To skim the surface of knowledge,And seldom its root to reach,Is arecipeone may offerTo direct "How Not To Teach."
To skim the surface of knowledge,And seldom its root to reach,Is arecipeone may offerTo direct "How Not To Teach."
I know of no profession'Mong profane or divine,Excelling in its missionThe power embraced in mine.It reaches earth and heavenThrough heart and soul of man,It lives beyond the present—Eternity doth span.Mind in its first formation,While in its plastic state,Receives primal impressionsWhich make it vile or great.When soil of thought is fertileAnd ready for the seeds,It may bring precious fruitage,Or vile and noxious weeds.No sower should be careless,For harvest much dependsUpon the well-selected seeds,With mental soil he blends.If field be rich and mellowAnd no good seed be sown,With tangled mass of vilenessIt will be overgrown,And shield the deadly serpent,The basilisk of sin,That far exhales its pois'nous breath,Then crawls its den within.No atoms of pollutionIn matter e'er was known,So vile or so destructiveAs soul by sin o'erthrown.The vilest spot upon the earth,Through sunshine, air, and rain,May be transformed in ev'ry partAnd purified again.The fields where chaos reigned supremeAnd Nature frowned aghast,By patient-toil have fruitage borneAnd blossomed fragrance cast.The wreck of spheres by traction's lawsHurled wildly into space,May gather atoms round itselfAnd find some resting placeWhere it may serve creation's end,And 'mong the planets roll,True to the laws of gravityThat marks its outer pole.The mind and soul can neverWithin themselves find rest,When all the sin's pollutionsAre harbored in the breast.Then sow good seed, brave teacher,And deeply plant with care,That both here and hereafterRich harvest it may bear.The sowing may be silent—It may be but a tear,Its strength is in its purpose,Its aim must be sincere.It should not be a rite or creed,But wider far than these,It should encompass God and man,Home and antipodes.To learn the truths of science,Know tables, books and charts,To analyze the potent thrillThat fires all earnest hearts,To revel in the mysteriesThat lie deep in the earth,To give the proper dataWhen planets had their birth,To know the exact elementsThat constitute the sun,The causes why swift currentsWithin the ocean run,The ratio of the vaporsThat color sunset skies,Time's infinitesimal fractionWhen planets set and rise,To solve the problems of the air,The secrets of the deep,Are all intrinsic subjectsAnd worthy of our keep.But these alone are worthless,They need augmented forceTo lead mind toward the fountainFrom which it had its source.They leave one vital question—Development of man—Without e'en crude solution,Without a working plan.They leave the mighty problemOf Maker and the Made,Devoid of any sequence,Or any plan portrayed.These are of greatest momentTo persons and to State,Upon their wise adjustmentMust hang progression's fate.Cold are the truths of science,Lifeless their every plan,Until in living presence,They're crystalized in man.As hidden truths are uselessAnd aid not human skill,So slumber mighty forcesThrough lack of human will.To know the right is not enough,It must be given powerThrough culture of the heart and soul,If it shall blessings shower.To State, to manhood and to GodMust mind be wholly given,Ere truth will shine a beacon light,To illumine earth and heaven.All things were made but to subserveMan's powers to improve,And beautify his being hereThrough charity and love.Power, gold, and wealth are agenciesPlaced in a creature's handTo serve an end, but not to rule,—Obey, but not command.As mind and soul matter surpassAnd error flies from truth,So should we train the nobler partsOf plastic, trusting youth.The sacred man by God ordained,Links sinful earth with heaven,But his success oft must dependOn how instruction's given.The holy task of training mindIs not a trivial thing,Its influence lives, grows and expandsTill harvest it shall bring.No task, to human hands assigned,Excels in force and weightThe grave responsibilitiesOf those who educate.Let knowledge of the sciences,Skill in didactic art,Power in the impulse of the soulA knowledge to impart,A love for God and human kind,Forgetfulness of self,A heart devoted to the causeMore than to worldly pelf,Be given as a heritageTo those who fain would teach,Then living truth shall flourish,And all mankind shall reach.
I know of no profession'Mong profane or divine,Excelling in its missionThe power embraced in mine.
It reaches earth and heavenThrough heart and soul of man,It lives beyond the present—Eternity doth span.
Mind in its first formation,While in its plastic state,Receives primal impressionsWhich make it vile or great.
When soil of thought is fertileAnd ready for the seeds,It may bring precious fruitage,Or vile and noxious weeds.
No sower should be careless,For harvest much dependsUpon the well-selected seeds,With mental soil he blends.
