ERE SLEEP COMES DOWN TO SOOTHE THE WEARY EYESEre sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,Which all the day with ceaseless care have soughtThe magic gold which from the seeker flies;Ere dreams put on the gown and cap of thought,And make the waking world a world of lies,—Of lies most palpable, uncouth, forlorn,That say life's full of aches and tears and sighs,—Oh, how with more than dreams the soul is torn,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,How all the griefs and heart-aches we have knownCome up like pois'nous vapors that ariseFrom some base witch's caldron, when the crone,To work some potent spell, her magic plies.The past which held its share of bitter pain,Whose ghost we prayed that Time might exorcise,Comes up, is lived and suffered o'er again,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,What phantoms fill the dimly lighted room;What ghostly shades in awe-creating guiseAre bodied forth within the teeming gloom.What echoes faint of sad and soul-sick cries,And pangs of vague inexplicable painThat pay the spirit's ceaseless enterprise,Come thronging through the chambers of the brain,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,Where ranges forth the spirit far and free?Through what strange realms and unfamiliar skiesTends her far course to lands of mystery?To lands unspeakable—beyond surmise,Where shapes unknowable to being spring,Till, faint of wing, the Fancy fails and diesMuch wearied with the spirit's journeying,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,How questioneth the soul that other soul,—The inner sense which neither cheats nor lies,But self exposes unto self, a scrollFull writ with all life's acts unwise or wise,In characters indelible and known;So, trembling with the shock of sad surprise,The soul doth view its awful self alone,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes,The last dear sleep whose soft embrace is balm,And whom sad sorrow teaches us to prizeFor kissing all our passions into calm,Ah, then, no more we heed the sad world's cries,Or seek to probe th' eternal mystery,Or fret our souls at long-withheld replies,At glooms through which our visions cannot see,When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,Which all the day with ceaseless care have soughtThe magic gold which from the seeker flies;Ere dreams put on the gown and cap of thought,And make the waking world a world of lies,—Of lies most palpable, uncouth, forlorn,That say life's full of aches and tears and sighs,—Oh, how with more than dreams the soul is torn,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
Which all the day with ceaseless care have sought
The magic gold which from the seeker flies;
Ere dreams put on the gown and cap of thought,
And make the waking world a world of lies,—
Of lies most palpable, uncouth, forlorn,
That say life's full of aches and tears and sighs,—
Oh, how with more than dreams the soul is torn,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,How all the griefs and heart-aches we have knownCome up like pois'nous vapors that ariseFrom some base witch's caldron, when the crone,To work some potent spell, her magic plies.The past which held its share of bitter pain,Whose ghost we prayed that Time might exorcise,Comes up, is lived and suffered o'er again,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
How all the griefs and heart-aches we have known
Come up like pois'nous vapors that arise
From some base witch's caldron, when the crone,
To work some potent spell, her magic plies.
The past which held its share of bitter pain,
Whose ghost we prayed that Time might exorcise,
Comes up, is lived and suffered o'er again,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,What phantoms fill the dimly lighted room;What ghostly shades in awe-creating guiseAre bodied forth within the teeming gloom.What echoes faint of sad and soul-sick cries,And pangs of vague inexplicable painThat pay the spirit's ceaseless enterprise,Come thronging through the chambers of the brain,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
What phantoms fill the dimly lighted room;
What ghostly shades in awe-creating guise
Are bodied forth within the teeming gloom.
What echoes faint of sad and soul-sick cries,
And pangs of vague inexplicable pain
That pay the spirit's ceaseless enterprise,
Come thronging through the chambers of the brain,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,Where ranges forth the spirit far and free?Through what strange realms and unfamiliar skiesTends her far course to lands of mystery?To lands unspeakable—beyond surmise,Where shapes unknowable to being spring,Till, faint of wing, the Fancy fails and diesMuch wearied with the spirit's journeying,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
Where ranges forth the spirit far and free?
Through what strange realms and unfamiliar skies
Tends her far course to lands of mystery?
To lands unspeakable—beyond surmise,
Where shapes unknowable to being spring,
Till, faint of wing, the Fancy fails and dies
Much wearied with the spirit's journeying,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,How questioneth the soul that other soul,—The inner sense which neither cheats nor lies,But self exposes unto self, a scrollFull writ with all life's acts unwise or wise,In characters indelible and known;So, trembling with the shock of sad surprise,The soul doth view its awful self alone,Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
How questioneth the soul that other soul,—
The inner sense which neither cheats nor lies,
But self exposes unto self, a scroll
Full writ with all life's acts unwise or wise,
In characters indelible and known;
So, trembling with the shock of sad surprise,
The soul doth view its awful self alone,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.
When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes,The last dear sleep whose soft embrace is balm,And whom sad sorrow teaches us to prizeFor kissing all our passions into calm,Ah, then, no more we heed the sad world's cries,Or seek to probe th' eternal mystery,Or fret our souls at long-withheld replies,At glooms through which our visions cannot see,When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes.
When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes,
The last dear sleep whose soft embrace is balm,
And whom sad sorrow teaches us to prize
For kissing all our passions into calm,
Ah, then, no more we heed the sad world's cries,
Or seek to probe th' eternal mystery,
Or fret our souls at long-withheld replies,
At glooms through which our visions cannot see,
When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes.
THE POET AND HIS SONGA song is but a little thing,And yet what joy it is to sing!In hours of toil it gives me zest,And when at eve I long for rest;When cows come home along the bars,And in the fold I hear the bell,As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars,I sing my song, and all is well.There are no ears to hear my lays,No lips to lift a word of praise;But still, with faith unfaltering,I live and laugh and love and sing.What matters yon unheeding throng?They cannot feel my spirit's spell,Since life is sweet and love is long,I sing my song, and all is well.My days are never days of ease;I till my ground and prune my trees.When ripened gold is all the plain,I put my sickle to the grain.I labor hard, and toil and sweat,While others dream within the dell;But even while my brow is wet,I sing my song, and all is well.Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,My garden makes a desert spot;Sometimes a blight upon the treeTakes all my fruit away from me;And then with throes of bitter painRebellious passions rise and swell;But—life is more than fruit or grain,And so I sing, and all is well.
A song is but a little thing,And yet what joy it is to sing!In hours of toil it gives me zest,And when at eve I long for rest;When cows come home along the bars,And in the fold I hear the bell,As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars,I sing my song, and all is well.
A song is but a little thing,
And yet what joy it is to sing!
In hours of toil it gives me zest,
And when at eve I long for rest;
When cows come home along the bars,
And in the fold I hear the bell,
As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars,
I sing my song, and all is well.
There are no ears to hear my lays,No lips to lift a word of praise;But still, with faith unfaltering,I live and laugh and love and sing.What matters yon unheeding throng?They cannot feel my spirit's spell,Since life is sweet and love is long,I sing my song, and all is well.
There are no ears to hear my lays,
No lips to lift a word of praise;
But still, with faith unfaltering,
I live and laugh and love and sing.
What matters yon unheeding throng?
They cannot feel my spirit's spell,
Since life is sweet and love is long,
I sing my song, and all is well.
My days are never days of ease;I till my ground and prune my trees.When ripened gold is all the plain,I put my sickle to the grain.I labor hard, and toil and sweat,While others dream within the dell;But even while my brow is wet,I sing my song, and all is well.
My days are never days of ease;
I till my ground and prune my trees.
When ripened gold is all the plain,
I put my sickle to the grain.
I labor hard, and toil and sweat,
While others dream within the dell;
But even while my brow is wet,
I sing my song, and all is well.
Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,My garden makes a desert spot;Sometimes a blight upon the treeTakes all my fruit away from me;And then with throes of bitter painRebellious passions rise and swell;But—life is more than fruit or grain,And so I sing, and all is well.
Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,
My garden makes a desert spot;
Sometimes a blight upon the tree
Takes all my fruit away from me;
And then with throes of bitter pain
Rebellious passions rise and swell;
But—life is more than fruit or grain,
And so I sing, and all is well.
RETORT"Thou art a fool," said my head to my heart,"Indeed, the greatest of fools thou art,To be led astray by the trick of a tress,By a smiling face or a ribbon smart;"And my heart was in sore distress.Then Phyllis came by, and her face was fair,The light gleamed soft on her raven hair;And her lips were blooming a rosy red.Then my heart spoke out with a right bold air:"Thou art worse than a fool, O head!"
"Thou art a fool," said my head to my heart,"Indeed, the greatest of fools thou art,To be led astray by the trick of a tress,By a smiling face or a ribbon smart;"And my heart was in sore distress.
"Thou art a fool," said my head to my heart,
"Indeed, the greatest of fools thou art,
To be led astray by the trick of a tress,
By a smiling face or a ribbon smart;"
And my heart was in sore distress.
Then Phyllis came by, and her face was fair,The light gleamed soft on her raven hair;And her lips were blooming a rosy red.Then my heart spoke out with a right bold air:"Thou art worse than a fool, O head!"
