Oh! take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast, The mill will never grind again with water that is
Work on while yet the sun doth shine, thou man of strength and will,
The streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by clicking water-mill;
Nor wait until to-morrow's light, beams brightly on
For all that thou can'st call thine own, lies in the phrase to-day.
Possessions, power, and blooming health must all be lost at last,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."
Oh! love thy God and fellow men, thyself consider last, For come it will when thou must scan dark errors of
Soon will this fight of life be o'er, and earth recede from view,
And Heaven in all its glory shine, where all is pure and
Ah! then thou'lt see more clearly still, the proverb
"The mill will never grind again with water that is
We have sipped the cup of sorrow,
Thou and I;
We have waited a to-morrow,
Thou and I;
We have watched beside a bed,
Bending o'er a little head,
Crushed beneath a weight of dread,
Thou and I.
We have owned our helplessness,
Thou and I;
We have sought God in distress,
Thou and I;
We have shed a common tear
When no other help was near,
Prayed together in our fear,
Thou and I.
Shall we break the ties that bind us, Thou and I?
Shall we put those days behind us, Thou and I?
God has wed with grief and pain,
Shall we prove that union vain,
Shall we go our ways again,
They do me wrong who say I come no more
When once I knock and fail to find you in;
For every day I stand outside your door,
And bid you wake and rise to fight and win.
Wail not for precious chances passed away,
Weep not for golden ages on the wane;
Each night I burn the records of the day,
At sunrise every soul is born again.
Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped,
To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb;
My judgments seal the dead past with its dead,
But never bind a moment yet to come.
Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep,
I lend my arm to all who say: "I can;"
No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep
But he might rise and be again a man.
LINCOLN, THE MAN OF THE PEOPLE
When the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour
Greatening and darkening as it hurried on,
She left the Heaven of Heroes and came down
To make a man to meet the mortal need.
She took the tried clay of the common road
Clay warm yet with the ancient heat of Earth,
Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy;
Tempered the heap with thrill of human tears;
Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff.
Into the shape she breathed a flame to light
That tender, tragic, ever-changing face.
Here was a man to hold against the world,
A man to match the mountains and the sea.
The color of the ground was in him, the red earth; The smack and tang of elemental things:
The rectitude and patience of the cliff;
The good-will of the rain that loves all leaves;
The friendly welcome of the wayside well;
The courage of the bird that dares the sea;
The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn;
The mercy of the snow that hides all scars;
The secrecy of streams that make their way
Beneath the mountain to the rifted rock;
The undelaying justice of the light
That gives as freely to the shrinking flower
As to the great oak flaring to the wind
To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn
That shoulders out the sky.
The strength of virgin forests braced his mind,
The hush of spacious prairies stilled his soul.
Up from log cabin to the Capitol,
One fire was on his spirit, one resolve
To send the keen axe to the root of wrong,
Clearing a free way for the feet of God.
And evermore he burned to do his deed
With the fine stroke and gesture of a king:
He built the rail-pile as he built the State,
Pouring his splendid strength through every blow,
The conscience of him testing every stroke,
To make his deed the measure of a man.
So came the Captain with the thinking heart;
And when the judgment thunders split the house,
Wrenching the rafters from their ancient rest,
He held the ridgepole up, and spiked again
The rafters of the Home. He held his place
Held the long purpose like a growing tree
Held on through blame and faltered not at praise.
And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down
As when a lordly cedar, green with boughs,
Goes down with a great shout upon the hills,
And leaves a lonesome place against the sky.
O, LAY THY HAND IN MINE, DEAR
O, lay thy hand in mine, dear!
We're growing old;
But Time hath brought no sign, dear,
That hearts grow cold.
"T is long, long since our new love
Made life divine;
But age enricheth true love,
Like noble wine.
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