BEST LOVED POEMS

by Richard Charlton MacKenzie

  Flows through your life with peace-destroying power,

  And dearest things are swept from sight forever,

  Say to your heart each trying hour:

  “This, too, shall pass away.”

  When ceaseless toil has hushed your song of gladness,

  And you have grown almost too tired to pray,

  Let this truth banish from your heart its sadness,

  And ease the burdens of each trying day:

  “This, too, shall pass away.”

  When fortune smiles, and full of mirth and pleasure,

  The days are flitting by without a care,

  Lest you should rest with only earthly treasure,

  Let these few words their fullest import bear:

  “This, too, shall pass away.”

  When earnest labor brings you fame and glory,

  And all earth’s noblest ones upon you smile,

  Remember that life’s longest, grandest story

  Fills but a moment in earth’s little while:

  “This, too, shall pass, away.”

  LANTA WILSON SMITH

  REQUIEM Under the wide and starry sky

  Dig the grave and let me lie,

  Glad did I live and gladly die,

  And I lay me down with a will.

  This be the verse you gave for me:

  “Here he lies where he longed to be;

  Home is the sailor, home from the sea,

  And the hunter home from the hill.”

  ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

  Stanzas from IN MEMORIAM Strong Son of God, immortal Love,

  Whom we, that have not seen thy face,

  By faith, and faith alone, embrace,

  Believing where we cannot prove;

  Thine are these orbs of light and shade;

  Thou madest Life in man and brute;

  Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot

  Is on the skull which thou hast made.

  Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:

  Thou madest man, he knows not why;

  He thinks he was not made to die;

  And thou hast made him: thou art just.

  Thou seemest human and divine,

  The highest, holiest manhood, thou:

  Our wills are ours, we know not how;

  Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

  Our little systems have their day;

  They have their day and cease to be:

  They are but broken lights of thee,

  And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

  ALFRED TENNYSON

  RING OUT, WILD BELLS Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

  The flying cloud, the frosty light:

  The year is dying in the night;

  Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

  Ring out the old, ring in the new,

  Ring, happy bells, across the snow

  The year is going, let him go;

  Ring out the false, ring in the true.

  Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

  For those that here we see no more;

  Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

  Ring in redress to all mankind.

  Ring out false pride in place and blood,

  The civic slander and the spite;

  Ring in the love of truth and right,

  Ring in the common love of good.

  Ring out old shapes of foul disease,

  Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

  Ring out the thousand wars of old,

  Ring in the thousand years of peace.

  Ring in the valiant man and free,

  The larger heart, the kindlier hand;

  Ring out the darkness of the land,

  Ring in the Christ that is to be.

  ALFRED TENNYSON

  CROSSING THE BAR Sunset and evening star,

  And one clear call for me!

  And may there be no moaning of the bar

  When I put out to sea,

  But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

  Too full for sound and foam,

  When that which drew from out the boundless deep

  Turns again home.

  Twilight and evening bell,

  And after that the dark!

  And may there be no sadness of farewell

  When I embark;

  For, though from out our bourne of time and place

  The flood may bear me far,

  I hope to see my Pilot face to face

  When I have cross’d the bar.

  ALFRED TENNYSON

  EVEN THIS SHALL PASS AWAY Once in Persia reigned a king,

  Who upon his signet ring

  Graved a maxim true and wise,

  Which, if held before his eyes,

  Gave him counsel at a glance

  Fit for every change and chance.

  Solemn words, and these are they;

  “Even this shall pass away.”

  Trains of camels through the sand

  Brought him gems from Samarcand;

  Fleets of galleys through the seas

  Brought him pearls to match with these;

  But he counted not his gain

  Treasures of the mine or main;

  “What is wealth?” the king would say;

  “Even this shall pass away.”

  “Mid the revels of his court,

  At the zenith of his sport,

  When the palms of all his guests

  Burned with clapping at his jests,

  He, amid his figs and wine,

  Cried, “O loving friends of mine;

  Pleasures come, but not to stay;

  ‘Even this shall pass away.’ ”

  Lady, fairest ever seen,

  Was the bride he crowned his queen.