Then Phyllis came by, and her face was fair,
The light gleamed soft on her raven hair;
And her lips were blooming a rosy red.
Then my heart spoke out with a right bold air:
"Thou art worse than a fool, O head!"
ACCOUNTABILITYFolks ain't got no right to censuah othah folks about dey habits;Him dat giv' de squir'ls de bushtails made de bobtails fu' de rabbits.Him dat built de gread big mountains hollered out de little valleys,Him dat made de streets an' driveways wasn't shamed to make de alleys.We is all constructed diff'ent, d'ain't no two of us de same;We cain't he'p ouah likes an' dislikes, ef we'se bad we ain't to blame.Ef we 'se good, we need n't show off, case you bet it ain't ouah doin'We gits into su'ttain channels dat we jes' cain't he'p pu'suin'.But we all fits into places dat no othah ones could fill,An' we does the things we has to, big er little, good er ill.John cain't tek de place o' Henry, Su an' Sally ain't alike;Bass ain't nuthin' like a suckah, chub ain't nuthin' like a pike.When you come to think about it, how it 's all planned out it 's splendid.Nuthin 's done er evah happens, 'dout hit 's somefin' dat 's intended;Don't keer whut you does, you has to, an' hit sholy beats de dickens,—Viney, go put on de kittle, I got one o' mastah's chickens.
Folks ain't got no right to censuah othah folks about dey habits;Him dat giv' de squir'ls de bushtails made de bobtails fu' de rabbits.Him dat built de gread big mountains hollered out de little valleys,Him dat made de streets an' driveways wasn't shamed to make de alleys.
Folks ain't got no right to censuah othah folks about dey habits;
Him dat giv' de squir'ls de bushtails made de bobtails fu' de rabbits.
Him dat built de gread big mountains hollered out de little valleys,
Him dat made de streets an' driveways wasn't shamed to make de alleys.
We is all constructed diff'ent, d'ain't no two of us de same;We cain't he'p ouah likes an' dislikes, ef we'se bad we ain't to blame.Ef we 'se good, we need n't show off, case you bet it ain't ouah doin'We gits into su'ttain channels dat we jes' cain't he'p pu'suin'.
We is all constructed diff'ent, d'ain't no two of us de same;
We cain't he'p ouah likes an' dislikes, ef we'se bad we ain't to blame.
Ef we 'se good, we need n't show off, case you bet it ain't ouah doin'
We gits into su'ttain channels dat we jes' cain't he'p pu'suin'.
But we all fits into places dat no othah ones could fill,An' we does the things we has to, big er little, good er ill.John cain't tek de place o' Henry, Su an' Sally ain't alike;Bass ain't nuthin' like a suckah, chub ain't nuthin' like a pike.
But we all fits into places dat no othah ones could fill,
An' we does the things we has to, big er little, good er ill.
John cain't tek de place o' Henry, Su an' Sally ain't alike;
Bass ain't nuthin' like a suckah, chub ain't nuthin' like a pike.
When you come to think about it, how it 's all planned out it 's splendid.Nuthin 's done er evah happens, 'dout hit 's somefin' dat 's intended;Don't keer whut you does, you has to, an' hit sholy beats de dickens,—Viney, go put on de kittle, I got one o' mastah's chickens.
When you come to think about it, how it 's all planned out it 's splendid.
Nuthin 's done er evah happens, 'dout hit 's somefin' dat 's intended;
Don't keer whut you does, you has to, an' hit sholy beats de dickens,—
Viney, go put on de kittle, I got one o' mastah's chickens.
FREDERICK DOUGLASSA hush is over all the teeming lists,And there is pause, a breath-space in the strife;A spirit brave has passed beyond the mistsAnd vapors that obscure the sun of life.And Ethiopia, with bosom torn,Laments the passing of her noblest born.She weeps for him a mother's burning tears—She loved him with a mother's deepest love.He was her champion thro' direful years,And held her weal all other ends above.When Bondage held her bleeding in the dust,He raised her up and whispered, "Hope and Trust."For her his voice, a fearless clarion, rungThat broke in warning on the ears of men;For her the strong bow of his power he strung,And sent his arrows to the very denWhere grim Oppression held his bloody placeAnd gloated o'er the mis'ries of a race.And he was no soft-tongued apologist;He spoke straightforward, fearlessly uncowed;The sunlight of his truth dispelled the mist,And set in bold relief each dark hued cloud;To sin and crime he gave their proper hue,And hurled at evil what was evil's due.Through good and ill report he cleaved his way.Right onward, with his face set toward the heights,Nor feared to face the foeman's dread array,—The lash of scorn, the sting of petty spites.He dared the lightning in the lightning's track,And answered thunder with his thunder back.When men maligned him, and their torrent wrathIn furious imprecations o'er him broke,He kept his counsel as he kept his path;'T was for his race, not for himself he spoke.He knew the import of his Master's call,And felt himself too mighty to be small.No miser in the good he held was he,—His kindness followed his horizon's rim.His heart, his talents, and his hands were freeTo all who truly needed aught of him.Where poverty and ignorance were rife,He gave his bounty as he gave his life.The place and cause that first aroused his mightStill proved its power until his latest day.In Freedom's lists and for the aid of RightStill in the foremost rank he waged the fray;Wrong lived; his occupation was not gone.He died in action with his armor on!We weep for him, but we have touched his hand,And felt the magic of his presence nigh,The current that he sent throughout the land,The kindling spirit of his battle-cry.O'er all that holds us we shall triumph yet,And place our banner where his hopes were set!Oh, Douglass, thou hast passed beyond the shore,But still thy voice is ringing o'er the gale!Thou 'st taught thy race how high her hopes may soar,And bade her seek the heights, nor faint, nor fail.She will not fail, she heeds thy stirring cry,She knows thy guardian spirit will be nigh,And, rising from beneath the chast'ning rod,She stretches out her bleeding hands to God!
A hush is over all the teeming lists,And there is pause, a breath-space in the strife;A spirit brave has passed beyond the mistsAnd vapors that obscure the sun of life.And Ethiopia, with bosom torn,Laments the passing of her noblest born.
A hush is over all the teeming lists,
And there is pause, a breath-space in the strife;
A spirit brave has passed beyond the mists
And vapors that obscure the sun of life.
And Ethiopia, with bosom torn,
Laments the passing of her noblest born.
She weeps for him a mother's burning tears—She loved him with a mother's deepest love.He was her champion thro' direful years,And held her weal all other ends above.When Bondage held her bleeding in the dust,He raised her up and whispered, "Hope and Trust."
She weeps for him a mother's burning tears—
She loved him with a mother's deepest love.
He was her champion thro' direful years,
And held her weal all other ends above.
When Bondage held her bleeding in the dust,
He raised her up and whispered, "Hope and Trust."
For her his voice, a fearless clarion, rungThat broke in warning on the ears of men;For her the strong bow of his power he strung,And sent his arrows to the very denWhere grim Oppression held his bloody placeAnd gloated o'er the mis'ries of a race.
For her his voice, a fearless clarion, rung
That broke in warning on the ears of men;
For her the strong bow of his power he strung,
And sent his arrows to the very den
Where grim Oppression held his bloody place
And gloated o'er the mis'ries of a race.
And he was no soft-tongued apologist;He spoke straightforward, fearlessly uncowed;The sunlight of his truth dispelled the mist,And set in bold relief each dark hued cloud;To sin and crime he gave their proper hue,And hurled at evil what was evil's due.
And he was no soft-tongued apologist;
He spoke straightforward, fearlessly uncowed;
The sunlight of his truth dispelled the mist,
And set in bold relief each dark hued cloud;
To sin and crime he gave their proper hue,
And hurled at evil what was evil's due.
Through good and ill report he cleaved his way.Right onward, with his face set toward the heights,Nor feared to face the foeman's dread array,—The lash of scorn, the sting of petty spites.He dared the lightning in the lightning's track,And answered thunder with his thunder back.
Through good and ill report he cleaved his way.
Right onward, with his face set toward the heights,
Nor feared to face the foeman's dread array,—
The lash of scorn, the sting of petty spites.
He dared the lightning in the lightning's track,
And answered thunder with his thunder back.
When men maligned him, and their torrent wrathIn furious imprecations o'er him broke,He kept his counsel as he kept his path;'T was for his race, not for himself he spoke.He knew the import of his Master's call,And felt himself too mighty to be small.
When men maligned him, and their torrent wrath
In furious imprecations o'er him broke,
He kept his counsel as he kept his path;
'T was for his race, not for himself he spoke.
He knew the import of his Master's call,
And felt himself too mighty to be small.
No miser in the good he held was he,—His kindness followed his horizon's rim.His heart, his talents, and his hands were freeTo all who truly needed aught of him.Where poverty and ignorance were rife,He gave his bounty as he gave his life.
No miser in the good he held was he,—
His kindness followed his horizon's rim.
His heart, his talents, and his hands were free
To all who truly needed aught of him.
Where poverty and ignorance were rife,
He gave his bounty as he gave his life.
The place and cause that first aroused his mightStill proved its power until his latest day.In Freedom's lists and for the aid of RightStill in the foremost rank he waged the fray;Wrong lived; his occupation was not gone.He died in action with his armor on!
The place and cause that first aroused his might
Still proved its power until his latest day.
In Freedom's lists and for the aid of Right
Still in the foremost rank he waged the fray;
Wrong lived; his occupation was not gone.
He died in action with his armor on!
We weep for him, but we have touched his hand,And felt the magic of his presence nigh,The current that he sent throughout the land,The kindling spirit of his battle-cry.O'er all that holds us we shall triumph yet,And place our banner where his hopes were set!
We weep for him, but we have touched his hand,
And felt the magic of his presence nigh,
The current that he sent throughout the land,
The kindling spirit of his battle-cry.
O'er all that holds us we shall triumph yet,
And place our banner where his hopes were set!
Oh, Douglass, thou hast passed beyond the shore,But still thy voice is ringing o'er the gale!Thou 'st taught thy race how high her hopes may soar,And bade her seek the heights, nor faint, nor fail.She will not fail, she heeds thy stirring cry,She knows thy guardian spirit will be nigh,And, rising from beneath the chast'ning rod,She stretches out her bleeding hands to God!
Oh, Douglass, thou hast passed beyond the shore,
But still thy voice is ringing o'er the gale!
Thou 'st taught thy race how high her hopes may soar,
And bade her seek the heights, nor faint, nor fail.
She will not fail, she heeds thy stirring cry,
She knows thy guardian spirit will be nigh,
And, rising from beneath the chast'ning rod,
She stretches out her bleeding hands to God!
LIFEA crust of bread and a corner to sleep in,A minute to smile and an hour to weep in,A pint of joy to a peck of trouble,And never a laugh but the moans come double;And that is life!A crust and a corner that love makes precious,With a smile to warm and the tears to refresh us;And joy seems sweeter when cares come after,And a moan is the finest of foils for laughter;And that is life!
A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in,A minute to smile and an hour to weep in,A pint of joy to a peck of trouble,And never a laugh but the moans come double;And that is life!
A crust of bread and a corner to sleep in,
A minute to smile and an hour to weep in,
A pint of joy to a peck of trouble,
And never a laugh but the moans come double;
And that is life!
A crust and a corner that love makes precious,With a smile to warm and the tears to refresh us;And joy seems sweeter when cares come after,And a moan is the finest of foils for laughter;And that is life!
A crust and a corner that love makes precious,
With a smile to warm and the tears to refresh us;
And joy seems sweeter when cares come after,
And a moan is the finest of foils for laughter;
And that is life!
THE LESSONMy cot was down by a cypress grove,And I sat by my window the whole night long,And heard well up from the deep dark woodA mocking-bird's passionate song.And I thought of myself so sad and lone,And my life's cold winter that knew no spring;Of my mind so weary and sick and wild,Of my heart too sad to sing.But e'en as I listened the mock-bird's song,A thought stole into my saddened heart,And I said, "I can cheer some other soulBy a carol's simple art."For oft from the darkness of hearts and livesCome songs that brim with joy and light,As out of the gloom of the cypress groveThe mocking-bird sings at night.So I sang a lay for a brother's earIn a strain to soothe his bleeding heart,And he smiled at the sound of my voice and lyre,Though mine was a feeble art.But at his smile I smiled in turn,And into my soul there came a ray:In trying to soothe another's woesMine own had passed away.
My cot was down by a cypress grove,And I sat by my window the whole night long,And heard well up from the deep dark woodA mocking-bird's passionate song.
My cot was down by a cypress grove,
And I sat by my window the whole night long,
And heard well up from the deep dark wood
A mocking-bird's passionate song.
And I thought of myself so sad and lone,And my life's cold winter that knew no spring;Of my mind so weary and sick and wild,Of my heart too sad to sing.
And I thought of myself so sad and lone,
And my life's cold winter that knew no spring;
Of my mind so weary and sick and wild,
Of my heart too sad to sing.
But e'en as I listened the mock-bird's song,A thought stole into my saddened heart,And I said, "I can cheer some other soulBy a carol's simple art."
But e'en as I listened the mock-bird's song,
A thought stole into my saddened heart,
And I said, "I can cheer some other soul
By a carol's simple art."
For oft from the darkness of hearts and livesCome songs that brim with joy and light,As out of the gloom of the cypress groveThe mocking-bird sings at night.
For oft from the darkness of hearts and lives
Come songs that brim with joy and light,
As out of the gloom of the cypress grove
The mocking-bird sings at night.
So I sang a lay for a brother's earIn a strain to soothe his bleeding heart,And he smiled at the sound of my voice and lyre,Though mine was a feeble art.
So I sang a lay for a brother's ear
In a strain to soothe his bleeding heart,
And he smiled at the sound of my voice and lyre,
Though mine was a feeble art.
But at his smile I smiled in turn,And into my soul there came a ray:In trying to soothe another's woesMine own had passed away.
But at his smile I smiled in turn,
And into my soul there came a ray:
In trying to soothe another's woes
Mine own had passed away.
THE RISING OF THE STORMThe lake's dark breastIs all unrest,It heaves with a sob and a sigh.Like a tremulous bird,From its slumber stirred,The moon is a-tilt in the sky.From the silent deepThe waters sweep,But faint on the cold white stones,And the wavelets flyWith a plaintive cryO'er the old earth's bare, bleak bones.And the spray upspringsOn its ghost-white wings,And tosses a kiss at the stars;While a water-sprite,In sea-pearls dight,Hums a sea-hymn's solemn bars.Far out in the night,On the wavering sightI see a dark hull loom;And its light on high,Like a Cyclops' eye,Shines out through the mist and gloom.Now the winds well upFrom the earth's deep cup,And fall on the sea and shore,And against the pierThe waters rearAnd break with a sullen roar.Up comes the gale,And the mist-wrought veilGives way to the lightning's glare,And the cloud-drifts fall,A sombre pall,O'er water, earth, and air.The storm-king flies,His whip he plies,And bellows down the wind.The lightning rashWith blinding flashComes pricking on behind.Rise, waters, rise,And taunt the skiesWith your swift-flitting form.Sweep, wild winds, sweep,And tear the deepTo atoms in the storm.And the waters leapt,And the wild winds swept,And blew out the moon in the sky,And I laughed with glee,It was joy to meAs the storm went raging by!
The lake's dark breastIs all unrest,It heaves with a sob and a sigh.Like a tremulous bird,From its slumber stirred,The moon is a-tilt in the sky.
The lake's dark breast
Is all unrest,
It heaves with a sob and a sigh.
Like a tremulous bird,
From its slumber stirred,
The moon is a-tilt in the sky.
From the silent deepThe waters sweep,But faint on the cold white stones,And the wavelets flyWith a plaintive cryO'er the old earth's bare, bleak bones.
From the silent deep
The waters sweep,
But faint on the cold white stones,
And the wavelets fly
With a plaintive cry
O'er the old earth's bare, bleak bones.
And the spray upspringsOn its ghost-white wings,And tosses a kiss at the stars;While a water-sprite,In sea-pearls dight,Hums a sea-hymn's solemn bars.
And the spray upsprings
On its ghost-white wings,
And tosses a kiss at the stars;
While a water-sprite,
In sea-pearls dight,
Hums a sea-hymn's solemn bars.
Far out in the night,On the wavering sightI see a dark hull loom;And its light on high,Like a Cyclops' eye,Shines out through the mist and gloom.
Far out in the night,
On the wavering sight
I see a dark hull loom;
And its light on high,
Like a Cyclops' eye,
Shines out through the mist and gloom.
Now the winds well upFrom the earth's deep cup,And fall on the sea and shore,And against the pierThe waters rearAnd break with a sullen roar.
Now the winds well up
From the earth's deep cup,
And fall on the sea and shore,
And against the pier
The waters rear
And break with a sullen roar.
Up comes the gale,And the mist-wrought veilGives way to the lightning's glare,And the cloud-drifts fall,A sombre pall,O'er water, earth, and air.
Up comes the gale,
And the mist-wrought veil
Gives way to the lightning's glare,
And the cloud-drifts fall,
A sombre pall,
O'er water, earth, and air.
The storm-king flies,His whip he plies,And bellows down the wind.The lightning rashWith blinding flashComes pricking on behind.
The storm-king flies,
His whip he plies,
And bellows down the wind.
The lightning rash
With blinding flash
Comes pricking on behind.
Rise, waters, rise,And taunt the skiesWith your swift-flitting form.Sweep, wild winds, sweep,And tear the deepTo atoms in the storm.
Rise, waters, rise,
And taunt the skies
With your swift-flitting form.
