 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
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A GROUP OF BIRTHDAY VERSES
WRITTEN ON THE ROAD.
Out in the sunshine fair and free,
Flecked by the blossoming, re-born tree,
Bathed in the pale, pure light of Spring,
While men look up, and the glad birds sing,—
There, dear friend, let thy reck'ning be,
So let thy birthdays come to thee!
Flecked by the blossoming, re-born tree,
Bathed in the pale, pure light of Spring,
While men look up, and the glad birds sing,—
There, dear friend, let thy reck'ning be,
So let thy birthdays come to thee!
Firm as the tall, brave trunks around;
Full of life as the flower-full ground;
Free as the boughs that sweep the blue;
Bright as the violet's sudden hue;—
So let thy life-long reck'ning be,
So let thy birthdays come to thee!
Full of life as the flower-full ground;
Free as the boughs that sweep the blue;
Bright as the violet's sudden hue;—
So let thy life-long reck'ning be,
So let thy birthdays come to thee!
It was cool and gray in the twilight morn—
A prophecy sweetest—when thou wast born;
And if daylight gathered a cloud or two
That floated beside thee when life was new,
Thy noon will be sunny and clear, I know,
And holy and peaceful thine evening glow:
For good and true shall thy reck'ning be
Till all thy birthdays are come to thee.
A prophecy sweetest—when thou wast born;
And if daylight gathered a cloud or two
That floated beside thee when life was new,
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And holy and peaceful thine evening glow:
For good and true shall thy reck'ning be
Till all thy birthdays are come to thee.
MILE-STONES.
Mile-stones fair on the road of life,Thy birthdays bright appear—
One by one, erect and clear,
Triumphant, and with meaning rife.
Lead on, O birthdays of my friend,
With joy and peace between!
And be ye guides and monuments
Of all that he hath been,
And all he is, and yet shall be
Through time and blest eternity!
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“EVERY DAY A BIRTHDAY IS.”
Every day a birthday is,
Into an unknown world:
Into an unknown world:
Life, with its changes infinite,
Keepeth its counsel well;
The gain, the good, the sin in it
Only each day may tell.
Between the dawns comes man's first breath;
Between the dawns, man's hour of death.
Keepeth its counsel well;
The gain, the good, the sin in it
Only each day may tell.
Between the dawns comes man's first breath;
Between the dawns, man's hour of death.
Yet, by the twelvemonth do we keep
The record of our stay:
The record of our stay:
So, when, no longer desolate,
Forests grow green and sweet,
And nature in her fair estate
Flings blossoms at thy feet,
We hail thee, richer by a year,—
We hail thee, comrade tried and dear!
Forests grow green and sweet,
And nature in her fair estate
Flings blossoms at thy feet,
We hail thee, richer by a year,—
We hail thee, comrade tried and dear!
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Wishing is giving—soul to soul.
What shall I wish this day?
What shall I wish this day?
I wish thee peace and happiness,
And work and honored meed;
I wish thy sorrows tardiness,
And every joy God-speed!
I wish thee all I may, dear friend;
God's grace; and manhood to the end!
And work and honored meed;
I wish thy sorrows tardiness,
And every joy God-speed!
I wish thee all I may, dear friend;
God's grace; and manhood to the end!
ONE DAY IN MAY.
It passed us by—I know not why—
Without a sign or token;
Another year in gliding by
No parting word had spoken!
Without a sign or token;
Another year in gliding by
No parting word had spoken!
It went its way one day in May
When Time was softly speeding:
A brave, fresh year before thee lay,
And there I sat, unheeding!
When Time was softly speeding:
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And there I sat, unheeding!
Then she, the good, in tender mood
Spoke of the years' swift gliding,
And I—the laggard!—understood
The thing thou hadst been hiding.
Spoke of the years' swift gliding,
And I—the laggard!—understood
The thing thou hadst been hiding.
By twilight's glow, sweet flowers we brought
And gave thee happy greeting;
In cheery, home-lit ways we sought
To mark the day's completing.
And gave thee happy greeting;
In cheery, home-lit ways we sought
To mark the day's completing.
Thus, one by one, they westward run—
Thy years; and so we find them
A proud surprise, at set of sun,—
A trail of flowers behind them.
Thy years; and so we find them
A proud surprise, at set of sun,—
A trail of flowers behind them.
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |