The Cornflower, and Other Poems - LightNovelsOnl.com
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LOVE'S LESSON.
One lesson let us bear in mind-- Be very gentle with our own, Be to their faults a little blind, Nor wound them by a look or tone.
Put self behind! turn tender eyes; Keep back the words that hurt and sting; We learn, when sorrow makes us wise, Forbearance is the grandest thing.
Be patient lest some day we turn Our eyes on loved one fast asleep, And whisper, as we lean and yearn, "How often I have made you weep!
"Some loved you not and words let fall That must have pierced your gentle breast, But I, who loved you best of all, Hurt you far more than all the rest."
One lesson let us keep in mind-- To hold our dear ones close and fast, Since loyal hearts are hard to find, And life and love so soon are past.
IMMORTALITY.
The fluttering leaves above his grave, The gra.s.ses creeping toward the light, The flowers fragile, sweet, and brave, That hide the earth clods from our sight,
The swelling buds on shrub and tree, The golden gleam of daffodil, The violet blooming fair and free Where late the winds blew harsh and chill,
The lily lifting up its breath Where snowdrifts spread but yesterday-- All cry: "Where is thy sting, O death?
O grave, where is thy victory?"
Each Eastertide the old world sings Her anthem sweet and true and strong, And all the tender growing things Join in her resurrection song.
AUGUST.
G.o.d in His own right hand doth take each day-- Each sun-filled day--each rare and radiant night, And drop it softly on the earth and say: "Touch earth with heaven's own beauty and delight."
A SONG OF HARVEST HOME.
Praise G.o.d for blessings great and small, For garden bloom and orchard store, The crimson vine upon the wall, The green and gold of maples tall, For harvest-field and thres.h.i.+ng-floor!
Praise G.o.d for children's laughter shrill, For clinging hands and tender eyes, For looks that lift and words that thrill, For friends that love through good and ill, For home, and all home's tender ties!
Praise G.o.d for losses and for gain, For tears to shed, and songs to sing, For gleams of gold and mists of rain, For the year's full joy, the year's deep pain, The grieving and the comforting!
THE USURER.
Fate says, and flaunts her stores of gold, "I'll loan you happiness untold.
What is it you desire of me?"
A perfect hour in which to be In love with life, and glad, and good, The bliss of being understood, Amid life's cares a little s.p.a.ce To feast your eyes upon a face, The whispered word, the love-filled tone, The warmth of lips that meet your own, To-day of Fate you borrow; In hunger of the heart, and pain, In loneliness, and longing vain, You pay the debt to-morrow!
Prince, let grim Fate take what she will Of treasures rare, of joys that thrill, Enact the cruel usurer's part, Leave empty arms and hungry heart, Take what she can of love and trust, Take all life's gladness, if she must, Take meeting smile and parting kiss-- The benediction and the bliss.
What then? The fairest thing of all Is ours, O Prince, beyond recall-- Not even Fate would dare to seize Our store of golden memories.
MIRACLES.
Love met a worldling on the way, And softly crept into his breast.
Straight Self and Greed refused to stay Where Love had dared to make his nest.
Love met a mourner on the road, And said: "I'll bear thee company."
Full soon the mourner lost his load Of grief, and care, and misery.
Into a grim and cheerless home Love forced his way through barriers tall; Fled wretchedness, and chill, and gloom-- The golden suns.h.i.+ne flooded all.
PEACE.
Unbroken peace, I ween, is sweeter far Than reconciliation. Love's red scar, Though salved with kiss of penitence, and tears, Remains, full oft, unhealed through all the years.
LIFE'S GRANDEST THINGS.
What is the greatest work of all?
The work that comes every day; The work that waits us on ev'ry hand Is work that, for us, is truly grand, And the love of work is our pay.
What is the highest life of all?
It is living, day by day, True to ourselves and true to the right, Living the truth from dawn till the night, And the love of truth for our pay.
What is the grandest thing of all-- Is it winning Heaven some day?
No, and a thousand times say no; 'Tis making this old world thrill and glow With the sun of love till each shall know Something of Heaven here below, And G.o.d's _well done_ for our pay.