Sweep, wild winds, sweep,
And tear the deep
To atoms in the storm.
And the waters leapt,And the wild winds swept,And blew out the moon in the sky,And I laughed with glee,It was joy to meAs the storm went raging by!
And the waters leapt,
And the wild winds swept,
And blew out the moon in the sky,
And I laughed with glee,
It was joy to me
As the storm went raging by!
SUNSETThe river sleeps beneath the sky,And clasps the shadows to its breast;The crescent moon shines dim on high;And in the lately radiant westThe gold is fading into gray.Now stills the lark his festive lay,And mourns with me the dying day.While in the south the first faint starLifts to the night its silver face,And twinkles to the moon afarAcross the heaven's graying space,Low murmurs reach me from the town,As Day puts on her sombre crown,And shakes her mantle darkly down.
The river sleeps beneath the sky,And clasps the shadows to its breast;The crescent moon shines dim on high;And in the lately radiant westThe gold is fading into gray.Now stills the lark his festive lay,And mourns with me the dying day.
The river sleeps beneath the sky,
And clasps the shadows to its breast;
The crescent moon shines dim on high;
And in the lately radiant west
The gold is fading into gray.
Now stills the lark his festive lay,
And mourns with me the dying day.
While in the south the first faint starLifts to the night its silver face,And twinkles to the moon afarAcross the heaven's graying space,Low murmurs reach me from the town,As Day puts on her sombre crown,And shakes her mantle darkly down.
While in the south the first faint star
Lifts to the night its silver face,
And twinkles to the moon afar
Across the heaven's graying space,
Low murmurs reach me from the town,
As Day puts on her sombre crown,
And shakes her mantle darkly down.
THE OLD APPLE-TREEThere's a memory keeps a-runnin'Through my weary head to-night,An' I see a picture dancin'In the fire-flames' ruddy light;'Tis the picture of an orchardWrapped in autumn's purple haze,With the tender light about itThat I loved in other days.An' a-standin' in a cornerOnce again I seem to seeThe verdant leaves an' branchesOf an old apple-tree.You perhaps would call it ugly,An' I don't know but it's so,When you look the tree all overUnadorned by memory's glow;For its boughs are gnarled an' crooked,An' its leaves are gettin' thin,An' the apples of its bearin'Would n't fill so large a binAs they used to. But I tell you,When it comes to pleasin' me,It's the dearest in the orchard,—Is that old apple-tree.I would hide within its shelter,Settlin' in some cosy nook,Where no calls nor threats could stir meFrom the pages o' my book.Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusionIn its fulness passeth words!It was deeper than the deepestThat my sanctum now affords.Why, the jaybirds an' the robins,They was hand in glove with me,As they winked at me an' warbledIn that old apple-tree.It was on its sturdy branchesThat in summers long agoI would tie my swing an' dangleIn contentment to an' fro,Idly dreamin' childish fancies,Buildin' castles in the air,Makin' o' myself a heroOf romances rich an' rare.I kin shet my eyes an' see itJest as plain as plain kin be,That same old swing a-danglin'To the old apple-tree.There's a rustic seat beneath itThat I never kin forget.It's the place where me an' Hallie—Little sweetheart—used to set,When we 'd wander to the orchardSo 's no listenin' ones could hearAs I whispered sugared nonsenseInto her little willin' ear.Now my gray old wife is Hallie,An' I 'm grayer still than she,But I 'll not forget our courtin''Neath the old apple-tree.Life for us ain't all been summer,But I guess we 'we had our shareOf its flittin' joys an' pleasures,An' a sprinklin' of its care.Oft the skies have smiled upon us;Then again we 've seen 'em frown,Though our load was ne'er so heavyThat we longed to lay it down.But when death does come a-callin',This my last request shall be,—That they 'll bury me an' Hallie'Neath the old apple tree.
There's a memory keeps a-runnin'Through my weary head to-night,An' I see a picture dancin'In the fire-flames' ruddy light;'Tis the picture of an orchardWrapped in autumn's purple haze,With the tender light about itThat I loved in other days.An' a-standin' in a cornerOnce again I seem to seeThe verdant leaves an' branchesOf an old apple-tree.
There's a memory keeps a-runnin'
Through my weary head to-night,
An' I see a picture dancin'
In the fire-flames' ruddy light;
'Tis the picture of an orchard
Wrapped in autumn's purple haze,
With the tender light about it
That I loved in other days.
An' a-standin' in a corner
Once again I seem to see
The verdant leaves an' branches
Of an old apple-tree.
You perhaps would call it ugly,An' I don't know but it's so,When you look the tree all overUnadorned by memory's glow;For its boughs are gnarled an' crooked,An' its leaves are gettin' thin,An' the apples of its bearin'Would n't fill so large a binAs they used to. But I tell you,When it comes to pleasin' me,It's the dearest in the orchard,—Is that old apple-tree.
You perhaps would call it ugly,
An' I don't know but it's so,
When you look the tree all over
Unadorned by memory's glow;
For its boughs are gnarled an' crooked,
An' its leaves are gettin' thin,
An' the apples of its bearin'
Would n't fill so large a bin
As they used to. But I tell you,
When it comes to pleasin' me,
It's the dearest in the orchard,—
Is that old apple-tree.
I would hide within its shelter,Settlin' in some cosy nook,Where no calls nor threats could stir meFrom the pages o' my book.Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusionIn its fulness passeth words!It was deeper than the deepestThat my sanctum now affords.Why, the jaybirds an' the robins,They was hand in glove with me,As they winked at me an' warbledIn that old apple-tree.
I would hide within its shelter,
Settlin' in some cosy nook,
Where no calls nor threats could stir me
From the pages o' my book.
Oh, that quiet, sweet seclusion
In its fulness passeth words!
It was deeper than the deepest
That my sanctum now affords.
Why, the jaybirds an' the robins,
They was hand in glove with me,
As they winked at me an' warbled
In that old apple-tree.
It was on its sturdy branchesThat in summers long agoI would tie my swing an' dangleIn contentment to an' fro,Idly dreamin' childish fancies,Buildin' castles in the air,Makin' o' myself a heroOf romances rich an' rare.I kin shet my eyes an' see itJest as plain as plain kin be,That same old swing a-danglin'To the old apple-tree.
It was on its sturdy branches
That in summers long ago
I would tie my swing an' dangle
In contentment to an' fro,
Idly dreamin' childish fancies,
Buildin' castles in the air,
Makin' o' myself a hero
Of romances rich an' rare.
I kin shet my eyes an' see it
Jest as plain as plain kin be,
That same old swing a-danglin'
To the old apple-tree.
There's a rustic seat beneath itThat I never kin forget.It's the place where me an' Hallie—Little sweetheart—used to set,When we 'd wander to the orchardSo 's no listenin' ones could hearAs I whispered sugared nonsenseInto her little willin' ear.Now my gray old wife is Hallie,An' I 'm grayer still than she,But I 'll not forget our courtin''Neath the old apple-tree.
There's a rustic seat beneath it
That I never kin forget.
It's the place where me an' Hallie—
Little sweetheart—used to set,
When we 'd wander to the orchard
So 's no listenin' ones could hear
As I whispered sugared nonsense
Into her little willin' ear.
Now my gray old wife is Hallie,
An' I 'm grayer still than she,
But I 'll not forget our courtin'
'Neath the old apple-tree.
Life for us ain't all been summer,But I guess we 'we had our shareOf its flittin' joys an' pleasures,An' a sprinklin' of its care.Oft the skies have smiled upon us;Then again we 've seen 'em frown,Though our load was ne'er so heavyThat we longed to lay it down.But when death does come a-callin',This my last request shall be,—That they 'll bury me an' Hallie'Neath the old apple tree.
Life for us ain't all been summer,
But I guess we 'we had our share
Of its flittin' joys an' pleasures,
An' a sprinklin' of its care.
Oft the skies have smiled upon us;
Then again we 've seen 'em frown,
Though our load was ne'er so heavy
That we longed to lay it down.
But when death does come a-callin',
This my last request shall be,—
That they 'll bury me an' Hallie
'Neath the old apple tree.
A PRAYERO Lord, the hard-won milesHave worn my stumbling feet:Oh, soothe me with thy smiles,And make my life complete.The thorns were thick and keenWhere'er I trembling trod;The way was long betweenMy wounded feet and God.Where healing waters flowDo thou my footsteps lead.My heart is aching so;Thy gracious balm I need.
O Lord, the hard-won milesHave worn my stumbling feet:Oh, soothe me with thy smiles,And make my life complete.
O Lord, the hard-won miles
Have worn my stumbling feet:
Oh, soothe me with thy smiles,
And make my life complete.
The thorns were thick and keenWhere'er I trembling trod;The way was long betweenMy wounded feet and God.
The thorns were thick and keen
Where'er I trembling trod;
The way was long between
My wounded feet and God.
Where healing waters flowDo thou my footsteps lead.My heart is aching so;Thy gracious balm I need.
