Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul

by Unknown

GREATNESS

What makes a man great? Is it houses and lands?

Is it argosies dropping their wealth at his feet?

Is it multitudes shouting his name in the street?

Is it power of brain? Is it skill of hand?

Is it writing a book? Is it guiding the State?

Nay, nay, none of these can make a man great.

The crystal burns cold with its beautiful fire,

And is what it is; it can never be more;

The acorn, with something wrapped warm at the core,

In quietness says, "To the oak I aspire."

That something in seed and in tree is the same—

What makes a man great is his greatness of aim.

What is greatness of aim? Your purpose to trim

For bringing the world to obey your behest?

O no, it is seeking God's perfect and best,

Making something the same both in you and in him.

Love what he loves, and, child of the sod,

Already you share in the greatness of God.

—Samuel V. Cole.

———

A SAFE FIRM

When the other firms show dizziness

Here's a house that does not share it.

Wouldn't you like to join the business?

Join the firm of Grin and Barrett?

Give your strength that does not murmur,

And your nerve that does not falter,

And you've joined a house that's firmer

Than the old rock of Gibraltar.

They have won a good prosperity;

Why not join the firm and share it?

Step, young fellow, with celerity;

Join the firm of Grin and Barrett.

Grin and Barrett,

Who can scare it?

Scare the firm of Grin and Barrett?

—Sam Walter Foss.

———

JOHN MILTON

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:

England hath need of thee: she is a fen

Of stagnant waters: altars, sword, and pen,

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,

Have forfeited their ancient English dower

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men.

O! raise us up, return to us again;

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,

So didst thou travel on life's common way,

In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart

The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

—William Wordsworth.

———

SUMMUM BONUM

For radiant health I praise not when I pray,

Nor for routine of toil well-pleasing every way,

Though these gifts, Lord, more priceless grow each day.

Not for congenial comrades, garnered store

Of worldly wealth, nor vision that sees o'er

Such sordid mass, mind's plumèd eagles soar.

Not even, Lord, for love that eases stress

Of storm, contention, hope's unconquerableness,

Nor faith's abiding peace, nor works that bless.

But this, dear Lord, stir inner depths divine,

That day by day, though slowly! line on line

My will begins—begins—to merge in thine.

—Charles L. Story.

———

THE AIM

O Thou who lovest not alone

The swift success, the instant goal,

But hast a lenient eye to mark

The failures of the inconstant soul,

Consider not my little worth—

The mean achievement, scamped in act—

The high resolve and low result,

The dream that durst not face the fact.

But count the reach of my desire—

Let this be something in thy sight;

I have not, in the slothful dark,

Forgot the vision and the height.

Neither my body nor my soul

To earth's low ease will yield consent.

I praise thee for the will to strive;

I bless thy goad and discontent.

—Charles G. D. Roberts.

———

SAY SOMETHING GOOD

When over the fair fame of friend or foe

The shadow of disgrace shall fall, instead

Of words of blame or proof of thus and so,

Let something good be said!

Forget not that no fellow-being yet

May fall so low but love may lift his head;

Even the cheek of shame with tears is wet,

If something good be said.

No generous heart may vainly turn aside

In ways of sympathy; no soul so dead

But may awaken, strong and glorified,

If something good be said.

And so I charge ye, by the thorny crown,

And by the cross on which the Saviour bled,

And by your own soul's hope of fair renown,

Let something good be said!

—James Whitcomb Riley.

———

WHEN TO BE HAPPY

Why do we cling to the skirts of sorrow?

Why do we cloud with care the brow?

Why do we wait for a glad to-morrow—

Why not gladden the precious Now?

Eden is yours! Would you dwell within it?

Change men's grief to a gracious smile,

And thus have heaven here this minute

And not far-off in the afterwhile.

Life, at most, is a fleeting bubble,

Gone with the puff of an angel's breath.

Why should the dim hereafter trouble

Souls this side of the gates of death?

The crown is yours! Would you care to win it?

Plant a song in the hearts that sigh,

And thus have heaven here this minute

And not far-off in the by-and-by.