If field be rich and mellowAnd no good seed be sown,With tangled mass of vilenessIt will be overgrown,
And shield the deadly serpent,The basilisk of sin,That far exhales its pois'nous breath,Then crawls its den within.
No atoms of pollutionIn matter e'er was known,So vile or so destructiveAs soul by sin o'erthrown.
The vilest spot upon the earth,Through sunshine, air, and rain,May be transformed in ev'ry partAnd purified again.
The fields where chaos reigned supremeAnd Nature frowned aghast,By patient-toil have fruitage borneAnd blossomed fragrance cast.
The wreck of spheres by traction's lawsHurled wildly into space,May gather atoms round itselfAnd find some resting place
Where it may serve creation's end,And 'mong the planets roll,True to the laws of gravityThat marks its outer pole.
The mind and soul can neverWithin themselves find rest,When all the sin's pollutionsAre harbored in the breast.
Then sow good seed, brave teacher,And deeply plant with care,That both here and hereafterRich harvest it may bear.
The sowing may be silent—It may be but a tear,Its strength is in its purpose,Its aim must be sincere.
It should not be a rite or creed,But wider far than these,It should encompass God and man,Home and antipodes.
To learn the truths of science,Know tables, books and charts,To analyze the potent thrillThat fires all earnest hearts,
To revel in the mysteriesThat lie deep in the earth,To give the proper dataWhen planets had their birth,
To know the exact elementsThat constitute the sun,The causes why swift currentsWithin the ocean run,
The ratio of the vaporsThat color sunset skies,Time's infinitesimal fractionWhen planets set and rise,
To solve the problems of the air,The secrets of the deep,Are all intrinsic subjectsAnd worthy of our keep.
But these alone are worthless,They need augmented forceTo lead mind toward the fountainFrom which it had its source.
They leave one vital question—Development of man—Without e'en crude solution,Without a working plan.
They leave the mighty problemOf Maker and the Made,Devoid of any sequence,Or any plan portrayed.
These are of greatest momentTo persons and to State,Upon their wise adjustmentMust hang progression's fate.
Cold are the truths of science,Lifeless their every plan,Until in living presence,They're crystalized in man.
As hidden truths are uselessAnd aid not human skill,So slumber mighty forcesThrough lack of human will.
To know the right is not enough,It must be given powerThrough culture of the heart and soul,If it shall blessings shower.
To State, to manhood and to GodMust mind be wholly given,Ere truth will shine a beacon light,To illumine earth and heaven.
All things were made but to subserveMan's powers to improve,And beautify his being hereThrough charity and love.
Power, gold, and wealth are agenciesPlaced in a creature's handTo serve an end, but not to rule,—Obey, but not command.
As mind and soul matter surpassAnd error flies from truth,So should we train the nobler partsOf plastic, trusting youth.
The sacred man by God ordained,Links sinful earth with heaven,But his success oft must dependOn how instruction's given.
The holy task of training mindIs not a trivial thing,Its influence lives, grows and expandsTill harvest it shall bring.
No task, to human hands assigned,Excels in force and weightThe grave responsibilitiesOf those who educate.
Let knowledge of the sciences,Skill in didactic art,Power in the impulse of the soulA knowledge to impart,
A love for God and human kind,Forgetfulness of self,A heart devoted to the causeMore than to worldly pelf,
Be given as a heritageTo those who fain would teach,Then living truth shall flourish,And all mankind shall reach.
There's an ebb and flow of sentimentIn educational tides,Which oft discards some solid old facts,And on wild new hobbies rides.The educator of modern timesMust prove the false and the true,Hold fast the worthy of the old,Unprejudiced, test the new.
There's an ebb and flow of sentimentIn educational tides,Which oft discards some solid old facts,And on wild new hobbies rides.The educator of modern timesMust prove the false and the true,Hold fast the worthy of the old,Unprejudiced, test the new.
Courage and Faith are of heavenly birth,Though sent down to our lowly earthTo cheer the heart of man;They are only strong when the human soulYields perfect trust and full controlTo heaven's benignant plan.Nature expands when this God-sent pairFinds a fertile heart that needs the careOf a messenger divine,And permits their strength to succor giveThat truth may grow and honor liveTo yield their fruit benign.
Courage and Faith are of heavenly birth,Though sent down to our lowly earthTo cheer the heart of man;They are only strong when the human soulYields perfect trust and full controlTo heaven's benignant plan.
Nature expands when this God-sent pairFinds a fertile heart that needs the careOf a messenger divine,And permits their strength to succor giveThat truth may grow and honor liveTo yield their fruit benign.
Who gives no sunshine from his soulMust live in darkness ever,For Nature scorns to such degree,She blinds a sordid giver.But he who scatters noble deeds,And lives to bless mankind,Shall see the beauties God revealsTo men with hearts refined.
Who gives no sunshine from his soulMust live in darkness ever,For Nature scorns to such degree,She blinds a sordid giver.
But he who scatters noble deeds,And lives to bless mankind,Shall see the beauties God revealsTo men with hearts refined.
Sometimes our soul within us burnsTo see dark Ignorance aspireTo move toward light a mind that yearnsFor knowledge that may lift it higherUpon the royal road of truth,While every word and act and thoughtBetrays an atmosphere so fraughtWith lack of common sense and lore,We plead for some almighty powerTo save from such our precious youth.No ray of truth can ever shineTo beautify and make divineThe heart and mind of anxious soul,When doubts and fears have full controlOf him who knows he blindly leads.If human minds and souls and heartsMay not command those who have artsAnd power to waken, lead, inspire,Then knowledge fails of her desire,And Ignorance on Wisdom feeds.Let science, art, didactic skill,Be guided by unyielding willBorn in some earnest, patient oneWhose heart glows like the summer sunAnd warms all by its ardent fire;Whose interest is so intenseIt readily itself imprintsUpon the tender minds of youths,Precepts and scientific truthsSuch as their yearning hearts desire.Then there shall come a brighter day,When darkness shall to light give way,And Wisdom on her throne rejoice,And speak with accent in her voiceThat charms and cheers a hungry mind.Then, students, beauty shall receiveInstead of ashes that deceive,Their days and nights of earnest toil,Their struggles by the midnight oilGive recompense complete, refined.
Sometimes our soul within us burnsTo see dark Ignorance aspireTo move toward light a mind that yearnsFor knowledge that may lift it higherUpon the royal road of truth,While every word and act and thoughtBetrays an atmosphere so fraughtWith lack of common sense and lore,We plead for some almighty powerTo save from such our precious youth.
No ray of truth can ever shineTo beautify and make divineThe heart and mind of anxious soul,When doubts and fears have full controlOf him who knows he blindly leads.If human minds and souls and heartsMay not command those who have artsAnd power to waken, lead, inspire,Then knowledge fails of her desire,And Ignorance on Wisdom feeds.
Let science, art, didactic skill,Be guided by unyielding willBorn in some earnest, patient oneWhose heart glows like the summer sunAnd warms all by its ardent fire;Whose interest is so intenseIt readily itself imprintsUpon the tender minds of youths,Precepts and scientific truthsSuch as their yearning hearts desire.
Then there shall come a brighter day,When darkness shall to light give way,And Wisdom on her throne rejoice,And speak with accent in her voiceThat charms and cheers a hungry mind.Then, students, beauty shall receiveInstead of ashes that deceive,Their days and nights of earnest toil,Their struggles by the midnight oilGive recompense complete, refined.
As shadows are to material forms,As mists to the copious showerAs dead calms are to tornado stormsThat in tropical region lowerSo are educationalfallaciesThat ignore and decry as naughtThe value and power that ever lieIn the scope of original thought.No smooth device with a soulless formShould obscure the living thought;It smothers the mind, destroys the charmThat comes to him who has wroughtTo discover new truth, by a truth well known,On which he may safely build,Till his mental strength by use has grownTo a giant strong and skilled.When thought is secure, the reason clear,And the language to tell is pure,Abridgement comes like a friend sincere,For it cannot the mind obscure.The wasted time on a form-clad taskSteals gems from youth's precious years,Leaves a wreck on life's shore, we cannot maskWith our sorrows and sighs and tears.If what we have learned has given no powerTo acquire what yet we must learn,If all our past struggles leave not a dowerTo which we may joyously turnAnd feel that a strength within us is givenThrough efforts already bestowed,In vain have we lived, in vain have we striven,Each task is the same weary load.If task of to-day shall not lighten th' oneMay come upon us to-morrow,It is but a proof our work was ill done,And bodes to us grief and sorrow.Ev'ry effort of mind applied arightAugments the mental perception,For God aids the brave, and giveth a lightTo shine away imperfection.There's a magic power in a task well done,There's a charm in solid reason,There's a mighty force in a victory won,Which an alert mind will seize on,And with giant strength that is thus acquiredMarch on till the fields of scienceAnd the zones of thought wherein man aspiredShall be won by self-reliance.
As shadows are to material forms,As mists to the copious showerAs dead calms are to tornado stormsThat in tropical region lowerSo are educationalfallaciesThat ignore and decry as naughtThe value and power that ever lieIn the scope of original thought.