Where healing waters flow
Do thou my footsteps lead.
My heart is aching so;
Thy gracious balm I need.
PASSION AND LOVEA maiden wept and, as a comforter,Came one who cried, "I love thee," and he seizedHer in his arms and kissed her with hot breath,That dried the tears upon her flaming cheeks.While evermore his boldly blazing eyeBurned into hers; but she uncomfortedShrank from his arms and only wept the more.Then one came and gazed mutely in her faceWith wide and wistful eyes; but still aloofHe held himself; as with a reverent fear,As one who knows some sacred presence nigh.And as she wept he mingled tear with tear,That cheered her soul like dew a dusty flower,—Until she smiled, approached, and touched his hand!
A maiden wept and, as a comforter,Came one who cried, "I love thee," and he seizedHer in his arms and kissed her with hot breath,That dried the tears upon her flaming cheeks.While evermore his boldly blazing eyeBurned into hers; but she uncomfortedShrank from his arms and only wept the more.
A maiden wept and, as a comforter,
Came one who cried, "I love thee," and he seized
Her in his arms and kissed her with hot breath,
That dried the tears upon her flaming cheeks.
While evermore his boldly blazing eye
Burned into hers; but she uncomforted
Shrank from his arms and only wept the more.
Then one came and gazed mutely in her faceWith wide and wistful eyes; but still aloofHe held himself; as with a reverent fear,As one who knows some sacred presence nigh.And as she wept he mingled tear with tear,That cheered her soul like dew a dusty flower,—Until she smiled, approached, and touched his hand!
Then one came and gazed mutely in her face
With wide and wistful eyes; but still aloof
He held himself; as with a reverent fear,
As one who knows some sacred presence nigh.
And as she wept he mingled tear with tear,
That cheered her soul like dew a dusty flower,—
Until she smiled, approached, and touched his hand!
THE SEEDLINGAs a quiet little seedlingLay within its darksome bed,To itself it fell a-talking,And this is what it said:"I am not so very robust,But I 'll do the best I can;"And the seedling from that momentIts work of life began.So it pushed a little leafletUp into the light of day,To examine the surroundingsAnd show the rest the way.The leaflet liked the prospect,So it called its brother, Stem;Then two other leaflets heard it,And quickly followed them.To be sure, the haste and hurryMade the seedling sweat and pant;But almost before it knew itIt found itself a plant.The sunshine poured upon it,And the clouds they gave a shower;And the little plant kept growingTill it found itself a flower.Little folks, be like the seedling,Always do the best you can;Every child must share life's laborJust as well as every man.And the sun and showers will help youThrough the lonesome, struggling hours,Till you raise to light and beautyVirtue's fair, unfading flowers.
As a quiet little seedlingLay within its darksome bed,To itself it fell a-talking,And this is what it said:
As a quiet little seedling
Lay within its darksome bed,
To itself it fell a-talking,
And this is what it said:
"I am not so very robust,But I 'll do the best I can;"And the seedling from that momentIts work of life began.
"I am not so very robust,
But I 'll do the best I can;"
And the seedling from that moment
Its work of life began.
So it pushed a little leafletUp into the light of day,To examine the surroundingsAnd show the rest the way.
So it pushed a little leaflet
Up into the light of day,
To examine the surroundings
And show the rest the way.
The leaflet liked the prospect,So it called its brother, Stem;Then two other leaflets heard it,And quickly followed them.
The leaflet liked the prospect,
So it called its brother, Stem;
Then two other leaflets heard it,
And quickly followed them.
To be sure, the haste and hurryMade the seedling sweat and pant;But almost before it knew itIt found itself a plant.
To be sure, the haste and hurry
Made the seedling sweat and pant;
But almost before it knew it
It found itself a plant.
The sunshine poured upon it,And the clouds they gave a shower;And the little plant kept growingTill it found itself a flower.
The sunshine poured upon it,
And the clouds they gave a shower;
And the little plant kept growing
Till it found itself a flower.
Little folks, be like the seedling,Always do the best you can;Every child must share life's laborJust as well as every man.
Little folks, be like the seedling,
Always do the best you can;
Every child must share life's labor
Just as well as every man.
And the sun and showers will help youThrough the lonesome, struggling hours,Till you raise to light and beautyVirtue's fair, unfading flowers.
And the sun and showers will help you
Through the lonesome, struggling hours,
Till you raise to light and beauty
Virtue's fair, unfading flowers.
PROMISEI grew a rose within a garden fair,And, tending it with more than loving care,I thought how, with the glory of its bloom,I should the darkness of my life illume;And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty budDrink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.My rose began to open, and its hueWas sweet to me as to it sun and dew;I watched it taking on its ruddy flameUntil the day of perfect blooming came,Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red—Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!
I grew a rose within a garden fair,And, tending it with more than loving care,I thought how, with the glory of its bloom,I should the darkness of my life illume;And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty budDrink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.
I grew a rose within a garden fair,
And, tending it with more than loving care,
I thought how, with the glory of its bloom,
I should the darkness of my life illume;
And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty bud
Drink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.
My rose began to open, and its hueWas sweet to me as to it sun and dew;I watched it taking on its ruddy flameUntil the day of perfect blooming came,Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red—Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!
My rose began to open, and its hue
Was sweet to me as to it sun and dew;
I watched it taking on its ruddy flame
Until the day of perfect blooming came,
Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red—
Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!
FULFILMENT.I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes.All things to aid it—dew, sun, wind, fair skies—Were kindly; and to shield it from despoil,I fenced it safely in with grateful toil.No other hand than mine shall pluck this flower, said I,And I was jealous of the bee that hovered nigh.It grew for days; I stood hour after hourTo watch the slow unfolding of the flower,And then I did not leave its side at all,Lest some mischance my flower should befall.At last, oh joy! the central petals burst apart.It blossomed—but, alas! a worm was at its heart!
I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes.All things to aid it—dew, sun, wind, fair skies—Were kindly; and to shield it from despoil,I fenced it safely in with grateful toil.No other hand than mine shall pluck this flower, said I,And I was jealous of the bee that hovered nigh.It grew for days; I stood hour after hourTo watch the slow unfolding of the flower,And then I did not leave its side at all,Lest some mischance my flower should befall.At last, oh joy! the central petals burst apart.It blossomed—but, alas! a worm was at its heart!
I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes.
All things to aid it—dew, sun, wind, fair skies—
Were kindly; and to shield it from despoil,
I fenced it safely in with grateful toil.
No other hand than mine shall pluck this flower, said I,
And I was jealous of the bee that hovered nigh.
It grew for days; I stood hour after hour
To watch the slow unfolding of the flower,
And then I did not leave its side at all,
Lest some mischance my flower should befall.
At last, oh joy! the central petals burst apart.
It blossomed—but, alas! a worm was at its heart!
SONGMy heart to thy heart,My hand to thine;My lip to thy lips,Kisses are wineBrewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.Lily to lily,Rose unto rose;My love to thy loveTenderly grows.Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.
My heart to thy heart,My hand to thine;My lip to thy lips,Kisses are wineBrewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.
My heart to thy heart,
My hand to thine;
My lip to thy lips,
Kisses are wine
Brewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;
Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.
Lily to lily,Rose unto rose;My love to thy loveTenderly grows.Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.
Lily to lily,
Rose unto rose;
My love to thy love
Tenderly grows.
Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,
Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.
AN ANTE-BELLUM SERMONWe is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs,In dis howlin' wildaness,Fu' to speak some words of comfo'tTo each othah in distress.An' we chooses fu' ouah subjic'Dis—we'll 'splain it by an' by;"An' de Lawd said, 'Moses, Moses,'An' de man said, 'Hyeah am I.'"Now ole Pher'oh, down in Egypt,Was de wuss man evah bo'n,An' he had de Hebrew chillunDown dah wukin' in his co'n;'T well de Lawd got tiahed o' his foolin',An' sez he: "I' ll let him know—Look hyeah, Moses, go tell Pher'ohFu' to let dem chillun go.""An' ef he refuse to do it,I will make him rue de houah,Fu' I'll empty down on EgyptAll de vials of my powah."Yes, he did—an' Pher'oh's ahmyWasn't wuth a ha'f a dime;Fu' de Lawd will he'p his chillun,You kin trust him evah time.An' yo' enemies may 'sail youIn de back an' in de front;But de Lawd is all aroun' you,Fu' to ba' de battle's brunt.Dey kin fo'ge yo' chains an' shacklesF'om de mountains to de sea;But de Lawd will sen' some MosesFu' to set his chillun free.An' de lan' shall hyeah his thundah,Lak a blas' f'om Gab'el's ho'n,Fu' de Lawd of hosts is mightyWhen he girds his ahmor on.But fu' feah some one mistakes me,I will pause right hyeah to say,Dat I 'm still a-preachin' ancient,I ain't talkin' 'bout to-day.But I tell you, fellah christuns,Things'll happen mighty strange;Now, de Lawd done dis fu' Isrul,An' his ways don't nevah change,An' de love he showed to IsrulWas n't all on Isrul spent;Now don't run an' tell yo' mastahsDat I's preachin' discontent.'Cause I isn't; I'se a-judgin'Bible people by deir ac's;I 'se a-givin' you de Scriptuah,I 'se a-handin' you de fac's.Cose ole Pher'oh b'lieved in slav'ry,But de Lawd he let him see,Dat de people he put bref in,—Evah mothah's son was free.An' dahs othahs thinks lak Pher'oh,But dey calls de Scriptuah liar,Fu' de Bible says "a servantIs a-worthy of his hire."An' you cain't git roun' nor thoo dat,An' you cain't git ovah it,Fu' whatevah place you git in,Dis hyeah Bible too 'll fit.So you see de Lawd's intention,Evah sence de worl' began,Was dat His almighty freedomShould belong to evah man,But I think it would be bettah,Ef I'd pause agin to say,Dat I'm talkin' 'bout ouah freedomIn a Bibleistic way.But de Moses is a-comin',An' he's comin', suah and fas'We kin hyeah his feet a-trompin',We kin hyeah his trumpit blas'.But I want to wa'n you people,Don't you git too brigity;An' don't you git to braggin''Bout dese things, you wait an' see.But when Moses wif his powahComes an' sets us chillun free,We will praise de gracious Mastah.Dat has gin us liberty;An' we 'll shout ouah halleluyahs,On dat mighty reck'nin' day,When we 'se reco'nised ez citiz'—Huh uh! Chillun, let us pray!