Find the soul's high place of beauty,

Not in a man-made book of creeds,

But where desire ennobles duty

And life is full of your kindly deeds.

The bliss is yours! Would you fain begin it?

Pave with love each golden mile,

And thus have heaven here this minute

And not far-off in the afterwhile.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;

Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's.

—William Shakespeare.

———

Sweet are the uses of adversity;

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

—William Shakespeare.

———

WORSHIP

But let my due feet never fail

To walk the studious cloister's pale,

And love the high embowèd roof

With antique pillars massy proof,

And storied windows richly dight,

Casting a dim religious light.

There let the pealing organ blow,

To the full-voiced choir below,

In service high, and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness, through mine ear,

Dissolve me into ecstasies,

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

—John Milton.

———

Give us men!

Strong and stalwart ones:

Men whom highest hope inspires,

Men whom purest honor fires,

Men who trample Self beneath them,

Men who make their country wreathe them

As her noble sons,

Worthy of their sires,

Men who never shame their mothers,

Men who never fail their brothers;

True, however false are others:

Give us Men—I say again,

Give us Men!

—Bishop of Exeter.

———

I will not doubt though all my ships at sea

Come drifting home with broken masts and sails,

I will believe the Hand which never fails,

From seeming evil worketh good for me;

And though I weep because those sails are tattered,

Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered,

"I trust in Thee."

———

The wounds I might have healed,

The human sorrow and smart!

And yet it never was in my soul

To play so ill a part.

But evil is wrought by want of thought

As well as want of heart.

—Thomas Hood.

———

DON'T FEAR—GOD'S NEAR!

Feel glum? Keep mum.

Don't grumble. Be humble.

Trials cling? Just sing.

Can't sing? Just cling.

Don't fear—God's near!

Money goes—He knows.

Honor left—Not bereft.

Don't rust—Work! Trust!

—Ernest Bourner Allen.

———

A rose to the living is more

Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead;

In filling love's infinite store,

A rose to the living is more,

If graciously given before

The hungering spirit is fled—

A rose to the living is more

Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

Canst thou see no beauty nigh?

Cure thy dull, distempered eye.

Canst thou no sweet music hear?

Tune thy sad, discordant ear.

Earth has beauty everywhere

If the eye that sees is fair.

Earth has music to delight

If the ear is tuned aright.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

Anew we pledge ourselves to Thee,

To follow where thy Truth shall lead;

Afloat upon its boundless sea,

Who sails with God is safe indeed.

———

O, though oft depressed and lonely

All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died.

———

It was only a glad "Good morning,"

As she passed along the way;

But it spread the morning's glory

Over the livelong day.

———

For the right against the wrong,

For the weak against the strong,

For the poor who've waited long,

For the brighter age to be.

———

RECOMPENSE

The gifts that to our breasts we fold

Are brightened by our losses.

The sweetest joys a heart can hold

Grow up between its crosses.

And on life's pathway many a mile

Is made more glad and cheery,

Because, for just a little while,

The way seemed dark and dreary.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

Wherever now a sorrow stands,

'Tis mine to heal His nail-torn hands.

In every lonely lane and street,

'Tis mine to wash His wounded feet—

'Tis mine to roll away the stone

And warm His heart against my own.

Here, here on earth I find it all—

The young archangels, white and tall,

The Golden City and the doors,

And all the shining of the floors!

———

I sent my soul through the Invisible,

Some letter of that After-life to spell;

And by and by my soul returned to me,

And answered, "I myself am Heaven and Hell."

—Omar Khayyam.

———

Count that day really worse than lost

You might have made divine,

Through which you scattered lots of frost

And ne'er a speck of shine.

—Nixon Waterman.

———

O, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,

And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness,

Round our restlessness, His rest.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

———

If by one word I help another,

A struggling and despairing brother,

Or ease one bed of pain;

If I but aid some sad one weeping,

Or comfort one, lone vigil keeping,

I have not lived in vain.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The poems by the Rev. Maltbie D. Babcock on this and the following page are reprinted, by special permission, from "Thoughts for Every Day Living," copyright, 1901, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

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