No smooth device with a soulless formShould obscure the living thought;It smothers the mind, destroys the charmThat comes to him who has wroughtTo discover new truth, by a truth well known,On which he may safely build,Till his mental strength by use has grownTo a giant strong and skilled.
When thought is secure, the reason clear,And the language to tell is pure,Abridgement comes like a friend sincere,For it cannot the mind obscure.The wasted time on a form-clad taskSteals gems from youth's precious years,Leaves a wreck on life's shore, we cannot maskWith our sorrows and sighs and tears.
If what we have learned has given no powerTo acquire what yet we must learn,If all our past struggles leave not a dowerTo which we may joyously turnAnd feel that a strength within us is givenThrough efforts already bestowed,In vain have we lived, in vain have we striven,Each task is the same weary load.
If task of to-day shall not lighten th' oneMay come upon us to-morrow,It is but a proof our work was ill done,And bodes to us grief and sorrow.Ev'ry effort of mind applied arightAugments the mental perception,For God aids the brave, and giveth a lightTo shine away imperfection.
There's a magic power in a task well done,There's a charm in solid reason,There's a mighty force in a victory won,Which an alert mind will seize on,And with giant strength that is thus acquiredMarch on till the fields of scienceAnd the zones of thought wherein man aspiredShall be won by self-reliance.
Who has not seen the inert mind,Bowed down and sore oppressed,Start into life, and vigor findAt touch of interestSome sympathetic soul has shown,By look in kindness given,Or word whose accent, cadence, tone,Gave joy akin to heaven?No emanation from the heartHas greater power to win,Than that which lays aside all artAnd quietly steps inTo soothe through sympathy, the caresAnd sorrows, one by one,Of timorous soul who scarcely daresGo forward all alone,But needs some word of magic powerTo give him life and zest,Some animating heart-given dowerWhose wealth is interest.Few, few there are who know the forceThat dormant lies in many a brain,Who trace inertia to its sourceOr see how mind o'er mind may reign.
Who has not seen the inert mind,Bowed down and sore oppressed,Start into life, and vigor findAt touch of interestSome sympathetic soul has shown,By look in kindness given,Or word whose accent, cadence, tone,Gave joy akin to heaven?
No emanation from the heartHas greater power to win,Than that which lays aside all artAnd quietly steps inTo soothe through sympathy, the caresAnd sorrows, one by one,Of timorous soul who scarcely daresGo forward all alone,
But needs some word of magic powerTo give him life and zest,Some animating heart-given dowerWhose wealth is interest.Few, few there are who know the forceThat dormant lies in many a brain,Who trace inertia to its sourceOr see how mind o'er mind may reign.
Who stores the mind with richest truthGathered from sages of all lands,May toil through days of sunny youth,And on till Death gives his commands,But fails to call to him the aidOf Reason, Judgment, and Good Sense,Will find himself at last dismayedAt smallness of his consequence.The choicest gems must polish bear,And metals must be purged from earth,Before a lustre they can wearThat tells of their intrinsic worth.The brain requires friction of thought,Obtained through contact with the world,With which may skillfully be wroughtThe mental gems research unfurled.Who builds alone on MemoryWill find he lacks a needed forceTo fire and set the spirit free,And move him onward in the courseThat tends to lead him by a wayWhose goal is sure, complete success,But wanting such, can but displayChaotic mass of nothingness.Let Memory and Reason wed,Their product then may fully knowThe food on which great minds are fed,The founts from which great actions flow;Each holds its share of honored meed,But each requires the other's aidTo stimulate the urgent needBy which great genius is displayed.
Who stores the mind with richest truthGathered from sages of all lands,May toil through days of sunny youth,And on till Death gives his commands,But fails to call to him the aidOf Reason, Judgment, and Good Sense,Will find himself at last dismayedAt smallness of his consequence.
The choicest gems must polish bear,And metals must be purged from earth,Before a lustre they can wearThat tells of their intrinsic worth.The brain requires friction of thought,Obtained through contact with the world,With which may skillfully be wroughtThe mental gems research unfurled.
Who builds alone on MemoryWill find he lacks a needed forceTo fire and set the spirit free,And move him onward in the courseThat tends to lead him by a wayWhose goal is sure, complete success,But wanting such, can but displayChaotic mass of nothingness.
Let Memory and Reason wed,Their product then may fully knowThe food on which great minds are fed,The founts from which great actions flow;Each holds its share of honored meed,But each requires the other's aidTo stimulate the urgent needBy which great genius is displayed.
