Battle-Hymn of the Republic by Julia Ward Howe

             Battle-Hymn of the Republic

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword,
     His truth is marching on.

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
     His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
     Since God is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat:
O, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be jubilant my feet!
     Our God is marching on.

In the beauties of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
     While God is marching on.

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The Beast of a Night by Dennis Lange

     The Beast Of A Night

In innocence, the night began,
   Like most of nights, by far.
But shortly after Sun had set
   Two brutes raised heads to war.

The pig cloud and the dog tree were
   Outlines against the sky.
The fun began when lightning leapt
   And struck the pig cloud’s eye.

 The pig blinked not, but winked a bit,
   And said it was a grin
He’d flashed across the evening.
   His lie, not he, was thin.

He laughed as if it tickled him.
   He snorted loud and roared
From rumblings deep within his bowels.
   He was, and was not, boared.

The dog tree bobbed his head and howled,
   As pig cloud belched the wind.
Dog’s boughing neck and branching legs
   Did rub and creak and bend.

Dog would have wagged his tail at Pig -
   The problem, I suppose,
Was that his tail was rooted deep
   Beside a rising rose.

Instead, he tossed his head about
   To watch as Pig approached.
And would he run away with Pig?
   The subject was not broached.

The whipping wind ripped some of Dog -
   The eyes, ears, nose, and throat.
The pig cloud cried to see his plight,
   Enough to fill a boat.

But dog trees grow more playful when
   A pig cloud comes to call.
And so the dog tree barked and jumped,
   And joined in the brawl.

Like dinosaurs they thrashed about,
   Like monsters in the deep;
They raged and stormed most of the night,
   So no one else could sleep.

Before the dawn could shine upon
   Their comic-tragic end,
The pig had rained himself away,
   And dog had lost to wind.

That night was such that folks would say,
   “Not fit for man nor beast.”
But Pig of Cloud and Dog of Tree
   Had fun, to say the least.

 © Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing by Alexander Pope

  A Little Learning Is A Dangerous Thing

A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fired at first sight with what the muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind,
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind;
But more advanced, behold with strange surprise
New distant scenes of endless science rise!
So pleased at first the towering Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales and seem to tread the sky,
The eternal snows appear already pass'd,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last:
But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way,
The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!

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Time, You Old Gipsy Man by Ralph Hodgson

Time, You Old Gipsy Man

Time, you old gipsy man,
   Will you not stay?
Put up your caravan
   Just for one day?

All things I'll give you
Will you be my guest,
Bells for your jennet
Of silver the best,
Goldsmiths shall beat you
A great golden ring,
Peacocks shall bow to you,
Little boys sing.
Oh, and sweet girls will
Festoon you with may,
Time, you old gipsy,
Why hasten away?

Last week in Babylon,
Last night in Rome,
Morning, and in the crush
Under Paul's dome;
Under Paul's dial
You tighten your rein -
Only a moment,
And off once again;
Off to some city
Now blind in the womb,
Off to another
Ere that's in the tomb.

Time, you old gipsy man,
   Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan
   Just for one day?
 

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Truth, The Invincible by William Cullen Bryant

        Truth, The Invincible

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again, -
   The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
   And dies among his worshippers.

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Break, Break, Break by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

       Break, Break, Break

Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay.

And the stately ships go on
To the haven under the hill;
But O, for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

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Look Up by Edward Everett Hale

        Look Up

Look up and not down.
Look forward and not back.
Look out and not in.
Lend a hand.

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Monday by Dennis Lange

                   Monday

There may be cobwebs as I wake, 
   But there aren’t chains that bind me.
God help me get my head on straight
   And Satan get behind me!

God grant that I might see the day
   (And others cannot blind me)
As one more chance to glorify,
   And Satan get behind me!

And help me, Lord, that I don’t groan
   (I won’t, if you remind me),
Like Israel complained and griped.
   So, Satan, get behind me!

Whatever work that I must do,
   God sees and He will find me
With cheerful heart and willing hands.
   So, Satan, get behind me!

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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My Luve’s Like A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns

My Luve's Like A Red, Red Rose

O My Luve's like a red, red rose,
   That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie
   That's sweetly played in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
   So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
   Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
   And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
   While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
   And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
   Though it were ten thousand mile.

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Always Finish by Anonymous

       Always Finish

If a task is once begun,
Never leave it till it's done.
Be the labor great or small,
Do it well or not at all.

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