BEST LOVED POEMS

by Richard Charlton MacKenzie

  Each wellborn soul must win what it deserves.

  Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate

  Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,

  Whose slightest action or inaction serves

  The one great aim. Why, even Death stands still,

  And waits an hour sometimes for such a will.

  ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

  “I HEAR IT SAID” Last night my friend—he says he is my friend—

  Came in and questioned me. “I hear it said

  You have done this and that. I come to ask

  Are these things true?” A glint was in his eye

  Of small distrust. His words were crisp and hot.

  He measured me with anger, and flung down

  A little heap of facts had come to him.

  “I hear it said you have done this and that.”

  Suppose I have? And are you not my friend?

  And are you not my friend enough to say,

  “If it were true, there would be reason in it.

  And if I cannot know the how and why,

  Still I can trust you, waiting for a word,

  Or for no word, if no word ever come!”

  Is friendship just a thing of afternoons,

  Of pleasuring one’s friend and one’s dear self—

  Greed for sedate approval of his pace,

  Suspicion if he take one little turn

  Upon the road, one flight into the air,

  And has not sought you or your Yea or Nay!

  No. Friendship is not so. I am my own.

  And howsoever near my friend may draw

  Unto my soul, there is a legend hung

  Above a certain straight and narrow way

  Says “Dear my friend, ye may not enter here!”

  I would the time has come—as it has not—

  When men shall rise and say, “He is my friend.

  He has done this? And what is that to me!

  Think you I have a check upon his head,

  Or cast a guiding rein across his neck?

  I am his friend. And for that cause I walk

  Not overclose beside him, leaving still

  Space for his silences, and space for mine.”

  BARBARA YOUNG

  ALWAYS FINISH If a task is once begun

  Never leave it till it’s done.

  Be the labor great or small,

  Do it well or not at all.

  ANONYMOUS

  I SHALL NOT PASS THIS WAY AGAIN Through this toilsome world, alas!

  Once and only once I pass;

  If a kindness I may show,

  If a good deed I may do

  To a suffering fellow man,

  Let me do it while I can.

  No delay, for it is plain

  I shall not pass this way again.

  ANONYMOUS

  CHARITY There is so much good in the worst of us,

  And so much bad in the best of us,

  That it ill behoves any of us

  To find fault with the rest of us.

  ANONYMOUS

  HE WHO KNOWS He who knows not, and knows not that he knows not, is a fool,

  shun him;

  He who knows not, and knows that he knows not, is a child,

  teach him;

  He who knows, and knows not that he knows, is asleep,

  wake him;

  He who knows, and knows that he knows, is wise,

  follow him.

  ANONYMOUS, PERSIAN PROVERB

  HORSE SENSE A horse can’t pull while kicking.

  This fact I merely mention.

  And he can’t kick while pulling,

  Which is my chief contention.

  Let’s imitate the good old horse

  And lead a life that’s fitting;

  Just pull an honest load, and then

  There’ll be no time for kicking.

  ANONYMOUS

  OUR LIPS AND EARS If you your lips would keep from slips,

  Five things observe with care:

  Of whom you speak, to whom you speak,

  And how and when and where.

  If you your ears would save from jeers,

  These things keep meekly hid:

  Myself and I, and mine and my,

  And how I do and did.

  ANONYMOUS

  LIVING To touch the cup with eager lips and taste, not drain it;

  To woo and tempt and court a bliss—and not attain it;

  To fondle and caress a joy, yet hold it lightly,

  Lest it become necessity and cling too tightly;

  To watch the sun set in the west without regretting;

  To hail its advent in the east—the night forgetting;

  To smother care in happiness and grief in laughter;

  To hold the present close—not questioning hereafter;

  To have enough to share—to know the joy of giving;

  To thrill with all the sweets of life—is living.

  ANONYMOUS

  Faith and Immortality

  A SOUL’S SOLILOQUY Today the journey is ended,

  I have worked out the mandates of fate;

  Naked, alone, undefended,

  I knock at the Uttermost Gate.

  Behind is life and its longing,

  Its trial, its trouble, its sorrow;

  Beyond is the Infinite Morning

  Of a day without a tomorrow.

  Go back to dust and decay,

  Body, grown weary and old;

  You are worthless to me from today—

  No longer my soul can you hold.

  I lay you down gladly forever

  For a life that is better than this;

  I go where partings ne’er sever

  You into oblivion’s abyss.

