POEMS

Life with Barbara

POEMS

NOBODY'S CHILD
Alone in the dreary,pitiless street,
With my torn old dress,and bare,cold feet,
All day I have wandered to and fro,
Hungry,and shivering,and nowhere to go;
The night's coming on in darkness and dread,
And the chill sleet,beating upon my bear head.
Oh!why does the wind blow upon me so wild?
Is it because I am nobody's child?
Just over the way there is a flood light,
And warmth and beauty and all things bright,
Beautiful children,in robes so fair,
Are caroling songs in their rapture there.
In wonder if they,in their blissful glee,
Would pity a poor lttle beggar like me,
Wandering alone in the merciless street,
Naked and shivering,and nothing to eat?
Oh!what shall I do when the night comes down,
In this terrible blackness all over town?
Shall I lay me down neath the angry sky,
On the cold hard pavement alone to die,
When the beautiful children their prayers have said,
And their mammas have tucked them snugly in bed?
For no dear mother on me ever smiled,-
Why is it I wonder,I'm nobody's child?
No father,no mother,no sister,not one
In all the world loves me,even the little dogs run
When I wander to near them;tis wondrous to see,
How everything shrinks from a beggar like me!
Perhaps tis a dream;but sometimes,when I lie
Gazing far up in the dark blue sky,
Watching for hours,some larges,bright star,
I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar,
And a host of white-robed,nameless things,
Come fluttering oer me on gilded wings;
A hand that is strangely soft and fair
Caresses gently my tangled hair,
The voice like the carol of some wild bird-
The sweetes voice that ever was heard-
Calls me many a dear pet name,
Till my heart and my spirit are all aflame.
They tell me of such unbounded love,
And bid me come up to their home above;
And then with such pitiful and sad surprise,
They look at me with their sweet tender eyes,
And it seems to me out of the dreary night,
I am going up to that world of light,
And away from the hunger and the storm so eild,
I am sure then I shall be somebody's child.
PHILA HENRIETTA CASE (19th century)

YOUNG AND OLD
When all the world is young,lad,
And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan lad,
And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse lad,
And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course,lad,
And every dog his day.
When all the world is old,lad,
And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale,lad,
And all the wheels run down;
Creep home,and take your place there,
The spent and maimed among;
God grant you find one face there
You loved when you was young.
CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819-1875)

ABOU BEN ADHEM
Abou Ben Adhem(may his tribe increase!)
Awoke on enight from a deep dream of peace,
And saw,within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich,and like a lilly in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"The vision raised its head,
And with a look of all sweet accord
Answered,"The names of those who love the Lord,;
"And is mine one?"said Abou."Nay,not so,"
Replied the Angel.Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still;and said,"I pray thee,then,
"Write me as one that loves his fellow men."
The Angel wrote and vanished.The next night
It came again with a great awakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo!Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT(1784-1859)

MY MOTHER
Who fed me from her gentle breast
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
MY MOTHER
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet lullaby
And rocked me that I should not cry?
MY MOTHER
Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleepng in my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
MY MOTHER
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye
And wept for fear that I should die?
MY MOTHER
Who ran to help me when I fell
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the part to make it well?
MY MOTHER
Who taught my infant lips to pray,
To love gods holy word and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasent way,
MY MTOTHER
And can I ever ease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee
Who wast so very kind to me,
MY MOTHER
Oh no,the thought I can not bear;
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall reward the care,
MY MOTHER
When thou art feeble,old and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
MY MOTHER
And when I see thee hang thy head,
Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,
MY MOTHER
JANE TAYLOR(1783-1824)

THEY NEVER TASTE WHO ALWAYS DRINK;
THEY NEVER TALK WHO ALWAYS THINK.
-MATTHEW PRIOR(1664-1721)

Not every truth is the better for showing its face undisguised; and often silence is the wisest thing for a man to heed.~ Pindar