Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 58

Ah! you are so great, and I am so small, I hardly can think of you, World, at all; And yet, when I said my prayers today, A whisper within me seemed to say: "You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot!

You can love and think, and the Earth can not."

_William Brighty Rands._

Be Strong

Be strong!

We are not here to play, to dream, to drift; We have hard work to do, and loads to lift; Shun not the struggle--face it; 'tis G.o.d's gift.

Be strong!

Say not, "The days are evil. Who's to blame?"

And fold the hands and acquiesce--oh shame!

Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in G.o.d's name.

Be strong!

It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong.

How hard the battle goes, the day how long; Faint not--fight on! To-morrow comes the song.

_Maltbie Davenport Babc.o.c.k._

Song: The Owl

When cats run home and light is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round, Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.

When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the c.o.c.k hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.

_Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

Opportunity

Master of human destinies am I!

Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait.

Cities and fields I walk: I penetrate Deserts and fields remote, and, pa.s.sing by Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate!

If sleeping, wake: if feasting, rise before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death; but those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury and woe, Seek me in vain and uselessly implore-- I answer not, and I return no more.

_John J. Ingalls._

Opportunity

They do me wrong who say I come no more When once I knock and fail to find you in; For every day I stand outside your door And bid you wake and rise to fight and win.

Wail not for precious chances pa.s.sed away!

Weep not for golden ages on the wane!

Each night I burn the records of the day; At sunrise every soul is born again.

Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped; To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, But never bind a moment yet to come.

Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep; I lend an arm to all who say: "I can!"

No shamefac'd outcast ever sank so deep But yet might rise and be again a man.

Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast?

Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow?

Then turn from blotted archives of the past And find the future's pages white as snow!

Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell; Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven!

Each morning gives thee wings to flee from h.e.l.l; Each night a star to guide thy feet to Heaven.

_Walter Malone._

Sweet and Low

(_From "The Princess"_)

Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon; Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

_Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

The Barefoot Boy

Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!

With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace: From, my heart I give thee joy,-- I was once a barefoot boy!