Read Ebook: Oklahoma and Other Poems by Miller Freeman Edwin

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Ebook has 391 lines and 27159 words, and 8 pages

If we don't or if we do, We but dust and ashes brew; Labor, trouble, toil and strife Weave within each human life; Sorrows cloud the younger years; Age is bowed with cares and tears; Accidents in fame are few,-- If we don't or if we do.

If we don't or if we do. Fate to our deserts is true; If we fail, or falter not, Every life deserves his lot; Every human, small or great, Buys with current coin his fate; What's the odds to me and you, If we don't or if we do?

DEAR SONGS OF MY COUNTRY!

Dear songs of my country! How sweetly thy measures Come stealthily stealing o'er mountain and wave, To sweeten the riches of liberty's treasures And thrill with their numbers the hearts of the brave! To move in wild glory the souls of a nation, Till men are together so happily hurled, That millions are bound in fraternal relation And brotherhoods rule in the ranks of the world.

Such praises ye offer our heroes and sages, So grand is the greatness that lives in thy strains, That small is the fame of the far away ages, So sunken in tyranny, fettered in chains. For freedom ye strive and ye struggle for glory, And Liberty--Liberty still is your theme-- And glad are your lips with the national story, Which warriors have written on forest and stream.

Dear songs of my country! The soul patriotic Ye fill with the wishes of mighty emprise, Till conquers he tyranny harsh and despotic, Or first in the front of the battle he dies. Ye offer him laurels, ye crown him with praises, Who falls in the fight with his face to the foe, And gratitude over his sepulcher raises The marbles eternal of national woe.

Your strains are as high as the cloud-covered mountains, As deep as the ocean, as wide as the land, As pure as the murmurs of silvery fountains, But loud as the roar on the billowy strand. Our deep-furrowed prairies, our ship-laden rivers, Our ax-ringing forests, our steam-shrieking bays, Swell high in your music, for all are free givers To freedom's true grandeur and liberty's praise.

How fondly, dear songs of my country, ye cherish The struggle heroic, the God-shapen deed, That nothing of worthiness ever may perish But live to the time of humanity's need! Afar from the realms of the centuries olden, Ye summon with gladness the glories of years, To greet every hero with cadences golden, And sing every sage that in greatness appears.

The ages may falter thee, Land of my Birth, The years may thy grandeur and glory betray; But long as thy songs murmur over the earth, No forces can carry thy splendors away! Then live, ye dear songs of my country, forever, With voices eternal to utter her name, That cycles may never her liberty sever, Nor trample her greatness nor crumble her fame!

JULY FOURTH.

High hangs the sacred banner, and the stars Dance in the sunshine, while the breezes play Around the glory of the hallowed bars Gleaming in white and crimson; music gay Floats from the patriot host and cheers array Great shouts around its foldings. Long in state, Flag of the brave and free, wave o'er this day To bring the world rejoicings which await The natal hours of might, the day we celebrate!

How fears the tyrant in his capital, As myriad wires throb with the nation's tale! How despot trembles in his castled hall, When liberty's wild shouts of power prevail, And give their gladness unto every gale! Fetters and chains dissolve in holy trust, Scepters and swords in puny weakness fail, While crowns and thrones make monumental dust, And kingly Might is dead, Oppression downward thrust.

Wide float thy wondrous paeans; loudly range Thy songs of holy rapture; and the roars Of deep-mouthed cannons echo wild and strange Through shouting cities; Patriotism pours Her full libations on the trembling shores, Till earth reels with her triumph; and the voice Of millions mad with merriment far soars From sea to ocean with entrancing noise, Till nations hear the cry and continents rejoice.

Wave on, thou flag of freedom, and this day Still live in hearts of nations! O, thou Land, Where Man was first the monarch, where the sway Of birth exalted first was broken, stand To guard the helpless with a mighty hand, And give the weak protection; scout the ban Which tyrants utter, and with growing band Of noble freemen serve thy primal plan, And bind all nations in the Brotherhood of Man!

"O, GENTLE SHADE OF QUIET WOODS."

O, gentle shade of quiet woods, Where nature dwells in leafy halls, I love the sacred voice that falls In music o'er thy solitudes! Within thine arms the weary heart Is hidden from the toils of men, And pleasure makes ambition start Into a nobler life again.

Among the fragrant shadows throng With all the riches of their truth, Glad echoes from the days of youth And mingle into laughing song; While angel fingers touch the keys That slumber in the silent breast, Till mem'ry wakes her lullabies And childhood fancies rock to rest.

Again the hours of early joy Upon the aged years intrude, And dance amid the summer wood The golden dreamings of the boy; Again the songs of wonder thrill The days of life with gladness wild, And lofty visions fondly fill The longing fancies of the child.

Enchanted choirs of baby years, Sweet dirges from the cradle's keys, The glories of your harmonies Impel my secret soul to tears! The roses of my fancies fade Into the dust of wicked strife, And all the promise boyhood made Has proved the desert of my life.

O, fragrant woods of happy times, Fair children of the glowing days, How sweet the music of your lays Is mingled into fairy chimes! Ye lisp again the songs of yore, The stories of my infant years, And throw a sweeter cadence o'er My hoary sorrows and my tears!

LOVE.

The souls of sages and of slaves Were faithful servants unto thee, Whose rapture soothed the Grecian waves, And kissed the islands of the sea; And bounding on from strand to strand It crossed the coasts and climbed the slopes, To place a crown of tender hopes Upon the vine-clad Roman land.

Great empress of that early time, Glad ruler of the gentle souls, Each year is changed to raptured rhyme That o'er thy laughing bosom rolls; For cycles as they sink to rest So closely guard thy joy and truth, That fondness and immortal youth Give sweet embraces to thy breast.