Many a brave resolutionIs formed on New Year's DayTo annihilate some vicesThat on our morals prey;But before the year is endedThey go so far astrayWe find our lives are pursuingThe old, accustomed way.
Many a brave resolutionIs formed on New Year's DayTo annihilate some vicesThat on our morals prey;But before the year is endedThey go so far astrayWe find our lives are pursuingThe old, accustomed way.
I have often thought there's a powerUnknown to science or art,That opens and closes the portalsThat lead to the human heart.I have learned there's a secret somethingThat remains yet undefined,That touches the springs and pulleysThat open the human mind.I have watched the glow of faces,As a light from this occult sourceHas touched some inert natureWith an energizing force.The effect was so magnetic,It seemed like creative skillFrom the hand of the Great Master,To give passive beingwill.Sometimes its power seemed but presence,Sometimes, a soft, mild tone,Sometimes, a look of decision,Ofttimes, from a source unknown.There's a something wrapped in th' natureOf those most adapted to teachThat charms and holds the attentionOf those whom its powers reach.There's a sound from some vibrationWithin the human voiceThat arouses the latent spiritAnd makes the soul rejoice.Its tone has a magic powerWhereby the heart is impressedWith the weight of its noble missionAnd unselfish interest.There's a mystic charm most winsomeIn th' glance of a speaking eyeWhose light shines in dark recessesAnd explores them in passing by.It illumines the page of the studentAs his soul warms by its fire,And stirs him to greater action,And lifts aspirations higher.Every word and look and actionHas weight on trustful youth,That needs no sage to interpretOr explain its vital truth.They are fully comprehendedThrough the instinct, every one,And need no labored searchingIn a massive lexicon.Some call this power attraction,Some term it affinity,But all recognize its existenceAnd wonderful potency.There's also a power of repulsionThat breathes with abated breath,Whose presence is best betokenedBy ominous signs of death.No word has an inspiration,No look has a sign of cheer,Each act reveals that a burdenMust be borne in sorrow and fear.The wrecks that are made by its presenceHave filled almshouses and jailsWith the deepest of lamentations,The saddest of human wails.A selfish, terrible monsterThat drives away honor and truthIs the cold-blooded fiend Repulsion,The destroyer of tender youth.The sea in its frenzy and fury,When lashed by the wintry galesCasts on the rocks its vesselsBereft of their spars and sails;The path of the fierce tornado,Overstrewn with wild debrisOf fallen habitationsAnd uprooted forest tree;The wreck of a world of matterThat transforms revolving spheres,Which have gathered all their greatnessThrough the lapse of a million years;The snow-clad mountain terror—The fearful avalanche—Whose thunders are heard in valleysWhere imploring faces blanch;The mouth of a raging EtnaWith its stifling breath of fire,Wherein the pride of a cityIn a moment may expire;The trembling of the mountainsWhen an earthquake passes by,And the terror of the peopleStruck dumb in their agony;The rage of a foaming torrent,After the bursting cloudHas poured its liquid furyIn destruction wild and loud;Are but the potent protestsOf Nature's elementsAgainst some ill arrangementThat brings them discontents.But these in separate actions,Or in forces all combined,Leave not so sad a ruinAs the wreck of one human mind.The voice, the eye, and the mannerAre all unlocked by a keyThat has for its great attractionA confiding sympathy.The knowledge of books is essentialTo those who youth would guide,But the grace of earnest endeavorExcels all else beside.Truth in its plainness is beauty,Science itself is a charm,But the frown of a tyrant tutorPuts both in constant alarm.To receive a healthful impression,Mind must be free from fear,Will must be held by attraction,Soul, by a soul sincere.
I have often thought there's a powerUnknown to science or art,That opens and closes the portalsThat lead to the human heart.
I have learned there's a secret somethingThat remains yet undefined,That touches the springs and pulleysThat open the human mind.
I have watched the glow of faces,As a light from this occult sourceHas touched some inert natureWith an energizing force.
The effect was so magnetic,It seemed like creative skillFrom the hand of the Great Master,To give passive beingwill.
Sometimes its power seemed but presence,Sometimes, a soft, mild tone,Sometimes, a look of decision,Ofttimes, from a source unknown.
There's a something wrapped in th' natureOf those most adapted to teachThat charms and holds the attentionOf those whom its powers reach.
There's a sound from some vibrationWithin the human voiceThat arouses the latent spiritAnd makes the soul rejoice.
Its tone has a magic powerWhereby the heart is impressedWith the weight of its noble missionAnd unselfish interest.
There's a mystic charm most winsomeIn th' glance of a speaking eyeWhose light shines in dark recessesAnd explores them in passing by.
