 | Poems of home and country |  |
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.
| Poems of home and country | |