Thou goddess of the Paphian shrine, Cytheran queen of Ion's isle, Fair Venus from the land of wine, The races love thy dewy smile; While silent hills and dewy glades Bear praises on each breeze that blows, Sweet as the breath of morning rose That blossoms in the woodland shades!

Then crown, O, Love, these later days With mystic charms of wondrous bliss, That lived when thou wert wreathed with bays, And nations hungered for thy kiss! No more thy temples tower above, But lives and bosoms hold thee dear; Then come with all thy worth of cheer And gentleness, O, mighty Love!

WINTERS ON THE FARM.

Glad winters on the olden farm! How raptures from those early times Commingle into fairy chimes Which gently banish cries of harm! My fainting soul finds rest the whiles Within the arms of memory, And tender scenes of boyish glee Transform my sorrows into smiles.

How brightly beamed the pleasures then, When frigid fingers came to throw A wintry winding sheet of snow Around the silent homes of men! But happiness found no alarm, For safe with cheer, secure with love, She gladly grew and sweetly throve Through winters on the olden farm.

With merry bells and busy sleighs, That sung and flew o'er icy vales And climbed the hills as fleet as gales, Like singing phantoms died the days; Or then with coat and muffler warm Sweet children glided on the lake, Or chased the rabbit through the brake, In winters on the olden farm.

How glad the joys at eventide When 'round the hearth-stone's pleasant heat The simple song in music sweet From loving voices floated wide! The mellowed apples gave a charm, While pop-corn white and cider bright With worlds of laughter lent delight To winters on the olden farm.

Thrice happy nights and happy days, Sweet isles of pleasure in the past, May long your hallowed moments cast A sacred sunshine o'er my ways! And where life leads me, gladly arm My soul with angel songs of bliss, With true embrace and holy kiss, O, winters on the olden farm!

"O, WEAK AND WEARY WORLD!"

O weak and weary world Forever struggling on, When will thy toils in comfort be impearled, When will thy sorrows and thy cares be gone? When shall the races, all ambition dead, Forsake the stony slope and rocky steep, And in contentment sweetly wed The joys that never sleep?

O, weak and weary world, Long hast thou toiled in vain; The smoky fumes of woe are darkly curled With endless troubles and enduring pain; When will thy bosom, faint and helpless grown, Rest sweetly in the balmy bowers of ease? Avoid the woes that constant groan And follow shapes that please?

O, weak and weary world, Why search the hills and seas? All Nature is in secrecy enfurled And thou canst never solve her mysteries; Thou canst not understand nor comprehend Her varied movements nor the intricate, The systems that so far extend, Creation wide and great.

O, weak and weary world, Why more attempt advance? Long have thy forces in confusion whirled In circles through the misty maze of chance; The nations rise and sink in sepulchres, Thy peoples perish in a common grave; Progression dies, perfection errs, Wrong rules the wood and wave.

O, weak and weary world, Let thy ambition rest! Long have defeat and gloomy ruin twirled In dark embrace the purest and the best; Destruction is thy portion, death thy part, Ashes thy glory, and thy splendor dust; Then ease the longings of thy breast; Serve pleasures well; and trust!

EX ANIMA.

The gloomy hours of silence wake Remembrance and her train, And phantoms through the fancies chase The mem'ries that remain; And hidden in the dark embrace Of days that now are gone, I see a form, a fairy form, And fancy hurries on!

I see the old familiar smile, I hear the tender tone, I greet the softness of the glance That cheered me when alone; The ruby chains of rich romance That bound our bosoms o'er, I still can know, I still can feel, As they were felt before.

I name the vows, the fresh young vows, That we together said; What matters it? She can not know; She slumbers with the dead! Again the fields of fate I sow, As she and I have sown; I dream again the same old dreams, But I am left alone!

The twining grasses verdant wreathe Above her silent grave; The rose and violet over all Their purest blossoms wave; Unbidden from their fountains fall The tender tides of tears; A sorrow winds among the days, And chains the passing years.

My life commingles shine with shade, The lily with the rose, And in my heart a loathsome weed Beside each lily grows; Through every thought, through every deed, The somber shadows play; And I am sad, alone and sad, And life is never gay.

"LO, ALL THE AGE IS RANK WITH WRONG."

Lo, all the age is rank with wrong! The nations kneel to monstrous might, And horrid cries that haunt the night, Have hushed the notes of happy song; Mankind the deepest truth has missed, The best emotions have grown dim; We praise the God that dwelt in Christ, But crucify the man in him.

Laws, noble, good, and great at first, With plan perverted, bind again The regal rights of mind and men And prove of tyrants far the worst; With blinded eyes is Nature made, And knows her constant purpose crossed, While crafty Jacob plies his trade And Esau finds his blessing lost.

Earth yields her fruits in ample store; Her children all are heirs that trace Their lineage through the royal race, And all her wealth is theirs--and more; But one with cunning hand controls The portions that his brothers fed, While thousands--just and worthy souls-- In aimless anguish cry for bread!

No royal blood by caste or creed, No pride of place, no gild of gold Can warm the weak, accursed with cold, Or light the awful nights of need; Labor alone can blessings bring To crown the brows of freedom's brave; The toiler is the truest king, The idler is the only slave!

But laugh, O, Labor, dry thy tears! A better day is drawing nigh; Hope brightens all the somber sky; The golden age of Love is near! Behold! But yonder stands a Star! The ancient lies are downward hurled; A man--a child--is greater far Than all the wealth of all the world!

"LOVE, THOU GAYEST FANCY-WEAVER."

Love, thou gayest fancy-weaver, Heart-betrayer, soul-deceiver, Come with all thy clinging kisses; Bringing all thy beaming blisses; It may serve the cynic's parts, If he curse and if he scout thee, But, O, where were gentle hearts, If they had to live without thee!

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