Canada And Other Poems Part 2

TEMPTATION.

The greatest glory consists, not in never falling, but in getting up every time you fall.--CONFUCIUS.

The raging force of pa.s.sion's storm, Say who can check at will.

Or cope with sin, in ev'ry form, With ever conquering skill?

How oft we've tried, and hop'd and pray'd To conquer in the right; But still, how oft our hearts, dismay'd, Have fail'd amid the fight.

But still we fought the wrong we loath'd, And though we fought in vain, Our wills in fleshly weakness cloth'd, Would try the fight again.

And He, I apprehend, who sees, And knows our struggles here.

Will lead us onward, by degrees, To triumph, though we fear.

And even tho' we're never quit Of these sharp earthly thorns, In black despair we'll never sit, Till danger's signal warns.

We'll gird ourselves anew, to fight Our fell, determin'd foe, And with experience's light, Each time more skilful grow.

SLANDER.

Of all the poison plants that grow, And flourish in the human breast, No other plant, perhaps, hath so Deep clench'd a root, or peaceful rest.

No other plant has such a fruit, At once so sweet, and deadly too, As that which loads each branch and shoot, And falls for me to eat, and you.

Fell jealousy, the monster wild, Whose green eyes roll in frenzy round, His ravages are small, and mild, To thine, and narrow'r far his ground.

His pow'r is felt around his home, But who can gauge the sway of thine, Which reaches high to heaven's dome, And acts within the darksome mine?

Thy poison drops distil each hour, To blight, to ruin and destroy, And find with dark, insidious pow'r, The heart of woman, man and boy.

What antidote can neutralize Thy baneful force, thy potent spell?

For deepest danger ever lies Within this poison draught of h.e.l.l.

And men will drink with eager lip, The cup thou holdest forth to them, Not knowing that the draught they sip May their, and other souls, condemn.

WOMAN.

I've had my share of bright employ, My share of pain and blame, But thro' it all, I've thought, with joy, Of tender woman's name.

Her healing tones have often brought New gladness to my soul; Her breath hath rent the darken'd clouds, That often o'er it roll.

Her voice hath often cheer'd my heart, In sickness and in pain, And help'd me bear the surgeon's knife, Or fever's fervid reign.

But, oh, that voice can change its tone, That tender feeling die, Those gentle, loving tones become A terrorizing cry.

In kindly sound, a woman's voice Is happiness alone; And may it ever be my lot To hear its tender tone.

But let me never know the thoughts Of vengeful woman's heart, Or hear the voice that breathes them forth, With cold and cruel dart.

O woman, thou hast mighty pow'r Among the sons of men, For thou canst make deep, rankling wounds, And heal them up again.

Oh, let thy angel nature s.h.i.+ne, And may we all refrain To wake the tiger in thy breast, Bound by a slender chain.

SYMPATHY.

'Mid forces all, that work unseen, And cheer or warm the human breast, Thou, Sympathy, hath ever been, In active power, amid the rest: When raging hate, or heedless love, Aspir'd to rule and reign alone, Thou still did keep thy place above, And rul'd serenely, from thy throne.

Thou ever dost a.s.sert thy right, And walkest on thy gentle way, To rule with mild, persuasive might, But with a strong, unconscious sway, What pow'r thou hast o'er human hearts We daily feel, we daily see; For men and women act their parts, Encourag'd and upheld by thee.

For, in an unseen current runs, From heart to heart, from soul to soul, Thy force, like heat from genial suns, To permeate and warm the whole.

Not always, tho', to warm and cheer.

At times thy influence is chill, And checks the n.o.ble rage of thought, As ice can check a flowing rill.

One cutting word of ours can wilt, Or blast the young heart's fairest flow'r, And tumble down air castles built, By this unseen affection's pow'r.

That man is brave, who acts his part, 'Mid comrades faithful, known and brave, But braver far is he, whose heart Upholds itself upon the wave.

For men have shrunk with coward fright, At terrors which they ne'er might feel, Had Sympathy's strange, magic might Inspir'd their hearts to face the steel.

LOVE AND WINE.

'Tis wine that cheers the soul of man, With subtle and seductive flow; It warms the heart, as naught else can, And banishes regret, and woe.

It keeps alive the flick'ring flame, Which strives to burn with feeble force Within the heart, so dull and tame, But still of life, the present source.

It warms up this fount of life, And sends life's fluid here and there; And nerves and brain, in gladsome strife, Forget their dull and dark despair.

And what is love, if 'tis not wine, Refin'd, distill'd from grossness, tho', More potent than the juice of vine, And bringing greater joy, and woe?

Does it not, too, refresh, revive, And oft intoxicate the brain, And make the being all alive With keenest joy, or keenest pain?

And does it not when much indulg'd, Or held by slack and yielding hand, Lead on to woes oft undivulg'd, To crimes unknown, throughout the land?

Oh! blessed woman, fruitful vine, Inspiring and enchanting twain, I pray that neither love nor wine, May o'er my will, resistless reign.

They tell us, that the safest way To 'scape from wine or woman's thrall, Is to go on from day to day, And never drink, or love, at all.

I could give up the cheering wine, And never taste the siren cup, But oh, thou woman, nymph divine, I can not, will not give thee up.

HOW NATURE'S BEAUTIES SHOULD BE VIEWED.