  Lo, the gate swings wide at my knocking,

  Across endless reaches I see

  Lost friends with laughter come flocking

  To give a glad welcome to me.

  Farewell, the maze has been threaded,

  This is the ending of strife;

  Say not that death should be dreaded—

  ’Tis but the beginning of life.

  WENONAH STEVENS ABBOTT

  NEARER, MY GOD,

  TO THEE Nearer, my God, to thee,

  Nearer to thee,

  E’en though it be a cross

  That raiseth me;

  Still all my song would be,

  Nearer, my God, to thee,

  Nearer to thee.

  Though like the wanderer,

  The sun gone down,

  Darkness be over me,

  My rest a stone;

  Yet in my dreams I’d be

  Nearer, my God, to thee,

  Nearer to thee.

  There let the way appear

  Steps unto heaven;

  All that thou sendest me

  In mercy given;

  Angels to beckon me

  Nearer, my God, to thee,

  Nearer to thee.

  Then with my waking thoughts

  Bright with thy praise,

  Out of my stony griefs

  Bethel I’ll raise;

  So by my woes to be

  Nearer, my God, to thee,

  Nearer to thee.

  Or if on joyful wing,

  Cleaving the sky,

  Sun, moon, and stars forgot

  Upwards I fly,

  Still all my song shall be,

  Nearer, my God, to thee,

  Nearer to thee.

  SARAH F. ADAMS

  ALL THINGS BRIGHT AND

  BEAUTIFUL All things bright and beautiful,

  All creatures great and small,

  All things wise and wonderful,

  The Lord God made them all.

  Each little flower that opens,

  Each little bird that sings,

  He made their glowing colours

  He made their tiny wings,

  The purple-headed mountain,

  The river running by,


  The sunset, and the morning

  That brightens up the sky,

  The cold wind in the winter,

  The pleasant summer sun,

  The ripe fruits in the garden,

  He made them every one.

  The tall trees in the greenwood,

  The meadows where we play,

  The rushes by the water,

  We gather every day.

  He gave us eyes to see them,

  And lips that we might tell

  How great is God Almighty,

  Who has made all things well.

  CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER

  BEAUTIFUL THINGS Beautiful faces are those that wear—

  It matters little if dark or fair—

  Whole-souled honesty printed there.

  Beautiful eyes are those that show,

  Like crystal panes where hearthfires glow,

  Beautiful thoughts that burn below.

  Beautiful lips are those whose words

  Leap from the heart like songs of birds,

  Yet whose utterance prudence girds.

  Beautiful hands are those that do

  Work that is honest and brave and true,

  Moment by moment the long day through.

  Beautiful feet are those that go

  Oh kindly ministries to and fro,

  Down lowliest ways, if God wills it so.

  Beautiful shoulders are those that bear

  Ceaseless burdens of homely care

  With patient grace and daily prayer.

  Beautiful lives are those that bless

  Silent rivers of happiness,

  Whose hidden fountains but few may guess.

  Beautiful twilight at set of sun,

  Beautiful goal with race well won,

  Beautiful rest with work well done.

  Beautiful graves where grasses creep,

  Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deep

  Over worn-out hands—oh! beautiful sleep!

  Who has made all things well.

  ELLEN P. ALLERTON

  NO FUNERAL GLOOM No funeral gloom, my dears, when I am gone,

  Corpse-gazings, tears, black raiment, graveyard grimness.

  Think of me as withdrawn into the dimness,

  Yours still, you mine.

  Remember all the best of our past moments and forget the rest,

  And so to where I wait come gently on.

  Who has made all things well.

  WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

  LIFE Life! I know not what thou art,

  But know that thou and I must part;

  And when, or how, or where we met

  I own to me’s a secret yet.

  Life! we’ve been long together,

  Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;

  ’Tis hard to part when friends are dear—

  Perhaps ’twill cost a sigh, a tear;

  Then steal away, give little warning,

  Choose thine own time;

  Say not good night—but in some brighter clime

  Bid me good morning.

  ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD

  ONWARD,

  CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS Onward, Christian soldiers,

  Marching as to war,

  With the cross of Jesus

  Going on before!

  Christ, the royal Master,

  Leads against the foe;

  Forward into battle,

  See, his banners go.

  Refrain:

  Onward, Christian soldiers,

  Marching as to war,

  With the cross of Jesus

  Going on before!

  At the sign of triumph

  Satan’s host doth flee;

  On, then, Christian soldiers,

  On to victory!

