Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 10

The wheat will never show a top--but soon how green the field!

We will not harvest half a crop--yet have a famous yield!

It will not sell, it never will! but I will wait and see, For I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me.

We have a good share of worldly gear, and fortune seems secure, Yet my good man is full of fear--misfortune's coming sure!

He points me out the almshouse hill, but cannot make me see, For I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me.

He has a sort of second sights and when the fit is strong, He sees beyond the good and right the evil and the wrong.

Heaven's cop of joy he'll surely spill unless I with him be, For I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me.

_Fannie Windsor._

What is Good

"What is the real good?" I asked in musing mood.

Order, said the law court; Knowledge, said the school; Truth, said the wise man; Pleasure, said the fool; Love, said the maiden; Beauty, said the page; Freedom, said the dreamer; Home, said the sage; Fame, said the soldier; Equity, the seer.

Spake my heart full sadly: "The answer is not here."

Then within my bosom Softly this I heard: "Each heart holds the secret: Kindness is the word."

_John Boyle O'Reilly._

The Penny Ye Mean to Gie

There's a funny tale 'of a stingy man, Who was none too good but might have been worse, Who went to his church, on a Sunday night And carried along his well-filled purse.

When the s.e.xton came with the begging plate, The church was but dim with the candle's light; The stingy man fumbled all thro' his purse, And chose a coin by touch and not by sight.

It's an odd thing now that guineas should be So like unto pennies in shape and size.

"I'll gie a penny," the stingy man said: "The poor must not gifts of pennies despise."

The penny fell down with a clatter and ring!

And back in his seat leaned the stingy man.

"The world is full of the poor," he thought, "I can't help them all--I give what I can."

Ha! ha! how the s.e.xton smiled, to be sure, To see the gold guinea fall in the plate; Ha! ha! how the stingy man's heart was wrung, Perceiving his blunder--but just too late!

"No matter," he said; "in the Lord's account That guinea of gold is set down to me-- They lend to him who give to the poor; It will not so bad an investment be."

"Na, na, mon," the chuckling s.e.xton cried out, "The Lord is na cheated--he kens thee well; He knew it was only by accident That out o' thy fingers the guinea fell!

"He keeps an account, na doubt, for the puir; But in that account He'll set down to thee Na mair o' that golden guinea, my mon, Than the one bare penny ye mean to gie!"

There's comfort, too, in the little tale-- A serious side as well as a joke-- A comfort for all the generous poor In the comical words the s.e.xton spoke;

A comfort to think that the good Lord knows How generous we really desire to be, And will give us credit in his account, For all the pennies we long "to gie."

Leedle Yawcob Strauss

I haf von funny leedle poy Vot gomes shust to my knee,-- Der queerest schap, der createst rogue As efer you dit see.

He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings In all barts off der house.

But vot off dot? He vas mine son, Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He gets der measels und der mumbs, Und eferyding dot's oudt; He sbills mine gla.s.s off lager bier, Poots schnuff indo mine kraut; He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese-- Dot vas der roughest chouse; I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He dakes der milkban for a dhrum, Und cuts mine cane in dwo To make der schticks to beat it mit-- Mine cracious, dot vas drue!

I d.i.n.ks mine hed vas schplit abart He kicks oup sooch a touse; But nefer mind der poys vas few Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

He asks me questions sooch as dese: Who baints mine nose so red?

Who vos it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?

Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp Vene'er der glim I douse?

How gan I all dese dings eggsblain To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss?

I somedimes d.i.n.k I schall go vild Mit sooch a grazy poy, Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest Und beaceful dimes enshoy.

But ven he vas asleep in ped, So quiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, "Dake any dings, But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss."

_Charles F. Adams._

To-day

We shall do so much in the years to come, But what have we done to-day?

We shall give out gold in princely sum, But what did we give to-day?

We shall lift the heart and dry the tear, We shall plant a hope in the place of fear, We shall speak with words of love and cheer, But what have we done to-day?

We shall be so kind in the after while, But what have we been to-day?

We shall bring to each lonely life a smile, But what have we brought to-day?

We shall give to truth a grander birth, And to steadfast faith a deeper worth, We shall feed the hungering souls of earth, But whom have we fed to-day?

_Nixon Waterman._

So Was I