It illumines the page of the studentAs his soul warms by its fire,And stirs him to greater action,And lifts aspirations higher.
Every word and look and actionHas weight on trustful youth,That needs no sage to interpretOr explain its vital truth.
They are fully comprehendedThrough the instinct, every one,And need no labored searchingIn a massive lexicon.
Some call this power attraction,Some term it affinity,But all recognize its existenceAnd wonderful potency.
There's also a power of repulsionThat breathes with abated breath,Whose presence is best betokenedBy ominous signs of death.
No word has an inspiration,No look has a sign of cheer,Each act reveals that a burdenMust be borne in sorrow and fear.
The wrecks that are made by its presenceHave filled almshouses and jailsWith the deepest of lamentations,The saddest of human wails.
A selfish, terrible monsterThat drives away honor and truthIs the cold-blooded fiend Repulsion,The destroyer of tender youth.
The sea in its frenzy and fury,When lashed by the wintry galesCasts on the rocks its vesselsBereft of their spars and sails;
The path of the fierce tornado,Overstrewn with wild debrisOf fallen habitationsAnd uprooted forest tree;
The wreck of a world of matterThat transforms revolving spheres,Which have gathered all their greatnessThrough the lapse of a million years;
The snow-clad mountain terror—The fearful avalanche—Whose thunders are heard in valleysWhere imploring faces blanch;
The mouth of a raging EtnaWith its stifling breath of fire,Wherein the pride of a cityIn a moment may expire;
The trembling of the mountainsWhen an earthquake passes by,And the terror of the peopleStruck dumb in their agony;
The rage of a foaming torrent,After the bursting cloudHas poured its liquid furyIn destruction wild and loud;
Are but the potent protestsOf Nature's elementsAgainst some ill arrangementThat brings them discontents.
But these in separate actions,Or in forces all combined,Leave not so sad a ruinAs the wreck of one human mind.
The voice, the eye, and the mannerAre all unlocked by a keyThat has for its great attractionA confiding sympathy.
The knowledge of books is essentialTo those who youth would guide,But the grace of earnest endeavorExcels all else beside.
Truth in its plainness is beauty,Science itself is a charm,But the frown of a tyrant tutorPuts both in constant alarm.
To receive a healthful impression,Mind must be free from fear,Will must be held by attraction,Soul, by a soul sincere.
Some persons in mind are but mirrorsReflecting what others have thought,That make no original errors,They are only able to quote.You may ask their opinion on mattersThat pertain to affairs of the day,Their minds are but shreds and tattersOf what all their neighbors say.We respect the man who is carefulWith others his mind to compare,But who of himself is not fearfulHis honest opinion to shareWith men, when some public measureUpon the State has been thrown,—Who proves his mind a rich treasureHe uses and calls his own.
Some persons in mind are but mirrorsReflecting what others have thought,That make no original errors,They are only able to quote.You may ask their opinion on mattersThat pertain to affairs of the day,Their minds are but shreds and tattersOf what all their neighbors say.
We respect the man who is carefulWith others his mind to compare,But who of himself is not fearfulHis honest opinion to shareWith men, when some public measureUpon the State has been thrown,—Who proves his mind a rich treasureHe uses and calls his own.
Many a grand ambitionHad birth and died in a day,From lack of vigorous nursingTo keep it from decay.Many a hope has fadedAnd sunk in deepest despair,Through lack of careful pruningThat fruitage it might bear.Many a mind is ruinedAnd becomes chaotic mass,Through want of systematicTraining in the class.Many a song of sweetnessHas lost its harmony,Because at its beginningIt had not the proper key.Many a field most fertileBears vile and noxious weeds,Through failure of the tillerTo sow some worthy seeds.Many a flower of beautyAnd sweetness blooms unseen,And dies in its seclusionOn a bed of mossy green.Better to have no talent,No excellence to give,Than permit vice to destroyThe talent we may have.
Many a grand ambitionHad birth and died in a day,From lack of vigorous nursingTo keep it from decay.
Many a hope has fadedAnd sunk in deepest despair,Through lack of careful pruningThat fruitage it might bear.
Many a mind is ruinedAnd becomes chaotic mass,Through want of systematicTraining in the class.
Many a song of sweetnessHas lost its harmony,Because at its beginningIt had not the proper key.
Many a field most fertileBears vile and noxious weeds,Through failure of the tillerTo sow some worthy seeds.
Many a flower of beautyAnd sweetness blooms unseen,And dies in its seclusionOn a bed of mossy green.
Better to have no talent,No excellence to give,Than permit vice to destroyThe talent we may have.