We is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs,In dis howlin' wildaness,Fu' to speak some words of comfo'tTo each othah in distress.An' we chooses fu' ouah subjic'Dis—we'll 'splain it by an' by;"An' de Lawd said, 'Moses, Moses,'An' de man said, 'Hyeah am I.'"
We is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs,
In dis howlin' wildaness,
Fu' to speak some words of comfo't
To each othah in distress.
An' we chooses fu' ouah subjic'
Dis—we'll 'splain it by an' by;
"An' de Lawd said, 'Moses, Moses,'
An' de man said, 'Hyeah am I.'"
Now ole Pher'oh, down in Egypt,Was de wuss man evah bo'n,An' he had de Hebrew chillunDown dah wukin' in his co'n;'T well de Lawd got tiahed o' his foolin',An' sez he: "I' ll let him know—Look hyeah, Moses, go tell Pher'ohFu' to let dem chillun go."
Now ole Pher'oh, down in Egypt,
Was de wuss man evah bo'n,
An' he had de Hebrew chillun
Down dah wukin' in his co'n;
'T well de Lawd got tiahed o' his foolin',
An' sez he: "I' ll let him know—
Look hyeah, Moses, go tell Pher'oh
Fu' to let dem chillun go."
"An' ef he refuse to do it,I will make him rue de houah,Fu' I'll empty down on EgyptAll de vials of my powah."Yes, he did—an' Pher'oh's ahmyWasn't wuth a ha'f a dime;Fu' de Lawd will he'p his chillun,You kin trust him evah time.
"An' ef he refuse to do it,
I will make him rue de houah,
Fu' I'll empty down on Egypt
All de vials of my powah."
Yes, he did—an' Pher'oh's ahmy
Wasn't wuth a ha'f a dime;
Fu' de Lawd will he'p his chillun,
You kin trust him evah time.
An' yo' enemies may 'sail youIn de back an' in de front;But de Lawd is all aroun' you,Fu' to ba' de battle's brunt.Dey kin fo'ge yo' chains an' shacklesF'om de mountains to de sea;But de Lawd will sen' some MosesFu' to set his chillun free.
An' yo' enemies may 'sail you
In de back an' in de front;
But de Lawd is all aroun' you,
Fu' to ba' de battle's brunt.
Dey kin fo'ge yo' chains an' shackles
F'om de mountains to de sea;
But de Lawd will sen' some Moses
Fu' to set his chillun free.
An' de lan' shall hyeah his thundah,Lak a blas' f'om Gab'el's ho'n,Fu' de Lawd of hosts is mightyWhen he girds his ahmor on.But fu' feah some one mistakes me,I will pause right hyeah to say,Dat I 'm still a-preachin' ancient,I ain't talkin' 'bout to-day.
An' de lan' shall hyeah his thundah,
Lak a blas' f'om Gab'el's ho'n,
Fu' de Lawd of hosts is mighty
When he girds his ahmor on.
But fu' feah some one mistakes me,
I will pause right hyeah to say,
Dat I 'm still a-preachin' ancient,
I ain't talkin' 'bout to-day.
But I tell you, fellah christuns,Things'll happen mighty strange;Now, de Lawd done dis fu' Isrul,An' his ways don't nevah change,An' de love he showed to IsrulWas n't all on Isrul spent;Now don't run an' tell yo' mastahsDat I's preachin' discontent.
But I tell you, fellah christuns,
Things'll happen mighty strange;
Now, de Lawd done dis fu' Isrul,
An' his ways don't nevah change,
An' de love he showed to Isrul
Was n't all on Isrul spent;
Now don't run an' tell yo' mastahs
Dat I's preachin' discontent.
'Cause I isn't; I'se a-judgin'Bible people by deir ac's;I 'se a-givin' you de Scriptuah,I 'se a-handin' you de fac's.Cose ole Pher'oh b'lieved in slav'ry,But de Lawd he let him see,Dat de people he put bref in,—Evah mothah's son was free.
'Cause I isn't; I'se a-judgin'
Bible people by deir ac's;
I 'se a-givin' you de Scriptuah,
I 'se a-handin' you de fac's.
Cose ole Pher'oh b'lieved in slav'ry,
But de Lawd he let him see,
Dat de people he put bref in,—
Evah mothah's son was free.
An' dahs othahs thinks lak Pher'oh,But dey calls de Scriptuah liar,Fu' de Bible says "a servantIs a-worthy of his hire."An' you cain't git roun' nor thoo dat,An' you cain't git ovah it,Fu' whatevah place you git in,Dis hyeah Bible too 'll fit.
An' dahs othahs thinks lak Pher'oh,
But dey calls de Scriptuah liar,
Fu' de Bible says "a servant
Is a-worthy of his hire."
An' you cain't git roun' nor thoo dat,
An' you cain't git ovah it,
Fu' whatevah place you git in,
Dis hyeah Bible too 'll fit.
So you see de Lawd's intention,Evah sence de worl' began,Was dat His almighty freedomShould belong to evah man,But I think it would be bettah,Ef I'd pause agin to say,Dat I'm talkin' 'bout ouah freedomIn a Bibleistic way.
So you see de Lawd's intention,
Evah sence de worl' began,
Was dat His almighty freedom
Should belong to evah man,
But I think it would be bettah,
Ef I'd pause agin to say,
Dat I'm talkin' 'bout ouah freedom
In a Bibleistic way.
But de Moses is a-comin',An' he's comin', suah and fas'We kin hyeah his feet a-trompin',We kin hyeah his trumpit blas'.But I want to wa'n you people,Don't you git too brigity;An' don't you git to braggin''Bout dese things, you wait an' see.
But de Moses is a-comin',
An' he's comin', suah and fas'
We kin hyeah his feet a-trompin',
We kin hyeah his trumpit blas'.
But I want to wa'n you people,
Don't you git too brigity;
An' don't you git to braggin'
'Bout dese things, you wait an' see.
But when Moses wif his powahComes an' sets us chillun free,We will praise de gracious Mastah.Dat has gin us liberty;An' we 'll shout ouah halleluyahs,On dat mighty reck'nin' day,When we 'se reco'nised ez citiz'—Huh uh! Chillun, let us pray!
But when Moses wif his powah
Comes an' sets us chillun free,
We will praise de gracious Mastah.
Dat has gin us liberty;
An' we 'll shout ouah halleluyahs,
On dat mighty reck'nin' day,
When we 'se reco'nised ez citiz'—
Huh uh! Chillun, let us pray!
ODE TO ETHIOPIAO Mother Race! to thee I bringThis pledge of faith unwavering,This tribute to thy glory.I know the pangs which thou didst feel,When Slavery crushed thee with its heel,With thy dear blood all gory.Sad days were those—ah, sad indeed!But through the land the fruitful seedOf better times was growing.The plant of freedom upward sprung,And spread its leaves so fresh and young—Its blossoms now are blowing.On every hand in this fair land,Proud Ethiope's swarthy children standBeside their fairer neighbor;The forests flee before their stroke,Their hammers ring, their forges smoke,—They stir in honest labour.They tread the fields where honour calls;Their voices sound through senate hallsIn majesty and power.To right they cling; the hymns they singUp to the skies in beauty ring,And bolder grow each hour.Be proud, my Race, in mind and soul;Thy name is writ on Glory's scrollIn characters of fire.High 'mid the clouds of Fame's bright skyThy banner's blazoned folds now fly,And truth shall lift them higher.Thou hast the right to noble pride,Whose spotless robes were purifiedBy blood's severe baptism.Upon thy brow the cross was laid,And labour's painful sweat-beads madeA consecrating chrism.No other race, or white or black,When bound as thou wert, to the rack,So seldom stooped to grieving;No other race, when free again,Forgot the past and proved them menSo noble in forgiving.Go on and up! Our souls and eyesShall follow thy continuous rise;Our ears shall list thy storyFrom bards who from thy root shall spring,And proudly tune their lyres to singOf Ethiopia's glory.
