Our Profession and Other Poems Part 7

He will keep you away From duty and right, Destroy all your honor, Your hopes sadly blight, With promises made Which he cannot fulfill He robs of contentment And shackles the will.

This monster has always A right hand and left hand That have powers of their own That ought to command.

If he had only these And used them aright, His presence would ever Afford us delight; But the third hand he has Is a very unkind hand, For this ogre's real name Is Little Behind Hand.

Little Behind Hand Is tyrant indeed, From which we would have Mankind ever freed.

Little Behind Hand Can seldom find work, For he stumbles in blindness And gropes in the dark, He is sullen and mean, Near-sighted and sour, Ruin and trouble 'Bout him constantly lower.

Drive him off! Drive him off!

Ere he fasten on you His fangs of destruction, The pestilent dew That he breathes on his victim To deaden the sense Of his presence and power, And their sad consequence.

Strike him down! Strike him down!

With strong, st.u.r.dy blow, If you yield to him now He will soon lay you low, And when hand and foot Are at his command, You will feel he has grown To a Big Behind Hand.

The public tide is polluted With offal, fraud, and deceit; In ev'ry line of industry Its venomous forms we meet In men who sneer at truth and right, Who, Honor's path have decried, That they might gain the golden calf Whose power they have deified.

MY CHOICE.

I would rather dwell a hermit In some silent peaceful wood, Where no voice of human being Ever breaks the solitude; Where babbling brook, and minstrelsy Of winged friends are heard To join the sylvan choruses Of leaves when gently stirred, Than live in costly splendor With a heartless, greedy throng, Whose only thought is sordid pelf Obtained by fraud and wrong.

I would far prefer a cavern On some rocky sea-girt isle, Where the constant intonations Of the waves as they recoil With their soughing and deep moaning For a momentary rest, Tell of liquid matter only That bespeaks itself distressed, Than to live where human bodies Bend and writhe for freedom's air, Till the heart breaks in deep sorrow, And the soul sinks in despair.

I would choose a lone oasis With one tree, one flower, one spring, One bird of sprightly plumage With throat attuned to sing; One whisper of approval From a voiceless power within; One perfect intuition Of freedom from all sin, Than dwell 'mid throngs and plenty And grovel in the filth That oft adheres to those who claim The boundless stores of wealth.

Some quiet nook in a valley With a canopy of leaves, Such as a forest t.i.tan In fantastic beauty weaves; Or some vine-embowered tangle O'ershadowing murmuring stream Where scarce a ray of sunlight May on its waters gleam, Is a dwelling-place more restful To a man by right controlled Than the courts of kings and princes Ablaze with filched gold.

I would not shun the haunts of men Or bustle of the world, Nor would I see progression's flag Lie dormant or unfurled; If man for manhood would aspire, And less for gold and power, If n.o.ble thoughts and n.o.ble deeds Employ each pa.s.sing hour, Then should the bustle be supreme, For manhood thus would rise Above the baser things of earth To honors in the skies.

I am not a misanthropist, Nor hater of just wealth, I love the presence of mankind, I love good-natured health, I love a true and n.o.ble soul In woman or in man, I love a being who would not Invert G.o.d's primal plan And keep in bondage soul and mind, Through base and false desire To trample fellow beings down, That he may rise still higher.

I know that hate deep in my soul Burns with an intense flame Toward him who scourges the oppressed, And unjust power doth claim, That he may gain some subtle coign By which to overthrow The balance Justice ever holds Alike for friend or foe; For such can never bless mankind By thought or word or deed; They laugh in glee whene'er they see Their victim writhe and bleed.

When all we teach in man is mind, And heart has no domain, Then fraud, deceit, and treachery Will form a tyrant train, For beacon light can never come Through those who legislate Unless good seed has been well sown By those who educate; But lift the soul by Sinai's laws And by the Golden Rule, Then legislation will have power Through truths taught in the school.

The world is wanting honest men Who know and dare to do aright, Whose honor brightens in the ken Of Justice's ever-searching light.

THE REQUIREMENTS OF THE HOUR.

It is hard to tell at the dawn of day What the sunset shades may bring, The plans we make may be astray, And our treasured hopes take wing.

We know not what strange environment May dwarf our most cherished plan, Or what obstructions may be sent To defeat our ends and aim.

Though we scorn the thought that fickle Fate Has Destiny in her hand, We all pay tribute at her gate And bow low at her command.

In spite of all the powers we boast Of independent action, An intervening hand may cost Our progress great detraction.

Few, few there be who lack the power To shape their own destiny, If each will improve th' pa.s.sing hour To its full capacity.

A BOY.

A boy is a wonderfully curious thing, Of all creation he deems himself King, Yet give him for pastime a top and a string And he is instantly spinning; When fishes are ripe he tries them with hook, He thinks more of them than of a new book, And steals enough time to after them look, Not conscious that he is sinning.

The great possibilities within his scope Prompts to exertion, inspires him with hope, Till with the world he is ready to cope For the greatest laurels of honor; Glory and fame are attractive stars He may seek in strife, under b.l.o.o.d.y Mars, Till Wisdom revolts at the ugly scars Ambition has placed upon her.

Oh, active, mercurial, wonderful boy, The world is a top and you spin it with joy, Regardless of all the wiles you employ To gain the pleasure of seeing; No tree is so tall, but you reach its top limb, No water so deep, but in it you swim, No ice is so smooth, but o'er it you skim Like a phantom, a wonderful being.

ARBOR DAY POEMS.

THE TREE OF STATE.

[The Maple was chosen by vote of the children in the schools of N. Y.

State as the State Tree, and the Rose as the State Flower. Nature's Tribute, The Rose, and The Golden Rod were written at the request of the State Department of Public Instruction of N. Y. and sent to the schools of the State for Arbor Day use. Nature's Tribute was set to music.]

Tree of our state and emblem of neatness, Beauty and grace abide in thy form; Not in thy blood alone courses a sweetness, Thy ev'ry unfolding is suavity born.

Down in the vale where cowslips are growing, Where violets breathe thro' sweet scented lips, Where brook o'er the bright pebbly bottom is flowing, And bee of the nectar of columbine sips.

A monarch it stands of regnative power, In a graceful symmetrical pose; Whose arms weave a fairy, majestical bower Where wood-nymphs their beauty disclose.

Its beautiful leaf of silvery sheen, And the grandeur it gives to the grove, Proclaim to th' world it of forest is queen, And most worthy our heart's purest love.

Honor we maple as type of all neatness, Yielding protection, beauty, and grace; None of its rivals boast of such sweetness, None can in typical form fill its place.

May th' state be as pure in motive and plan, As the maple from evil is free.

May every son of the state, as a man Take his type from the pure maple tree.

Then hale be the state, and hail to the tree!

And each halo of glory shall last Till from all tumult our state will be free, And no stain on her honor be cast.

This tree be our care, our state's honored prize.

May virtue and glory a.s.semble, And bid every man in dignity rise Till the tree of our state he resemble.