  Pillowed on his marriage bed,

  Softly to his soul he said:

  “Though no bridegroom ever pressed

  Fairer bosom to his breast,

  Mortal flesh must come to clay—

  Even this shall pass away.”

  Fighting on a furious field,

  Once a javelin pierced his shield;

  Soldiers, with a loud lament,

  Bore him bleeding to his tent.

  Groaning from his tortured side,

  “Pain is hard to bear,” he cried;

  “But with patience, day by day,

  Even this shall pass away.”

  Towering in the public square,

  Twenty cubits in the air,

  Rose his statue, carved in stone.

  Then the king, disguised, unknown,

  Stood before his sculptured name,

  Musing meekly: “What is fame?

  Fame is but a slow decay;

  Even this shall pass away.”

  Struck with palsy, sore and old,

  Waiting at the Gates of Gold,

  Said he with his dying breath,

  “Life is done, but what is Death?”

  Then, in answer to the king,

  Fell a sunbeam on his ring,

  Showing by a heavenly ray,

  “Even this shall pass away.”

  THEODORE TILTON

  ROCK OF AGES Rock of ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in thee;

  Let the water and the blood

  From thy side, a healing flood,

  Be of sin the double cure,

  Save from wrath, and make me pure.

  Should my tears for ever flow,

  Should my zeal no languor know,

  All for sin could not atone,

  Thou must save, and thou alone;

  In my hand no price I bring,

  Simply to thy cross I cling.

  While I draw this fleeting breath,

  When mine eyelids close in death,

  When I rise to worlds unknown,

  And behold thee on thy throne,

  Rock of ages, cleft for me,

  Let me hide myself in thee.

  AUGUSTUS M. TOPLADY

  DEATH IS A DOO
R Death is only an old door

  Set in a garden wall;

  On gentle hinges it gives, at dusk

  When the thrushes call.

  Along the lintel are green leaves,

  Beyond the light lies still;

  Very willing and weary feet

  Go over that sill.

  There is nothing to trouble any heart;

  Nothing to hurt at all.

  Death is only a quiet door

  In an old wall.

  NANCY BYRD TURNER

  THESE ARE THE GIFTS I ASK These are the gifts I ask

  Of Thee, Spirit serene:

  Strength for the daily task,

  Courage to face the road,

  Good cheer to help me bear the traveler’s load,

  And, for the hours of rest that come between,

  An inward joy of all things heard and seen.

  These are the sins I fain

  Would have Thee take away:

  Malice and cold disdain,

  Hot anger, sullen hate,

  Scorn of the lowly, envy of the great,

  And discontent that casts a shadow gray

  On all the brightness of the common day.

  HENRY VAN DYKE

  O GOD, OUR HELP

  IN AGES PAST O God, our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Our shelter from the stormy blast

  And our eternal home:

  Under the shadow of thy throne

  Thy saints have dwelt secure;

  Sufficient is thine arm alone,

  And our defence is sure.

  Before the hills in order stood,

  Or earth received her frame,

  From everlasting thou art God,

  To endless years the same.

  A thousand ages in thy sight

  Are like an evening gone;

  Short as the watch that ends the night

  Before the rising sun.

  Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

  Bears all its sons away;

  They fly, forgotten, as a dream.

  Dies at the opening day.

  O God, our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Be thou our Guide while life shall last,

  And our eternal home.

  ISAAC WATTS

  AN ANCIENT PRAYER Give me a good digestion, Lord, and also something to digest;

  Give me a healthy body, Lord, and sense to keep it at its best.

  Give me a healthy mind, good Lord, to keep the good and pure in

  sight

  Which, seeing sin, is not appalled, but finds a way to set it

  right.

  Give me a mind that is not bound, that does not whimper, whine

  or sigh.

  Don’t let me worry overmuch about the fussy thing called I.

  Give me a sense of humor, Lord; give me the grace to see a joke,

  To get some happiness from life and pass it on to other folk.

