Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 46

I shall leave the old house in the autumn To traverse the threshold no more, Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door.

I shall miss the good-nights and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee; The group on the green and the flowers That are brought every morning to me.

I shall miss them at morn and at evening.

Their song in the school and the street, I shall miss the low hum of their voices And the tramp of their delicate feet.

When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And death says the school is dismissed, May the little ones gather around me To bid me good-night and be kissed.

_Charles M. d.i.c.kinson._

The King and the Child

The sunlight shone on walls of stone, And towers sublime and tall, King Alfred sat upon his throne Within his council hall.

And glancing o'er the splendid throng, With grave and solemn face, To where his n.o.ble va.s.sals stood, He saw a vacant place.

"Where is the Earl of Holderness?"

With anxious look, he said.

"Alas, O King!" a courtier cried, "The n.o.ble Earl is dead!"

Before the monarch could express The sorrow that he felt, A soldier, with a war-worn face, Approached the throne, and knelt.

"My sword," he said, "has ever been, O King, at thy command, And many a proud and haughty Dane Has fallen by my hand.

"I've fought beside thee in the field, And 'neath the greenwood tree; It is but fair for thee to give Yon vacant place to me."

"It is not just," a statesman cried, "This soldier's prayer to hear, My wisdom has done more for thee Than either sword or spear.

"The victories of thy council hall Have made thee more renown Than all the triumphs of the field Have given to thy crown.

"My name is known in every land, My talents have been thine, Bestow this Earldom, then, on me, For it is justly mine."

Yet, while before the monarch's throne These men contending stood, A woman crossed the floor, who wore The weeds of widowhood.

And slowly to King Alfred's feet A fair-haired boy she led-- "O King, this is the rightful heir Of Holderness," she said.

"Helpless, he comes to claim his own, Let no man do him wrong, For he is weak and fatherless, And thou art just and strong."

"What strength or power," the statesman cried, "Could such a judgement bring?

Can such a feeble child as this Do aught for thee, O King?

"When thou hast need of brawny arms To draw thy deadly bows, When thou art wanting crafty men To crush thy mortal foes."

With earnest voice the fair young boy Replied: "I cannot fight, But I can pray to G.o.d, O King, And G.o.d can give thee might!"

The King bent down and kissed the child, The courtiers turned away, "The heritage is thine," he said, "Let none thy right gainsay.

"Our swords may cleave the casques of men, Our blood may stain the sod, But what are human strength and power Without the help of G.o.d?"

_Eugene J. Hall._

Try, Try Again

'Tis a lesson you should heed, Try, try again; If at first you don't succeed, Try, try again; Then your courage shall appear, For if you will persevere, You will conquer, never fear, Try, try again.

Once or twice though you should fail, Try, try again; If at last you would prevail, Try, try again; If we strive 'tis no disgrace Tho' we may not win the race, What should you do in that case?

Try, try again.

If you find your task is hard, Try, try again; Time will bring you your reward, Try, try again; All that other folks can do, Why, with patience, may not you?

Only keep this rule in view, Try, try again.

Indian Names

Ye say they all have pa.s.sed away--that n.o.ble race and brave, That their light canoes have vanished from off the crested wave; That,'mid the forests where they roamed, there rings no hunter's shout, But their name is on your waters--ye may not wash it out.

'Tis where Ontario's billow like ocean's surge is curled, Where strong Niagara's thunders wake the echo of the world; Where red Missouri bringeth rich tribute from the west, And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps on green Virginia's breast.

Ye say their cone-like cabins, that cl.u.s.tered o'er the vale, Have fled away like withered leaves, before the autumn's gale; But their memory liveth on your hills, their baptism on your sh.o.r.e, Your everlasting rivers speak their dialect of yore.

Old Ma.s.sachusetts wears it upon her lordly crown, And broad Ohio bears it amid his young renown; Connecticut hath wreathed it where her quiet foliage waves, And bold Kentucky breathes it hoa.r.s.e through all her ancient caves.

Wachusett hides its lingering voice within his rocky heart, And Alleghany graves its tone throughout his lofty chart; Monadnock on his forehead h.o.a.r doth seal the sacred trust; Your mountains build their monument, though ye destroy their dust.

Ye call those red-browed brethren the insects of an hour, Crushed like the noteless worm amid the regions of their power; Ye drive them from their fathers' lands, ye break of faith the seal, But can ye from the court of heaven exclude their last appeal?

Ye see their unresisting tribes, with toilsome steps and slow, On through the trackless desert pa.s.s, a caravan of woe.

Think ye the Eternal Ear is deaf? His sleepless vision dim?

Think ye the soul's blood may not cry from that far land to Him?

_Lydia H. Sigourney._

More Cruel Than War

(During the Civil War, a Southern prisoner at Camp Chase in Ohio lay sick in the hospital. He confided to a friend, Colonel Hawkins of Tennessee, that he was grieving because his fiancee, a Nashville girl, had not written to him. The soldier died soon afterward, Colonel Hawkins having promised to open and answer any mail that came for him. This poem is in reply to a letter from his friend's fiancee, in which she curtly broke the engagement.)