  Hell’s foundations quiver

  At the shout of praise;

  Brothers, lift your voices,

  Loud your anthems raise!

  Like a mighty army

  Moves the Church of God:

  Brothers, we are treading

  Where the saints have trod;

  We are not divided,

  All one Body we,

  One in hope and doctrine,

  One in charity.

  Crowns and thrones may perish,

  Kingdoms rise and wane,

  But the Church of Jesus

  Constant will remain;

  Gates of hell can never

  ’Gainst that Church prevail;

  We have Christ’s own promise,

  And that cannot fail.

  Onward, then, ye people!

  Join our happy throng!

  Blend with ours your voices

  In the triumph song!

  Glory, laud, and honour,

  Unto Christ the King;

  This through countless ages

  Men and angels sing.

  SABINE BARING-GOULD

  THE LAMB Little Lamb, who made thee?

  Dost thou know who made thee?

  Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,

  By the stream and o’er the mead;

  Gave thee clothing of delight,

  Softest clothing, woolly, bright;

  Gave thee such a tender voice,

  Making all the vales rejoice?

  Little Lamb, who made thee?

  Dost thou know who made thee?

  Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,

  Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee:

  He is called by thy name,

  For He calls Himself a Lamb,

  He is meek, and He is mild;

  He became a little child.

  I a child, and thou a lamb,

  We are called by His name.

  Little Lamb, God bless thee!

  Little Lamb, God bless thee!

  WILLIAM BLAKE

  GOD IS LOVE God is love; his mercy brightens

  All the path in which we rove;

  Bliss he wakes and woe he lightens;

  God is wisdom, God is love.

  Chance and change are busy ever;

  Man decays, and ages move;

  But his mercy waneth never;

  God is wisdom, God is love.

  E’en the hour that darkest seemeth,

  Will his changeless goodness prove;

  From the gloom his brightness streameth,

  God is wisdom, God is love.

  He with earthly cares entwineth

  Hope and comfort from above;

  Everywhere his glory shineth;

  God is wisdom, God is love.

  JOHN BOWRING

  NOT UNDERSTOOD Not understood. We move along asunder;

  Our paths grow wider as the seasons creep

  Along the years; we marvel and we wonder

  Why life is life. And then we fall asleep—

  Not understood.

  Not understood. We gather false impressions,

  And hug them closer as the years go by,

  Till virtues often seem to us transgressions;

  And thus men rise and fall, and live and die—

  Not understood.

  Not understood. Poor souls with stunted vision

  Oft measure giants by their narrow gauge;

  The poisoned shafts of falsehood and derision

  Are oft impelled ’gainst those who mould the age

  Not understood.

  Not understanding. The secret springs of action

  Which lie beneath the surface and the show

  Are disregarded; with self-satisfaction

  We judge our neighbor, and they often go—

  Not understood.

  Not understood. How trifles often change us!

  The thoughtless sentence or the fancied slight

  Destroys long years of friendship, and estrange us,

  And on our souls there falls a freezing blight—

  Not understood.

  Not understood. How many breasts are aching

  For lack of sympathy! Ah, day to day

  How many cheerless, lonely h
earts are breaking!

  How many noble spirits pass away—

  Not understood.

  O God! that men would see a little clearer,

  Or judge less harshly where they cannot see;

  O God! that men would draw a little nearer

  To one another; they’d be nearer Thee—

  And understood.

  God is wisdom, God is love.

  THOMAS BRACKEN

  LAST LINES No coward soul is mine,

  No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere:

  I see Heaven’s glories shine,

  And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

  O God, within my breast,

  Almighty, ever-present Deity!

  Life—that in me has rest,

  As I—undying Life—have power in Thee!

  Vain are the thousand creeds

  That move men’s hearts: unutterably vain;

  Worthless as withered weeds,

  Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

  To waken doubt in one

  Holding so fast by thine infinity;

  So surely anchored on

  The steadfast rock of immortality.

  With wide-embracing love

  Thy Spirit animates eternal years,

  Pervades and broods above,

  Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

  Though earth and man were gone,

  And suns and universes ceased to be,

  And Thou were left alone,

  Every existence would exist in Thee.

  There is not room for Death,

  Nor atom that his might could render void:

  Thou—Thou art Being and Breath,

  And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

  God is wisdom, God is love.

  EMILY BRONTE

  CHRISTMAS EVERYWHERE Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight!