Somebody's baby was buried to-day - The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back, And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,...
I know the need of the world, Though it would not have me know. It would hide its sorrow deep, Where only God may go. Yet its secret it can not keep; It tells it awake, or asleep,...
Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside. No more to its motion o'er sleep's fairy ocean, Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide. ...
When Venus, mother and maker of blisses, Rose out of the billows, large-limbed, and fair, She stood on the sands and blew sweet kisses To the salt sea-wind as she dried her hair. ...
I had been almost happy for an hour, Lost to the world that knew me in the park Among strange faces; while my little girl Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds...
She gave her soul and body for a carriage, And livened lackey with a vacant grin, And all the rest -house, lands -and called it marriage: The bargain made, a husband was thrown in. ...
However certain of the way thou art, Take not the self-appointed leader's part. Follow no man, and by no man be led, And no man lead. AWAKE, and go ahead. Thy path, though leading straight unto the goal...
A weed is but an unloved flower! Go dig, and prune, and guide, and wait, Until it learns its high estate, And glorifies some bower. A weed is but an unloved flower!
So many people - people - in the world; So few great souls, love ordered, well begun, In answer to the fertile mother need! So few who seem The image of the Maker's mortal dream;...
Through rivers of veins on the nameless quest The tide of my life goes hurriedly sweeping, Till it reaches that curious wheel o' the breast, The human heart, which is never at rest....
Wherever the white man's feet have trod (Oh far does the white man stray) A bold road rifles the virginal sod, And the forest wakes out of its dream of God, To yield him the right of way....
One ship drives east and another drives west, With the self-same winds that blow, 'Tis the set of the sails And not the gales That tell them the way to go....
Should some great angel say to me to-morrow, "Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start, But God will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow, Some one dear wish, the nearest to thy heart." ...
At times I am the mother of the world; And mine seem all its sorrows, and its fears. That rose, which in each mother-heart is curled, The rose of pity, opens with my tears,...
Oh! the earth is full of sinning And of trouble and of woe, But the devil makes an inning Every time we say it's so. And the way to set him scowling, And to put him back a pace,...