O Mother Race! to thee I bringThis pledge of faith unwavering,This tribute to thy glory.I know the pangs which thou didst feel,When Slavery crushed thee with its heel,With thy dear blood all gory.
O Mother Race! to thee I bring
This pledge of faith unwavering,
This tribute to thy glory.
I know the pangs which thou didst feel,
When Slavery crushed thee with its heel,
With thy dear blood all gory.
Sad days were those—ah, sad indeed!But through the land the fruitful seedOf better times was growing.The plant of freedom upward sprung,And spread its leaves so fresh and young—Its blossoms now are blowing.
Sad days were those—ah, sad indeed!
But through the land the fruitful seed
Of better times was growing.
The plant of freedom upward sprung,
And spread its leaves so fresh and young—
Its blossoms now are blowing.
On every hand in this fair land,Proud Ethiope's swarthy children standBeside their fairer neighbor;The forests flee before their stroke,Their hammers ring, their forges smoke,—They stir in honest labour.
On every hand in this fair land,
Proud Ethiope's swarthy children stand
Beside their fairer neighbor;
The forests flee before their stroke,
Their hammers ring, their forges smoke,—
They stir in honest labour.
They tread the fields where honour calls;Their voices sound through senate hallsIn majesty and power.To right they cling; the hymns they singUp to the skies in beauty ring,And bolder grow each hour.
They tread the fields where honour calls;
Their voices sound through senate halls
In majesty and power.
To right they cling; the hymns they sing
Up to the skies in beauty ring,
And bolder grow each hour.
Be proud, my Race, in mind and soul;Thy name is writ on Glory's scrollIn characters of fire.High 'mid the clouds of Fame's bright skyThy banner's blazoned folds now fly,And truth shall lift them higher.
Be proud, my Race, in mind and soul;
Thy name is writ on Glory's scroll
In characters of fire.
High 'mid the clouds of Fame's bright sky
Thy banner's blazoned folds now fly,
And truth shall lift them higher.
Thou hast the right to noble pride,Whose spotless robes were purifiedBy blood's severe baptism.Upon thy brow the cross was laid,And labour's painful sweat-beads madeA consecrating chrism.
Thou hast the right to noble pride,
Whose spotless robes were purified
By blood's severe baptism.
Upon thy brow the cross was laid,
And labour's painful sweat-beads made
A consecrating chrism.
No other race, or white or black,When bound as thou wert, to the rack,So seldom stooped to grieving;No other race, when free again,Forgot the past and proved them menSo noble in forgiving.
No other race, or white or black,
When bound as thou wert, to the rack,
So seldom stooped to grieving;
No other race, when free again,
Forgot the past and proved them men
So noble in forgiving.
Go on and up! Our souls and eyesShall follow thy continuous rise;Our ears shall list thy storyFrom bards who from thy root shall spring,And proudly tune their lyres to singOf Ethiopia's glory.
Go on and up! Our souls and eyes
Shall follow thy continuous rise;
Our ears shall list thy story
From bards who from thy root shall spring,
And proudly tune their lyres to sing
Of Ethiopia's glory.
THE CORN-STALK FIDDLEWhen the corn 's all cut and the bright stalks shineLike the burnished spears of a field of gold;When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;Then it's heigho! fellows and hi-diddle-diddle,For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle.And you take a stalk that is straight and long,With an expert eye to its worthy points,And you think of the bubbling strains of songThat are bound between its pithy joints—Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle,With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle.Then the strains that grow as you draw the bowO'er the yielding strings with a practised hand!And the music's flow never loud but lowIs the concert note of a fairy band.Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddleTo the simple sweets of the corn-stalk fiddle.When the eve comes on, and our work is done,And the sun drops down with a tender glance,With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun,Come the neighbor girls for the evening's dance,And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle—More time than tune—from the corn-stalk fiddle.Then brother Jabez takes the bow,While Ned stands off with Susan Bland,Then Henry stops by Milly Snow,And John takes Nellie Jones's hand,While I pair off with Mandy Biddle,And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle."Salute your partners," comes the call,"All join hands and circle round,""Grand train back," and "Balance all,"Footsteps lightly spurn the ground."Take your lady and balance down the middle"To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle.So the night goes on and the dance is o'er,And the merry girls are homeward gone,But I see it all in my sleep once more,And I dream till the very break of dawnOf an impish dance on a red-hot griddleTo the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle.
When the corn 's all cut and the bright stalks shineLike the burnished spears of a field of gold;When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;Then it's heigho! fellows and hi-diddle-diddle,For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle.
When the corn 's all cut and the bright stalks shine
Like the burnished spears of a field of gold;
When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,
And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;
Then it's heigho! fellows and hi-diddle-diddle,
For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle.
And you take a stalk that is straight and long,With an expert eye to its worthy points,And you think of the bubbling strains of songThat are bound between its pithy joints—Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle,With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle.
And you take a stalk that is straight and long,
With an expert eye to its worthy points,
And you think of the bubbling strains of song
That are bound between its pithy joints—
Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle,
With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle.
Then the strains that grow as you draw the bowO'er the yielding strings with a practised hand!And the music's flow never loud but lowIs the concert note of a fairy band.Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddleTo the simple sweets of the corn-stalk fiddle.
Then the strains that grow as you draw the bow
O'er the yielding strings with a practised hand!
And the music's flow never loud but low
Is the concert note of a fairy band.
Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddle
To the simple sweets of the corn-stalk fiddle.
When the eve comes on, and our work is done,And the sun drops down with a tender glance,With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun,Come the neighbor girls for the evening's dance,And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle—More time than tune—from the corn-stalk fiddle.
When the eve comes on, and our work is done,
And the sun drops down with a tender glance,
With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun,
Come the neighbor girls for the evening's dance,
And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle—
More time than tune—from the corn-stalk fiddle.
Then brother Jabez takes the bow,While Ned stands off with Susan Bland,Then Henry stops by Milly Snow,And John takes Nellie Jones's hand,While I pair off with Mandy Biddle,And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle.
Then brother Jabez takes the bow,
While Ned stands off with Susan Bland,
Then Henry stops by Milly Snow,
And John takes Nellie Jones's hand,
While I pair off with Mandy Biddle,
And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle.
"Salute your partners," comes the call,"All join hands and circle round,""Grand train back," and "Balance all,"Footsteps lightly spurn the ground."Take your lady and balance down the middle"To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle.
"Salute your partners," comes the call,
"All join hands and circle round,"
"Grand train back," and "Balance all,"
Footsteps lightly spurn the ground.
"Take your lady and balance down the middle"
To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle.
So the night goes on and the dance is o'er,And the merry girls are homeward gone,But I see it all in my sleep once more,And I dream till the very break of dawnOf an impish dance on a red-hot griddleTo the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle.
So the night goes on and the dance is o'er,
And the merry girls are homeward gone,
But I see it all in my sleep once more,
And I dream till the very break of dawn
Of an impish dance on a red-hot griddle
To the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle.
THE MASTER-PLAYERAn old, worn harp that had been playedTill all its strings were loose and frayed,Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one essayed,To play. But each in turn had foundNo sweet responsiveness of sound.Then Love the Master-Player cameWith heaving breast and eyes aflame;The Harp he took all undismayed,Smote on its strings, still strange to song,And brought forth music sweet and strong.
An old, worn harp that had been playedTill all its strings were loose and frayed,Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one essayed,To play. But each in turn had foundNo sweet responsiveness of sound.
An old, worn harp that had been played
Till all its strings were loose and frayed,
Joy, Hate, and Fear, each one essayed,
To play. But each in turn had found
No sweet responsiveness of sound.
Then Love the Master-Player cameWith heaving breast and eyes aflame;The Harp he took all undismayed,Smote on its strings, still strange to song,And brought forth music sweet and strong.
Then Love the Master-Player came
With heaving breast and eyes aflame;
The Harp he took all undismayed,
Smote on its strings, still strange to song,
And brought forth music sweet and strong.
THE MYSTERYI was not; now I am—a few days henceI shall not be; I fain would look beforeAnd after, but can neither do; some PowerOr lack of power says "no" to all I would.I stand upon a wide and sunless plain,Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright.Whene'er, o'ercoming fear, I dare to move,I grope without direction and by chance.Some feign to hear a voice and feel a handThat draws them ever upward thro' the gloom.But I—I hear no voice and touch no hand,Tho' oft thro' silence infinite I list,And strain my hearing to supernal sounds;Tho' oft thro' fateful darkness do I reach,And stretch my hand to find that other hand.I question of th' eternal bending skiesThat seem to neighbor with the novice earth;But they roll on, and daily shut their eyesOn me, as I one day shall do on them,And tell me not the secret that I ask.
