Poetry quotes

Shut the darkness and the doubt, Shut the storm and conflict, out; Wind and hail and snow and rain Dash against thee all in vain. Let in nothing from the night— Let in every ray of light!

Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul;

Love is the only angel who can bid the gates unroll; And when he comes to call thee, arise and follow fast; His way may lie through darkness, but it leads to light at last.

Something to learn, and something to forget: Hold fast the good, and seek the better yet: Press on, and prove the pilgrim-hope of youth:

The Creeds are milestones on the road to Truth.

When I beheld the splendour of the night, And all the misty myriad of her stars, Forever swinging on their paths of light, Far out beyond our system’s narrow bars, I marvelled that the glory of God’s birth Had fallen only on this little earth.

Unto the prisoners and the sick he gave New tortures, horrible, without a name; Unto the thirsty, blood to drink; a sword Unto the hungry; with a robe of shame He clad the naked, making life abhorred;

He saved by slaughter, and denied a grave.

But thou, my country, though no fault be thine For that red horror far across the sea;

Yet from all the ceaseless flow And turmoil of the restless element Came neither song of joy nor sob of grief;

For there were many waters, but no voice.

Silent the actors all on Nature’s stage Performed their parts before her watchful eyes, Coming and going, making war and love, Working and playing, all without a sound. The oxen drew their load with swaying necks; The cows came sauntering home along the lane;

For in these, However sad, she felt the note of truth,

And truth, though sad, is always musical.

The raging of the tempest-ridden sea, The crash of thunder, and the hollow moan Of winds complaining round the mountain-crags, The shrill and quavering cry of birds of prey, The fiercer roar of conflict-loving beasts— All these wild sounds are potent in their place Within …

For thou hast met the Master’s hidden test, And I have found the man who loves Him best. Not thine, nor mine, to question or reply When He commands us, asking ‘how?’ or ‘why?’ He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just;

Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust.

”

Yet think not Earth is blind to human woes—

Man has more friends and helpers than he knows;

And when a patient people are oppressed, The land that bore them feels it in her breast. Spirits of field and flood, of heath and hill, Are grieved and angry at the spreading ill;

Birds that every springtime sung him full of joy, Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of my boy. Somewhere he is waiting till my steps come nigh;

Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die.

Heart, be glad, The little lad Will call again to thee: “Father dear, “Heaven is here, “Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!”

Your breezy humour cleared the air, with sport Of shams that haunt the democratic court; For even where the sovereign people rule,

A human monarch needs a royal fool.

Your native drawl lent flavour to your wit; Your arrows lingered but they always hit; Homeric mirth around the circle ran, But left no wound upon the heart of man.

Mournfully bewailing—“Ah, my honey-makers, where have you departed?” Far and wide he sought them over sea and shore; Foolish is the tale that says he ever found them, brought them home in triumph—

Joys that once escape us fly for evermore.

Yet I dream that somewhere, clad in downy whiteness, dwell the honey-makers, In aerial gardens that no mortal sees: And at times returning, lo, they flutter round us, gathering mystic harvest— So I weave the legend of the long-lost bees.

Ah, think not early love alone is strong; He loveth best whose heart has learned to wait: Dear messenger of Spring that tarried long,

You’re doubly dear because you come so late.

Yes, it was like you to forget, And cancel in the welcome of your smile My deep arrears of debt, And with the putting forth of both your hands To sweep away the bars my folly set Between us—bitter thoughts, and harsh demands, And reckless …

Nay, but not silent the hearts that were filled by that life-giving sea; Deeper and purer forever the tides of their being will roll, Grateful and joyful, O Master, because they have listened to thee;

The glory of music endures in the depths of the human soul.

“Two things,” the wise man said, “fill me with awe: The starry heavens and the moral law.” Nay, add another wonder to thy roll— The living marvel of the human soul!

And why not ours—to-morrow—who can tell?

The lucky chance awaits the fearless heart!

These are the longest days of all the year; The world is round and God is everywhere, And while our shallop floats we still can steer.

Every deed of love and kindness Done to man is done to Thee. Jesus, Thou divine Companion, Help us all to work our best; Bless us in our daily labor, Lead us to our Sabbath rest.

