peace on the air;
In tropical heat, in the teeth of the cold,
With the youthful and fair, the wrinkled and old;
In circles polite, with the rough honest seamen;
In London, Berlin, Caffreland, and Van Dieman,—
It reigns over all, with a merciless sceptre,
Since Eve took the fruit,—O, had Adam but kept her,
Through grace, this great tyrant one triumph had lost,
And Earth's first temptation no sorrow had cost.
In country and city, in village and mart;
In trade and mechanics, on land and on sea;
In climes ruled by despots, or ruled by the free;
Where flashes the flame of war's lurid glare;
Where wave the sweet banners of peace on the air;
In tropical heat, in the teeth of the cold,
With the youthful and fair, the wrinkled and old;
In circles polite, with the rough honest seamen;
In London, Berlin, Caffreland, and Van Dieman,—
It reigns over all, with a merciless sceptre,
Since Eve took the fruit,—O, had Adam but kept her,
Through grace, this great tyrant one triumph had lost,
And Earth's first temptation no sorrow had cost.
I sing no new theme; everywhere you shall find it:
No force can resist, no fetters can bind it;
No genius of man can command it away;
No strength but must bow, its nod to obey;
No bribe, no condition, can limit the range
Of that power despotic, ubiquitous,—Change!
No force can resist, no fetters can bind it;
No genius of man can command it away;
No strength but must bow, its nod to obey;
No bribe, no condition, can limit the range
Of that power despotic, ubiquitous,—Change!
It comes in our troubles, our bondage to sever;
Without it would toothache be toothache forever.
It rouses, but calms, the wild billows at sea;
It gathers the storm, but compels it to flee;
Wakes daylight from gloom, and purples each ray
That beams in the west at the setting of day;
Spreads earth in the spring with a mantle of pride;
And whitens and jewels it o'er like a bride,
When the nuts have been cracked by the frosts of October,
And beauty autumnal, grown silent and sober,
Rests under the snow,—fair mantle, but strange,
Wrought to hide like a pall, the triumph of Change!
Without it would toothache be toothache forever.
It rouses, but calms, the wild billows at sea;
It gathers the storm, but compels it to flee;
Wakes daylight from gloom, and purples each ray
That beams in the west at the setting of day;
Spreads earth in the spring with a mantle of pride;
And whitens and jewels it o'er like a bride,
When the nuts have been cracked by the frosts of October,
And beauty autumnal, grown silent and sober,
127
Wrought to hide like a pall, the triumph of Change!
We hate it; we love it, avoid it, or seek.
We praise what endures; yet, with attitude meek,
A change of condition we anxiously woo,—
Convinced 't will be better, if only 't is new.
We praise what endures; yet, with attitude meek,
A change of condition we anxiously woo,—
Convinced 't will be better, if only 't is new.
So begs the fair child, as he runs from his play,
And stands by the side of his grandmother gray,
To see the new volume of pictures just bought,
Of things never seen and of battles ne'er fought,
To turn every leaf, with the hastiest kiss,
In love with the next, impatient of this;
The glance of an instant, enough for his brain;
The scenery must then be shifted again.
The child, like a mirror, reflects but the man,—
Two sizes worked out on the very same plan.
And stands by the side of his grandmother gray,
To see the new volume of pictures just bought,
Of things never seen and of battles ne'er fought,
To turn every leaf, with the hastiest kiss,
In love with the next, impatient of this;
The glance of an instant, enough for his brain;
The scenery must then be shifted again.
The child, like a mirror, reflects but the man,—
Two sizes worked out on the very same plan.
The farmer, uneasy, is weary of toil,
Despises the slow-growing wealth of the soil;
Aspires to be rich in a day without work,
To eat like an alderman, smoke like a Turk.
Leaving turnips and hay, he sells buttons and braid.
He stocks a fine store, plays gymnastics in trade;
Talks wisely of tariffs and duties and laces,
Of cases of goods, and of fraudulent cases;
Drives a fine, fancy horse, buys a costly piano,
And frowns if they say his wealth smells of guano;
Consumes in one year what he gathered in ten,
And must climb from the foot of the ladder again.
Despises the slow-growing wealth of the soil;
Aspires to be rich in a day without work,
To eat like an alderman, smoke like a Turk.
Leaving turnips and hay, he sells buttons and braid.
He stocks a fine store, plays gymnastics in trade;
Talks wisely of tariffs and duties and laces,
Of cases of goods, and of fraudulent cases;
Drives a fine, fancy horse, buys a costly piano,
And frowns if they say his wealth smells of guano;
Consumes in one year what he gathered in ten,
And must climb from the foot of the ladder again.
He thought he should see his broad acres extend;
Have money in plenty, to use and to lend;
Take his wife to the mountains, the sea or the springs;
Wear broadcloth the finest, and costliest rings;
In talk about politics take his full share;
And live, dainty soul, untroubled by care,
In fashion recherché, a life without labor,
Assured of success, like some fortunate neighbor;—
But no farmer grows rich who sets up for a shirk,
Or aims, when turned merchant, to live without work.
Have money in plenty, to use and to lend;
Take his wife to the mountains, the sea or the springs;
Wear broadcloth the finest, and costliest rings;
128
And live, dainty soul, untroubled by care,
In fashion recherché, a life without labor,
Assured of success, like some fortunate neighbor;—
But no farmer grows rich who sets up for a shirk,
Or aims, when turned merchant, to live without work.
The land swarms with men of that gaseous body,
The self-styled élite,—the American shoddy,
Raised up from the shop or the loom, in a day,
By arts reckoned honest, because “it will pay;”
But all things good and great, of human pursuit,
Are of patience and time the slow-growing fruit.
The gourd that grows swiftly, as swiftly may die;
The wealth quickly won, as quickly may fly;
The coral, reared up from the depths of the waves,
Where sea-monsters sport in their dim-lighted caves,
The effort of ages, built, grain upon grain,
Is slowly constructed, but long shall remain.
The self-styled élite,—the American shoddy,
Raised up from the shop or the loom, in a day,
By arts reckoned honest, because “it will pay;”
But all things good and great, of human pursuit,
Are of patience and time the slow-growing fruit.
The gourd that grows swiftly, as swiftly may die;
The wealth quickly won, as quickly may fly;
The coral, reared up from the depths of the waves,
Where sea-monsters sport in their dim-lighted caves,
The effort of ages, built, grain upon grain,
Is slowly constructed, but long shall remain.
So springs, with bright promise, the germ from the shell,
Where, hidden, it lay in its prison-like cell;
And, nurtured by sunlight, by heat, dew, and rain,
It waves on the hill, it smiles o'er the plain;
It drinks every morning the sweet-scented dew,
Still drinking, and growing, and drinking anew;
It bathes in the glory of noon-tide and even,
But slowly matures,—like mortals for heaven.
[OMITTED]
He whom pain cannot conquer, nor hardship can foil,
Grows great by endurance, grows nobler by toil;
And fragrant with good are the paths which he trod,
And grand is his rest in the bosom of God!
Where, hidden, it lay in its prison-like cell;
And, nurtured by sunlight, by heat, dew, and rain,
It waves on the hill, it smiles o'er the plain;
It drinks every morning the sweet-scented dew,
Still drinking, and growing, and drinking anew;
It bathes in the glory of noon-tide and even,
But slowly matures,—like mortals for heaven.
[OMITTED]
He whom pain cannot conquer, nor hardship can foil,
Grows great by endurance, grows nobler by toil;
And fragrant with good are the paths which he trod,
And grand is his rest in the bosom of God!
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