No dam can restrain the waterWhen leaks receive no care,When the tempest in wild furyDoth chafe and gnaw and tear,And no hand is raised to succor,No effort to repair,Till the torrent bursts in furyAnd fills us with despair.'Tis too late then for repining,Too late, for work or prayer.
No dam can restrain the waterWhen leaks receive no care,When the tempest in wild furyDoth chafe and gnaw and tear,And no hand is raised to succor,No effort to repair,Till the torrent bursts in furyAnd fills us with despair.'Tis too late then for repining,Too late, for work or prayer.
A duty done is victory won,E'en though in the doing,Efforts may fail to bring availIn lines we are pursuing.Nothing is lost whate'er the cost,When efforts made are noble,Beyond the sky acts never die,And honor's crown is double.Right cannot fail, but must prevail,If noble be the motive;Heaven is nigher if we aspireWith hearts sincere and votive.Much strength we gain when we maintainA truth for truth's sake solely;A mighty power guides effort's hourAnd stamps its cause as holy.If honest heart act well its part,And ask the aid of heavenIts feeblest word will be so heardThat succor will be given.It matters not how low our lotWe rise by honest trial;No effort made for needed aidE'er met complete denial.The soul expands when it demandsA right for self and others,And darkest night has ray of lightFor honest helpful brothers.A noble soul spurns the controlWould bind in servile fetters;No chains can bind God-given mindInspired by love and letters.An earnest will can ne'er be stillThough oft its hopes be baffled,It will succeed though victims bleedAnd die upon the scaffold.Loud shout and sing, "Crown Effort King,"And let the watchword beThis earnest prayer heard everywhere,"God and Humanity."A duty done is victory won,For strength comes by the doing;There's no retreat, there's no defeat,If right we are pursuing.
A duty done is victory won,E'en though in the doing,Efforts may fail to bring availIn lines we are pursuing.
Nothing is lost whate'er the cost,When efforts made are noble,Beyond the sky acts never die,And honor's crown is double.
Right cannot fail, but must prevail,If noble be the motive;Heaven is nigher if we aspireWith hearts sincere and votive.
Much strength we gain when we maintainA truth for truth's sake solely;A mighty power guides effort's hourAnd stamps its cause as holy.
If honest heart act well its part,And ask the aid of heavenIts feeblest word will be so heardThat succor will be given.
It matters not how low our lotWe rise by honest trial;No effort made for needed aidE'er met complete denial.
The soul expands when it demandsA right for self and others,And darkest night has ray of lightFor honest helpful brothers.
A noble soul spurns the controlWould bind in servile fetters;No chains can bind God-given mindInspired by love and letters.
An earnest will can ne'er be stillThough oft its hopes be baffled,It will succeed though victims bleedAnd die upon the scaffold.
Loud shout and sing, "Crown Effort King,"And let the watchword beThis earnest prayer heard everywhere,"God and Humanity."
A duty done is victory won,For strength comes by the doing;There's no retreat, there's no defeat,If right we are pursuing.
Some eyes are trained to scan large fieldTill instantaneous glance may yieldA knowledge full and plenty;While others keep a narrow kenAnd view the ways of active menWith satisfaction scanty.The optic nerve has power so keen,That ev'ry object by it seenIs stamped upon the brain;But they of sluggish mental moldNo vivid photograph will hold,And scarce a scene retain.
Some eyes are trained to scan large fieldTill instantaneous glance may yieldA knowledge full and plenty;While others keep a narrow kenAnd view the ways of active menWith satisfaction scanty.
The optic nerve has power so keen,That ev'ry object by it seenIs stamped upon the brain;But they of sluggish mental moldNo vivid photograph will hold,And scarce a scene retain.
The tympanum with perfect drumHears not the sound when armies comeWith clarion notes and song,Unless its stimulated nerveHas fully learned to humbly serveIn stations which belongTo those which God designed should liveFor special duties, He might giveTo move mankind alongUpon the road toward perfect man,That He might thus reveal His plan,And happiness prolong.
The tympanum with perfect drumHears not the sound when armies comeWith clarion notes and song,Unless its stimulated nerveHas fully learned to humbly serveIn stations which belong
To those which God designed should liveFor special duties, He might giveTo move mankind alongUpon the road toward perfect man,That He might thus reveal His plan,And happiness prolong.
The power that lies in perfect speechDwells with the few who only reachThat art through toil and care;A faulty tongue perverts the ear,Destroys the sense, augments the fear,And feeds on empty air.A nation's destinies have hungUpon the influence of a tongueWhose magic eloquenceHas swayed the thoughts of men, whose wordWas mightier than the glittering swordOf armies most immense.