  THOMAS H. B. WEBB

  JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL Jesus, Lover of my soul,

  Let me to thy bosom fly,

  While the nearer waters roll,

  While the tempest still is high;

  Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,

  Till the storm of life be past;

  Safe into the haven guide,

  O receive my soul at last.

  Other refuge have I none,

  Hangs my helpless soul on thee;

  Leave, ah! leave me not alone,

  Still support and comfort me:

  All my trust on thee is stayed;

  All my help from thee I bring;

  Cover my defenseless head

  With the shadow of thy wing.

  Plenteous grace with thee is found,

  Grace to cleanse from every sin;

  Let the healing streams abound,

  Make and keep me pure within;

  Thou of life the fountain art,

  Freely let me take of thee:

  Spring thou up within my heart;

  Rise to all eternity.

  CHARLES WESLEY

  O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done,

  The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;

  The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

  While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

  But O heart! heart! heart!

  O the bleeding drops of red,

  Where on the deck my Captain lies,

  Fallen cold and dead.

  O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

  Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,

  For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the

  shores acrowding,

  For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

  Here Captain! dear father!

  This arm beneath your head!

  It is some dream that on the deck

  You’ve fallen cold and dead.

  My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

  My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,

  The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed

  and done,

  From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

  Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

  But I, with mournful tread,

  Walk the deck my Captain lies,

  Fallen cold and dead.

  WALT WHITMAN

  THE BIBLE We search the world for truth. We cull

  The good, the true, the beautiful,

  From graven stone and written scroll,

  And all old flower-fields of the soul;

  And, weary seekers of the best,

  We come back laden from our quest,

  To find that all the sages said

  Is in the Book our mothers read.

  JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

  AT LAST When on my day of life the night is falling,

  And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown

  I hear far voices out of darkness calling

  My feet to paths unknown,

  Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant,

  Leave not its tenant when its walls decay;

  O Love Divine, O Helper ever-present,

  Be Thou my strength and stay!

  Be near me when all else is from me drifting;

  Earth, sky, home’s pictures, days of shade and shine,

  And kindly faces to my own uplifting

  The love which answers mine.

  I have but Thee, my Father! let Thy spirit

  Be with me then to comfort and uphold;

  No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit,

  Nor street of shining gold.

  Suffice it if—my good and ill unreckoned,

  And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace—

  I find myself by hands familiar beckoned

  Unto my fitting place.

  JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

  THE RAINBOW My heart leaps up when I behold

  A Rainbow in the sky:

  So was it when my life began;

  So is it now I am a Man;

  So be it when I shall grow old,

  Or let me die!

  The Child is Father of the Man;

  And I could wish my days to be

  Bound each to each by natural piety.

  WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

  THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

  He leadeth me beside the still waters.

  He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths

  of righteousness for his name’s sake.

  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the

  shadow of death, I will fear no evil:

  For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff

  they comfort me.

>   Thou preparest a table before me in the presence

  of mine enemies:

  Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup

  runneth over.

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all

  the days of my life: And I will dwell in the house

  of the Lord for ever.

  from the Bible

  THE LOOM OF TIME Man’s life is laid in the loom of time

  To a pattern he does not see,

  While the weavers work and the shuttles fly

  Till the dawn of eternity.

  Some shuttles are rilled with silver threads

  And some with threads of gold,

  While often but the darker hues

  Are all that they may hold.

  But the weaver watches with skillful eye

  Each shuttle fly to and fro,

  And sees the pattern so deftly wrought

  As the loom moves sure and slow.

  God surely planned the pattern:

  Each thread, the dark and fair,

  Is chosen by His master skill

  And placed in the web with care.

  He only knows its beauty,

  And guides the shuttles which hold

  The threads so unattractive,

  As well as the threads of gold.

  Not till each loom is silent,

  And the shuttles cease to fly,

  Shall God reveal the pattern

  And explain the reason why

  The dark threads were as needful

  In the weaver’s skillful hand

  As the threads of gold and silver

  For the pattern which He planned.

  ANONYMOUS

  THE ANVIL—GOD’S WORD Last eve I passed beside a blacksmith’s door,

  And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime;

  Then, looking in, I saw upon the floor