A Noon Song
There are songs for the morning and songs for the night, For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon; But who will give praise to the fulness of light, And sing us a
Lights Out
“Lights out” along the land, “Lights out” upon the sea. The night must put her hiding hand O’er peaceful towns where children sleep, And peaceful ships that darkly creep Across the waves, as if
Without Disguise
If I have erred in showing all my heart, And lost your favour by a lack of pride; If standing like a beggar at your side With naked feet, I have forgot the art
Stars and the Soul
To Charles A. Young, Astronomer “Two things,” the wise man said, “fill me with awe: The starry heavens and the moral law.” Nay, add another wonder to thy roll, The living marvel of the
A Prayer for a Mother's Birthday
Lord Jesus, Thou hast known A mother’s love and tender care: And Thou wilt hear, while for my own Mother most dear I make this birthday prayer. Protect her life, I pray, Who gave
National Monuments
Count not the cost of honour to the dead! The tribute that a mighty nation pays To those who loved her well in former days Means more than gratitude for glories fled; For every
The Statue of Sherman by St. Gaudens
This is the soldier brave enough to tell The glory-dazzled world that ‘war is hell’: Lover of peace, he looks beyond the strife, And rides through hell to save his country’s life.
The Mocking-Bird
In mirth he mocks the other birds at noon, Catching the lilt of every easy tune; But when the day departs he sings of love, His own wild song beneath the listening moon.
A Legend of Service
It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise His name!) To hear, one day, report from those who came With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy, To tell of earthly tasks in His employ: For some
Hymn of Joy
To the music of Beethoven’s ninth symphony Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love; Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee, Praising Thee their sun above. Melt the clouds of sin
Might and Right
If Might made Right, life were a wild-beasts’ cage; If Right made Might, this were the golden age; But now, until we win the long campaign, Right must gain Might to conquer and to
The Message
Waking from tender sleep, My neighbour’s little child Put out his baby hand to me, Looked in my face, and smiled. It seemed as if he came Home from a happy land, To tell
The Foolish Fir-Tree
A tale that the poet Rückert told To German children, in days of old; Disguised in a random, rollicking rhyme Like a merry mummer of ancient time, And sent, in its English dress, to
America's Prosperity
They tell me thou art rich, my country: gold In glittering flood has poured into thy chest; Thy flocks and herds increase, thy barns are pressed With harvest, and thy stores can hardly hold
God of the Open Air
I Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair With flowers beneath, above with starry lights, And set thine altars everywhere, On mountain heights, In woodlands dim with many a dream, In valleys bright with