On all that humble happiness, The world has since foregone,The daylight of contentedness That on those faces shone! With rights, though not too closely scanned, Enjoyed, as far as known, With will by no reverse unmanned,— With pulse of even tone, They from to-day and from to-night Expected nothing more, Than yesterday and yesternight To them was life a simple art A game where each man took his part, A battle whose great scheme and scope Content, as men at arms, to cope Man now his Virtue's diadem Puts on, and proudly wears, Great thoughts, great feelings, came to them, Like instincts, unawares: Blending their souls' sublimest needs With tasks of every day, They went about their gravest deeds, And what if Nature's fearful wound To watch the misery there, For that their love but flowed more fast, Their charities more free, Not conscious what mere drops they cast A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet; It is the distant and the dim That we are sick to greet; For flowers that grow our hands beneath Our hearts must die, except they breathe Yet, Brothers, who up Reason's hill And still restrain your haughty gaze, Remembering distance leaves a haze On all that lies below. Richard Monckton Milnes [1809-1885] DON QUIXOTE BEHIND thy pasteboard, on thy battered hack, Austin Dobson [1840 A PRAYER LORD, not for light in darkness do we pray, Not for a clearer vision of the things Not for a fuller knowledge of the end Not these, O Lord. We would not break the bars We do not crave the high perception swift Not these, O Lord. For these thou hast revealed. Not these. We know the hemlock from the rose, We know the paths wherein our feet should press, Across our hearts are written thy decrees. Yet now, O Lord, be merciful to bless With more than these. Grant us the will to fashion as we feel, Grant us the strength to labor as we know, Knowledge we ask not-knowledge thou hast lent; The deed, the deed. John Drinkwater [18 BATTLE CRY MORE than half beaten, but fearless, What though I live with the winners, Give me no pity, nor spare me; Calm not the wrath of my Foe. Red is the mist about me; Deep is the wound in my side; Grant that the woman who bore me Suffered to suckle a man! John G. Neihardt [1881 RABIA RABIA, sick upon her bed, Holy Malik, Hassan wise— Hassan says, "Whose prayer is pure, Malik, from a deeper sense "He who loves his Master's choice Rabia saw some selfish will. And replied, "O men of grace! Will not, in his prayer, recall From the Arabic, by James Freeman Clarke [1810-1888] THE JOYFUL WISDOM From "The Angel in the House " WOULD Wisdom for herself be wooed, She must be glad as well as good, And must not only be, but seem. |