Blessed is the man that beholdeth the face of a friend in a far country,

The darkness of his heart is melted by the dawning of day within him,

It is like the sound of a sweet music heard long ago and half forgotten: It is like the coming back of birds to a wood when the winter is ended.

I knew not the sweetness of the fountain till I found it flowing in the desert,

Nor the value of a friend till we met in a land that was crowded and lonely.

The cattle also are very glad of a great tree, They chew the cud beneath it while the sun is burning, And there the panting sheep lie down around their shepherd.

He that planteth a tree is a servant of God,

He provideth a kindness for many generations, And faces that he hath not seen shall bless him.

The lizard rested on the rock while I sat among the ruins,

And the pride of man was like a vision of the night.

Lo, the lords of the city have disappeared into darkness, The ancient wilderness hath swallowed up all their work.

This is the glory that is stronger than the desert;

God hath given eternity to the thought of man.

The ways of the world are full of haste and turmoil; I will sing of the tribe of the helpers who travel in peace.

Oh, who could help likin’ the salty smell, and the blue Of the waves that are lazily breathin’ as if they dreamed in the sun?

She’s a Sleepin’ Beauty, the sea⁠—but you can’t tell what she’ll do;

And the seamen never trust her—they know too well what she’s done!

Go write your song of the sea as the landsmen do, And call her your “great sweet mother,” your “bride,” and all the rest; She was made to be loved—but remember, she won’t love you—

The men who trust her the least are the sailors who know her the best.

Honour the brave who sleep Where the lost Titanic lies, The men who knew what a man must do When he looks Death in the eyes.

A deeper crimson in the rose, A deeper blue in sky and sea, And ever, as the summer goes,

A deeper loss in losing thee!

A deeper music in the strain Of hermit-thrush from lonely tree; And deeper grows the sense of gain My life has found in having thee.

Read here, O friend unknown, Our grief, of her bereft; Yet think not tears alone Within our hearts are left. The gifts she came to give, Her heavenly love and cheer, Have made us glad to live And die without a fear.

Far richer than a thornless rose Whose branch with beauty never glows,

Is that which every June adorns With perfect bloom among its thorns.

Far richer than a thornless rose Whose branch with beauty never glows, Is that which every June adorns With perfect bloom among its thorns.

Merely to live without a pain Is little gladness, little gain,

Ah, welcome joy tho’ mixt with grief— The thorn-set flower that crowns the leaf.

We’ll see the blue-quail chickens, an’ hear ’em pipin’ clear; An’ p’raps we’ll sight a brown-bear, er else a bunch o’ deer; But nary a heathen goddess or god ’ill meet our eyes; For why? There isn’t any! They’re jest a pack o’ lies!

Oh, wot’s the use o’ “red gods,” an’ “Pan,” an’ all that stuff? The natcheral facts o’ Springtime is wonderful enuff!

An’ if there’s Someone made ’em, I guess He understood, To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good.

Oh, wot’s the use o’ “red gods,” an’ “Pan,” an’ all that stuff? The natcheral facts o’ Springtime is wonderful enuff! An’ if there’s Someone made ’em, I guess He understood,

To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good.

Oh, the angler’s path is a very merry way, And his road through the world is bright; For he lives with the laughing stream all day, And he lies by the fire at night.

Our fathers drank to Santa Claus, the sixth of each December, And still we keep his feast because his virtues we remember. Among the saintly ranks he stood, with smiling human features, And said,

“Be good! But not too good to love your fellow-creatures!”

A modern verse-sequence, showing how a native American subject, strictly realistic, may be treated in various manners adapted to the requirements of different magazines, thus combining Art-for-Art’s-Sake with Writing-for-the-Market. Read at the First Dinner of the American Periodical Publishers’ Association, in Washington, April, 1904.

but always recollect That Nature gives us less than we expect. Scorn not the city where you earn the wealth That, spent upon your farms, renews your health; And tell your wife, whene’er the bills have shocked her, “

A country-place is cheaper than a doctor.

” May roses bloom for you, and may you find Your richest harvest in a tranquil mind.

I am the puppet, they pull the strings; The blood of my heart is the wine they drink. I will govern myself for awhile I think, And see what that brings!”

Then God, who made the first remark, Smiled in the dark.