I was not; now I am—a few days henceI shall not be; I fain would look beforeAnd after, but can neither do; some PowerOr lack of power says "no" to all I would.I stand upon a wide and sunless plain,Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright.Whene'er, o'ercoming fear, I dare to move,I grope without direction and by chance.Some feign to hear a voice and feel a handThat draws them ever upward thro' the gloom.But I—I hear no voice and touch no hand,Tho' oft thro' silence infinite I list,And strain my hearing to supernal sounds;Tho' oft thro' fateful darkness do I reach,And stretch my hand to find that other hand.I question of th' eternal bending skiesThat seem to neighbor with the novice earth;But they roll on, and daily shut their eyesOn me, as I one day shall do on them,And tell me not the secret that I ask.
I was not; now I am—a few days hence
I shall not be; I fain would look before
And after, but can neither do; some Power
Or lack of power says "no" to all I would.
I stand upon a wide and sunless plain,
Nor chart nor steel to guide my steps aright.
Whene'er, o'ercoming fear, I dare to move,
I grope without direction and by chance.
Some feign to hear a voice and feel a hand
That draws them ever upward thro' the gloom.
But I—I hear no voice and touch no hand,
Tho' oft thro' silence infinite I list,
And strain my hearing to supernal sounds;
Tho' oft thro' fateful darkness do I reach,
And stretch my hand to find that other hand.
I question of th' eternal bending skies
That seem to neighbor with the novice earth;
But they roll on, and daily shut their eyes
On me, as I one day shall do on them,
And tell me not the secret that I ask.
NOT THEY WHO SOARNot they who soar, but they who plodTheir rugged way, unhelped, to GodAre heroes; they who higher fare,And, flying, fan the upper air,Miss all the toil that hugs the sod.'Tis they whose backs have felt the rod,Whose feet have pressed the path unshod,May smile upon defeated care,Not they who soar.High up there are no thorns to prod,Nor boulders lurking 'neath the clodTo turn the keenness of the share,For flight is ever free and rare;But heroes they the soil who 've trod,Not they who soar!
Not they who soar, but they who plodTheir rugged way, unhelped, to GodAre heroes; they who higher fare,And, flying, fan the upper air,Miss all the toil that hugs the sod.'Tis they whose backs have felt the rod,Whose feet have pressed the path unshod,May smile upon defeated care,Not they who soar.
Not they who soar, but they who plod
Their rugged way, unhelped, to God
Are heroes; they who higher fare,
And, flying, fan the upper air,
Miss all the toil that hugs the sod.
'Tis they whose backs have felt the rod,
Whose feet have pressed the path unshod,
May smile upon defeated care,
Not they who soar.
High up there are no thorns to prod,Nor boulders lurking 'neath the clodTo turn the keenness of the share,For flight is ever free and rare;But heroes they the soil who 've trod,Not they who soar!
High up there are no thorns to prod,
Nor boulders lurking 'neath the clod
To turn the keenness of the share,
For flight is ever free and rare;
But heroes they the soil who 've trod,
Not they who soar!
WHITTIERNot o'er thy dust let there be spentThe gush of maudlin sentiment;Such drift as that is not for thee,Whose life and deeds and songs agree,Sublime in their simplicity.Nor shall the sorrowing tear be shed.O singer sweet, thou art not dead!In spite of time's malignant chill,With living fire thy songs shall thrill,And men shall say, "He liveth still!"Great poets never die, for EarthDoth count their lives of too great worthTo lose them from her treasured store;So shalt thou live for evermore—Though far thy form from mortal ken—Deep in the hearts and minds of men.
Not o'er thy dust let there be spentThe gush of maudlin sentiment;Such drift as that is not for thee,Whose life and deeds and songs agree,Sublime in their simplicity.
Not o'er thy dust let there be spent
The gush of maudlin sentiment;
Such drift as that is not for thee,
Whose life and deeds and songs agree,
Sublime in their simplicity.
Nor shall the sorrowing tear be shed.O singer sweet, thou art not dead!In spite of time's malignant chill,With living fire thy songs shall thrill,And men shall say, "He liveth still!"
Nor shall the sorrowing tear be shed.
O singer sweet, thou art not dead!
In spite of time's malignant chill,
With living fire thy songs shall thrill,
And men shall say, "He liveth still!"
Great poets never die, for EarthDoth count their lives of too great worthTo lose them from her treasured store;So shalt thou live for evermore—Though far thy form from mortal ken—Deep in the hearts and minds of men.
Great poets never die, for Earth
Doth count their lives of too great worth
To lose them from her treasured store;
So shalt thou live for evermore—
Though far thy form from mortal ken—
Deep in the hearts and minds of men.
TWO SONGSA bee that was searching for sweets one dayThrough the gate of a rose garden happened to stray.In the heart of a rose he hid away,And forgot in his bliss the light of day,As sipping his honey he buzzed in song;Though day was waning, he lingered long,For the rose was sweet, so sweet.A robin sits pluming his ruddy breast,And a madrigal sings to his love in her nest:"Oh, the skies they are blue, the fields are green,And the birds in your nest will soon be seen!"She hangs on his words with a thrill of love,And chirps to him as he sits aboveFor the song is sweet, so sweet.A maiden was out on a summer's dayWith the winds and the waves and the flowers at play;And she met with a youth of gentle air,With the light of the sunshine on his hair.Together they wandered the flowers among;They loved, and loving they lingered long,For to love is sweet, so sweet.Bird of my lady's bower,Sing her a song;Tell her that every hour,All the day long,Thoughts of her come to me,Filling my brainWith the warm ecstasyOf love's refrain.Little bird! happy bird!Being so near,Where e'en her slightest wordThou mayest hear,Seeing her glancing eyes,Sheen of her hair,Thou art in paradise,—Would I were there.I am so far away,Thou art so near;Plead with her, birdling gay,Plead with my dear.Rich be thy recompense,Fine be thy fee,If through thine eloquenceShe hearken me.
A bee that was searching for sweets one dayThrough the gate of a rose garden happened to stray.In the heart of a rose he hid away,And forgot in his bliss the light of day,As sipping his honey he buzzed in song;Though day was waning, he lingered long,For the rose was sweet, so sweet.
A bee that was searching for sweets one day
Through the gate of a rose garden happened to stray.
In the heart of a rose he hid away,
And forgot in his bliss the light of day,
As sipping his honey he buzzed in song;
Though day was waning, he lingered long,
For the rose was sweet, so sweet.
A robin sits pluming his ruddy breast,And a madrigal sings to his love in her nest:"Oh, the skies they are blue, the fields are green,And the birds in your nest will soon be seen!"She hangs on his words with a thrill of love,And chirps to him as he sits aboveFor the song is sweet, so sweet.
A robin sits pluming his ruddy breast,
And a madrigal sings to his love in her nest:
"Oh, the skies they are blue, the fields are green,
And the birds in your nest will soon be seen!"
She hangs on his words with a thrill of love,
And chirps to him as he sits above
For the song is sweet, so sweet.
A maiden was out on a summer's dayWith the winds and the waves and the flowers at play;And she met with a youth of gentle air,With the light of the sunshine on his hair.Together they wandered the flowers among;They loved, and loving they lingered long,For to love is sweet, so sweet.
A maiden was out on a summer's day
With the winds and the waves and the flowers at play;
And she met with a youth of gentle air,
With the light of the sunshine on his hair.
Together they wandered the flowers among;
They loved, and loving they lingered long,
For to love is sweet, so sweet.
Bird of my lady's bower,Sing her a song;Tell her that every hour,All the day long,Thoughts of her come to me,Filling my brainWith the warm ecstasyOf love's refrain.
Bird of my lady's bower,
Sing her a song;
Tell her that every hour,
All the day long,
Thoughts of her come to me,
Filling my brain
With the warm ecstasy
Of love's refrain.
Little bird! happy bird!Being so near,Where e'en her slightest wordThou mayest hear,Seeing her glancing eyes,Sheen of her hair,Thou art in paradise,—Would I were there.
Little bird! happy bird!
Being so near,
Where e'en her slightest word
Thou mayest hear,
Seeing her glancing eyes,
Sheen of her hair,
Thou art in paradise,—
Would I were there.
I am so far away,Thou art so near;Plead with her, birdling gay,Plead with my dear.Rich be thy recompense,Fine be thy fee,If through thine eloquenceShe hearken me.
I am so far away,
Thou art so near;
Plead with her, birdling gay,
Plead with my dear.
Rich be thy recompense,
Fine be thy fee,
If through thine eloquence
She hearken me.