 | Complete Poems of Frances E. W. Harper |  |
LESSONS OF THE STREET
Walking through life's dusty highways,
Mid the tramp of hurrying feet,
We may gather such instruction,
From the lessons ‘of the street’.
Mid the tramp of hurrying feet,
We may gather such instruction,
From the lessons ‘of the street’.
209
Now a beggar sues for succor—
Nay, repress that look of pride!
'Neath that wrecked and shattered body
Doth a human soul reside.
Nay, repress that look of pride!
'Neath that wrecked and shattered body
Doth a human soul reside.
Here's a brow that seems to tell you,
‘I am prematurely old;
I have spent my youthful vigor
In an eager search for gold’.
‘I am prematurely old;
I have spent my youthful vigor
In an eager search for gold’.
On the cheek of yon pale student
Is a divorcement most unkind—
'Tis the cruel separation
Of his body from his mind.
Is a divorcement most unkind—
'Tis the cruel separation
Of his body from his mind.
Here a painted child of shame
Flaunts in costly robes of sin,
With a reckless mirth that cannot
Hide the smoldering fires within.
Flaunts in costly robes of sin,
With a reckless mirth that cannot
Hide the smoldering fires within.
And here's a face so calm and mild,
Mid the restless din and strife;
It seems to say in every line,
‘I'm aiming for a higher life’.
Mid the restless din and strife;
It seems to say in every line,
‘I'm aiming for a higher life’.
Just then I caught a mournful glance,
As on the human river rushed,
A harrowing look which plainly said,
‘The music of my life is hushed’.
As on the human river rushed,
A harrowing look which plainly said,
‘The music of my life is hushed’.
Look on that face, so deathly pale,
Its bloom and flush forever fled;
I started, for it seemed to bear
A message to the silent dead.
Its bloom and flush forever fled;
I started, for it seemed to bear
A message to the silent dead.
Thus hurries on the stream of life,
To empty where Death's waters meet;
We pass along, we pass away—
Thus end the lessons of the street.
To empty where Death's waters meet;
We pass along, we pass away—
Thus end the lessons of the street.
| Complete Poems of Frances E. W. Harper | |