Read at the meeting of the American Academy, Boston, November, 1915

Read at the meeting of the American Academy, Boston, November, 1915

If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts’ cage;

If Right made Might, this were the golden age; But now, until we win the long campaign, Right must gain Might to conquer and to reign.

If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts’ cage; If Right made Might, this were the golden age; But now, until we win the long campaign,

Right must gain Might to conquer and to reign.

Peace without Justice is a low estate— A coward cringing to an iron Fate! But Peace through Justice is the great ideal— We’ll pay the price of war to make it real.

If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts’ cage; If Right made Might, this were the golden age; But now, until we win the long campaign, Right must gain Might to conquer and to reign.

Peace without Justice is a low estate⁠—

A coward cringing to an iron Fate! But Peace through Justice is the great ideal— We’ll pay the price of war to make it real.

True love will conquer strife, And strength from conflict flows,

For discord is the thorn of life And harmony the rose.

The gabled roofs of old Malines Are russet red and gray and green, And o’er them in the sunset hour Looms, dark and huge, St. Rombold’s tower.

unending trains are rolled Along thy network rails of East and West; Thy factories and forges never rest; Thou art enriched in all things bought and sold!

But dost thou prosper? Better news I crave.

O dearest country, is it well with thee Indeed, and is thy soul in health? A nobler people, hearts more wisely brave, And thoughts that lift men up and make them free— These are prosperity and vital wealth!

The glory of ships is an old, old song, since the days when the sea-rovers ran, In their open boats through the roaring surf, and the spread of the world began;

The glory of ships is a light on the sea, and a star in the story of man.

When Homer sang of the galleys of Greece that conquered the Trojan shore, And Solomon lauded the barks of Tyre that brought great wealth to his door, ’Twas little they knew, those ancient men, what would come of the sail and the oar.

Stand up, my heart, and strive For the things most dear to thee!

Why should we care to be alive Unless the world is free?

The winds of war-news change and veer: Now westerly and full of cheer, Now easterly, depressing, sour With tidings of the Teutons’ power.

Sagittarius—The Archer.

Life is an arrow, therefore you must know What mark to aim at, how to use the bow⁠—

Then draw it to the head and let it go!

Capricornus—The Goat. The goat looks solemn, yet he likes to run, And leap the rocks, and gambol in the sun:

The truly wise enjoy a little fun.

Aquarius—Water. “Like water spilt upon the ground,”—alas, Our little lives flow swiftly on and pass; Yet may they bring rich harvests and green grass!

Aquarius—Water.

“Like water spilt upon the ground,”⁠—alas, Our little lives flow swiftly on and pass;

Yet may they bring rich harvests and green grass!

Pisces—The Fishes. Last of the sacred signs, you bring to me A word of hope, a word of mystery—

We all are swimmers in God’s mighty sea.

The rough expanse of democratic sea Which parts the lands that live by liberty Is no division; for their hearts are one. To fight together till their cause is won.

Beyond the circle of the sea, When voyaging is past, We seek our final port in Thee; O bring us home at last. In Thee we trust, whate’er befall;

Thy sea is great, our boats are small.

Thy wisdom and Thy might appear, Eternal God, through every year; From day to day, from hour to hour, Thy works reveal self-ordered power.

His branches were sweet with the balsam smell, His needles were green when the white snow fell. And always contented and happy was he— The very best kind of a Christmas tree.

Oh, was I born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late,

That I am going out the door while you come in the gate? For you the garden blooms galore, the castle is en fête; You are the coming guest, my dear—for me the horses wait.

The measure of life is a flame in the soul: It is neither swift nor slow. But the vision of time is the shadow cast By the fleeting world on the body’s wall; When it fades there is neither future nor past,

But love is all in all.

You only promised me a single hour: But in that hour I journeyed through a year Of life:

How long is a life, dear God, And how fast does it flow?

The measure of life is a flame in the soul:

It is neither swift nor slow. But the vision of time is the shadow cast By the fleeting world on the body’s wall; When it fades there is neither future nor past, But love is all in all.

The double cross then filled thine azure field, In token of a spirit loath to yield The breaking ties that bound thee to a throne. But not for long thine oriflamme could bear That symbol of an outworn trust in kings.

The wind that bore thee out on widening wings

Called for a greater sign and all thine own— A new device to speak of heavenly laws And lights that surely guide the people’s cause.