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.

--Emily Bronte

The Day Is Done

THE DAY IS DONE, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist:
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read the me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some hubler poet,
Whose songs gush'd from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice;
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be fill'd with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And as silently steal away.

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

" DREAMS"

I've dreamed many dreams that never came true,
I've seen them vanish at dawn,
But I've realized enough of my dreams thank the Lord,
To make me want to dream on.

I've prayed many prayers when no answer came,
Though I've waited patient and long,
But answers have come to enough of my prayers,
To make me keep praying on.

I've trusted many a friend that failed,
And left me to weep alone,
But I've found enough of my friends that are really true,
That will make me keep trusting on.

I've sown many seeds that have fallen by the way,
For the birds to feed upon,
But I've held enough golden sheaves in my hand,
To make me keep sowing on.

I've drunk from the cup of disappointment and pain,
I've gone many days without song,
But I've sipped enough nectar from the Roses of Life,
To make me keep living on!

Author,
Ron DeMarco
&
Friend
Copyright 99

All To Myself

ALL TO MYSELF, I find the way
Back to each golden yesterday,
Faring in fancy until I stand
Clasping your ready, friendly hand;
The picture seems half true, half dream,
And I keep its color and its gleam
All to myself.

All to myself I hum again
Fragments of some old-time refrain,
Something that comes at fancy's choice,
And I hear the cadence of your voice:
Sometimes 'tis dim, something 'tis clear,
But I keep the music I hear
All to myself.

All to myself I hold and know
All of the days of long ago-
Wonderfull days when you and I
Owned all the sunshine in the sky:
The days come back as the old days will,
And I keep their tingle and their thrill
All to myself.

All to myself! My friend, do you
Count all the memories softly, too?
Summer and Autumn, Winter, Spring,
The hopes we cherish, and everthing?
They course my veins as a draft divine,
And I keep them wholly, solely mine-
All to myself.

All to myself I think of you,
Think of the things we used to do,
Think of the things we used to say,
Think of each happy, bygone day;
Sometimes I sigh and sometimes I smile,
But I keep each olden, golden while
All to myself.

--Wilbur Dick Nesbit

Then Laugh

BUILD FOR YOURSELF a strong box,
Fashion each part with care;
When it's strong as your hand can make it,
Put all your troubles there;
Hide there are thought of your failures,
And each bitter cup that you quaff;
Lock all your heartaches within it,
Then sit on the lid and laugh.

Tell no one else its contents,
Never its secrets share;
When you've dropped in your care and worry
Keep them forever there;
Kide them from sight so completely
That the world will never dream half;
Fasten the strong box securely-
Then sit on the lid and laugh.

--Bertha Adams Backus