The power that lies in perfect speechDwells with the few who only reachThat art through toil and care;A faulty tongue perverts the ear,Destroys the sense, augments the fear,And feeds on empty air.
A nation's destinies have hungUpon the influence of a tongueWhose magic eloquenceHas swayed the thoughts of men, whose wordWas mightier than the glittering swordOf armies most immense.
The manual touch when guided byThe magic power of sympathyThat animates the soul,May lead to fields of cultured artAnd cast an influence on the heartMay through all ages roll.The canvass and the stone may speakTo more than Roman and to GreekThough in a foreign land;They show the might of cultured skillDirected by an iron willThat guides a master's hand.
The manual touch when guided byThe magic power of sympathyThat animates the soul,May lead to fields of cultured artAnd cast an influence on the heartMay through all ages roll.
The canvass and the stone may speakTo more than Roman and to GreekThough in a foreign land;They show the might of cultured skillDirected by an iron willThat guides a master's hand.
The perfumed fields of blooming May,The evening scent of new-mown hayTouch nerve olfactory,And carry to the thoughtful brainLoved memories of a long-past trainThat once was full of glee.Though flowers to-day are choice and rare,In colors they may well compareWith richest hues we meet;They lack the charm that gave them powerSince past is youth's entrancing hourTheir fragrance seems less sweet.
The perfumed fields of blooming May,The evening scent of new-mown hayTouch nerve olfactory,And carry to the thoughtful brainLoved memories of a long-past trainThat once was full of glee.
Though flowers to-day are choice and rare,In colors they may well compareWith richest hues we meet;They lack the charm that gave them powerSince past is youth's entrancing hourTheir fragrance seems less sweet.
Five roads lead to the human brainAnd through these roads all must obtainThe commerce of all lore;No thought can enter mental portOf any kind or any sort,Of modern days or yore,Except such as a tariff paysTo pass these honored, great highwaysWhich lead to eminence,And follow closely every nerveWhich God designed should truly serveEach mind of consequence.
Five roads lead to the human brainAnd through these roads all must obtainThe commerce of all lore;No thought can enter mental portOf any kind or any sort,Of modern days or yore,
Except such as a tariff paysTo pass these honored, great highwaysWhich lead to eminence,And follow closely every nerveWhich God designed should truly serveEach mind of consequence.
Perhaps that star in yonder sky,May be my dwelling place on high,When life on earth is done;At eventide I love to gazeUpon its soft reflected rays,When silent and alone.Its brightness charms and draws my soul,By some mysterious, strong controlI cannot well explain,Unless it be within it dwellThe friends of earth I loved so well,Who could not here remain.
Perhaps that star in yonder sky,May be my dwelling place on high,When life on earth is done;At eventide I love to gazeUpon its soft reflected rays,When silent and alone.
Its brightness charms and draws my soul,By some mysterious, strong controlI cannot well explain,Unless it be within it dwellThe friends of earth I loved so well,Who could not here remain.
Soul speaks to soul, eye speaks to eye,And mind by mind is read;The heart bounds in sweet ecstasyWhene'er a light is shed,That shines to illume a cherished thoughtThat seemed to dwell alone,But on through years has nobly soughtTo solve some truth unknown.The living truth that seemeth dead,Needs but a kindred touchTo resurrect thought's vital thread,And give it influence, suchAs breaks the bands of fettered mind,And sunders thraldom's chains,Spreads benefactions, pure, refined,Where ignorance now reigns.Magnetic touch of spark divine,Speak to the inert soul,Let light from out the darkness shine,And truth her page unroll;Speak to the minds that waiting, starve,And give them power to see,That he who patiently will serveShall win the victory.
Soul speaks to soul, eye speaks to eye,And mind by mind is read;The heart bounds in sweet ecstasyWhene'er a light is shed,That shines to illume a cherished thoughtThat seemed to dwell alone,But on through years has nobly soughtTo solve some truth unknown.
The living truth that seemeth dead,Needs but a kindred touchTo resurrect thought's vital thread,And give it influence, suchAs breaks the bands of fettered mind,And sunders thraldom's chains,Spreads benefactions, pure, refined,Where ignorance now reigns.
Magnetic touch of spark divine,Speak to the inert soul,Let light from out the darkness shine,And truth her page unroll;Speak to the minds that waiting, starve,And give them power to see,That he who patiently will serveShall win the victory.
[Written for an entertainment given by the Fife and Drum Corps (36 uniformed members) of the Third Ward Grammar School of Long Island City, of which the writer is Principal.]