Opening the text

Library of the best American literature: Containing the lives of our authors in story form, their portraits, their homes, and their personal traits, how they worked and what they wrote; choice selections from eminent writers, embracing great American poets and novelists, foremost women in American letters, distinguished critics and essayists, our national humorists, noted journalists and magazine contributors, popular writers for young people, great orators and public lecturers

General

Library of the best American literature: Containing the lives of our authors in story form, their portraits, their homes, and their personal traits, how they worked and what they wrote; choice selections from eminent writers, embracing great American poets and novelists, foremost women in American letters, distinguished critics and essayists, our national humorists, noted journalists and magazine contributors, popular writers for young people, great orators and public lecturers

American literature

EQUAL to either fortune!” This should be
      The motto of the perfect man and true――
    Striving to stem the billow fearlessly,
      And keeping steadily the right in view,
    Whether it be his lot in life to sail
    Before an adverse or a prosperous gale.

    Man fearlessly his voice for truth should raise,
      When truth would force its way in deed or word;
    Whether for him the popular voice of praise,
      Or the cold sneer of unbelief is heard:
    Like the First Martyr, when his voice arose
    Distinct above the hisses of his foes.

    “Equal to either fortune,” Heaven designs,
      Whether his destiny be repose or toil――
    Whether the sun upon his palace shines,
      Or calls him forth to plant the furrowed soil:
    So shall he find life’s blessings freely strewn
    Around the peasant’s cottage as the throne.

    Man should dare all things which he knows are right,
      And fear to do no act save what is wrong;
    But, guided safely by his inward light,
      And with a permanent belief, and strong,
    In Him who is our Father and our friend,
    He should walk steadfastly unto the end.

    Ready to live or die, even in that day
      Which man from childhood has been taught to fear,
    When, putting off its cumbrous weight of clay,
      The spirit enters on a nobler sphere:
    And he will be, whose life was rightly passed,
    “Equal to either fortune” at the last.

                   *       *       *       *       *


                               LIGHT.¹

                            (PHOEBE CARY.)

  This is one of the last poems. It was written after the death
  of her sister Alice, in 1871.

      ¹ Copyright, Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

    WHILE I hid mine eyes, I feared;
      The heavens in wrath seemed bowed;
    I look, and the sun with a smile breaks forth,
      And a rainbow spans the cloud.

    I thought the winter was here,
      That the earth was cold and bare,
    But I feel the coming of birds and flowers,
      And the spring-time in the air.

    I said that all the lips
      I ever had kissed were dumb;
    That my dearest ones were dead and gone,
      And never a friend would come.

    But I hear a voice as sweet
      As the fall of summer showers;
    And the grave that yawned at my very feet
      Is filled to the top with flowers!

    As if ’t were the midnight hour,
      I sat with gloom opprest;
    When a light was breaking out of the east
      And shining unto the west.

    I heard the angels call
      Across from the beautiful shore;
    And I saw a look in my darling’s eyes,
      That never was there before.

    Transfigured, lost to me,
      She had slipped from my embrace;
    Now, lo! I hold her fast once more,
      With the light of God on her face!

  Illustration: (‡ decoration)




  Illustration: (‡ decoration)


                       LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

General

Library of the best American literature: Containing the lives of our authors in story form, their portraits, their homes, and their personal traits, how they worked and what they wrote; choice selections from eminent writers, embracing great American poets and novelists, foremost women in American letters, distinguished critics and essayists, our national humorists, noted journalists and magazine contributors, popular writers for young people, great orators and public lecturers

American literature

EQUAL to either fortune!” This should be
      The motto of the perfect man and true――
    Striving to stem the billow fearlessly,
      And keeping steadily the right in view,
    Whether it be his lot in life to sail
    Before an adverse or a prosperous gale.

    Man fearlessly his voice for truth should raise,
      When truth would force its way in deed or word;
    Whether for him the popular voice of praise,
      Or the cold sneer of unbelief is heard:
    Like the First Martyr, when his voice arose
    Distinct above the hisses of his foes.

    “Equal to either fortune,” Heaven designs,
      Whether his destiny be repose or toil――
    Whether the sun upon his palace shines,
      Or calls him forth to plant the furrowed soil:
    So shall he find life’s blessings freely strewn
    Around the peasant’s cottage as the throne.

    Man should dare all things which he knows are right,
      And fear to do no act save what is wrong;
    But, guided safely by his inward light,
      And with a permanent belief, and strong,
    In Him who is our Father and our friend,
    He should walk steadfastly unto the end.

    Ready to live or die, even in that day
      Which man from childhood has been taught to fear,
    When, putting off its cumbrous weight of clay,
      The spirit enters on a nobler sphere:
    And he will be, whose life was rightly passed,
    “Equal to either fortune” at the last.

                   *       *       *       *       *


                               LIGHT.¹

                            (PHOEBE CARY.)

  This is one of the last poems. It was written after the death
  of her sister Alice, in 1871.

      ¹ Copyright, Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

    WHILE I hid mine eyes, I feared;
      The heavens in wrath seemed bowed;
    I look, and the sun with a smile breaks forth,
      And a rainbow spans the cloud.

    I thought the winter was here,
      That the earth was cold and bare,
    But I feel the coming of birds and flowers,
      And the spring-time in the air.

    I said that all the lips
      I ever had kissed were dumb;
    That my dearest ones were dead and gone,
      And never a friend would come.

    But I hear a voice as sweet
      As the fall of summer showers;
    And the grave that yawned at my very feet
      Is filled to the top with flowers!

    As if ’t were the midnight hour,
      I sat with gloom opprest;
    When a light was breaking out of the east
      And shining unto the west.

    I heard the angels call
      Across from the beautiful shore;
    And I saw a look in my darling’s eyes,
      That never was there before.

    Transfigured, lost to me,
      She had slipped from my embrace;
    Now, lo! I hold her fast once more,
      With the light of God on her face!

  Illustration: (‡ decoration)




  Illustration: (‡ decoration)


                       LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

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