Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 41

Lincoln, the Man of the People

This poem was read by Edwin Markham at the dedication of the Lincoln Memorial at Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., May 30, 1922. Before reading, he said: "No oration, no poem, can rise to the high level of this historic hour.

Nevertheless, I venture to inscribe this revised version of my Lincoln poem to this stupendous Lincoln Memorial, to this far-s.h.i.+ning monument of remembrance, erected in immortal marble to the honor of our deathless martyr--the consecrated statesman, the ideal American, the ever-beloved friend of humanity."

When the Norn Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, She left the Heaven of Heroes and came down To make a man to meet the mortal need, She took the tried clay of the common road-- Clay warm yet with the genial heat of Earth, Dasht through it all a strain of prophecy; Tempered the heap with thrill of human tears; Then mixt a laughter with the serious stuff.

Into the shape she breathed a flame to light That tender, tragic, ever-changing face; And laid on him a sense of the Mystic Powers, Moving--all husht--behind the mortal veil.

Here was a man to hold against the world, A man to match the mountains and the sea.

The color of the ground was in him, the red earth; The smack and tang of elemental things; The rect.i.tude and patience of the cliff; The good-will of the rain that loves all leaves; The friendly welcome of the wayside well; The courage of the bird that dares the sea; The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn; The pity of the snow that hides all scars; The secrecy of streams that make their way Under the mountain to the rifted rock; The tolerance and equity of light That gives as freely to the shrinking flower As to the great oak flaring to the wind-- To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn That shoulders out the sky. Sprung from the West, He drank the valorous youth of a new world.

The strength of virgin forests braced his mind, The hush of s.p.a.cious prairies stilled his soul.

His words were oaks in acorns; and his thoughts Were roots that firmly gript the granite truth.

Up from log cabin to the Capitol, One fire was on his spirit, one resolve-- To send the keen ax to the root of wrong, Clearing a free way for the feet of G.o.d, The eyes of conscience testing every stroke, To make his deed the measure of a man.

He built the rail-pile as he built the State, Pouring his splendid strength through every blow; The grip that swung the ax in Illinois Was on the pen that set a people free.

So came the Captain with the mighty heart; And when the judgment thunders split the house, Wrenching the rafters from their ancient rest, He held the ridgepole up, and spikt again The rafters of the Home. He held his place-- Held the long purpose like a growing tree-- Held on through blame and faltered not at praise.

And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down As when a lordly cedar, green with boughs, Goes down with a great shout upon the hills, And leaves a lonesome place against the sky.

_Edwin Markham._

Our Own

If I had known in the morning How wearily all the day The words unkind Would trouble my mind I said when you went away, I had been more careful, darling, Nor given you needless pain; But we vex "our own"

With look and tone We may never take back again.

For though in the quiet evening You may give me the kiss of peace, Yet it might be That never for me, The pain of the heart should cease.

How many go forth in the morning, That never come home at night!

And hearts have broken For harsh words spoken That sorrow can ne'er set right.

We have careful thoughts for the stranger, And smiles for the sometime guest, But oft for "our own"

The bitter tone, Though we love "our own" the best.

Ah, lips with the curve impatient!

Ah, brow with that look of scorn!

'Twere a cruel fate, Were the night too late To undo the work of morn.

_Margaret E. Sangster._

How Salvator Won

The gate was thrown open, I rode out alone, More proud than a monarch, who sits on a throne.

I am but a jockey, but shout upon shout Went up from the people who watched me ride out.

And the cheers that rang forth from that warm-hearted crowd Were as earnest as those to which monarch e'er bowed.

My heart thrilled with pleasure so keen it was pain, As I patted my Salvator's soft, silken mane; And a sweet s.h.i.+ver shot from his hide to my hand As we pa.s.sed by the mult.i.tude down to the stand.

The great wave of cheering came billowing back As the hoofs of brave Tenny ran swift down the track, And he stood there beside us, all bone and all muscle, Our n.o.ble opponent, well trained for the tussle That waited us there on the smooth, s.h.i.+ning course.

My Salvator, fair to the lovers of horse As a beautiful woman is fair to man's sight-- Pure type of the thoroughbred, clean-limbed and bright-- Stood taking the plaudits as only his due And nothing at all unexpected or new.

And then there before us as the bright flag is spread, There's a roar from the grand stand, and Tenny's ahead; At the sound of the voices that shouted, "A go!"

He sprang like an arrow shot straight from the bow.

I tighten the reins on Prince Charlie's great son; He is off like a rocket, the race is begun.

Half-way down the furlong their heads are together, Scarce room 'twixt their noses to wedge in a feather; Past grand stand, and judges, in neck-to-neck strife, Ah, Salvator, boy, 'tis the race of your life!

I press my knees closer, I coax him, I urge, I feel him go out with a leap and a surge; I see him creep on, inch by inch, stride by stride, While backward, still backward, falls Tenny beside.

We are nearing the turn, the first quarter is pa.s.sed-- 'Twixt leader and chaser the daylight is cast; The distance elongates; still Tenny sweeps on, As graceful and free-limbed and swift as a fawn, His awkwardness vanished, his muscles all strained-- A n.o.ble opponent well born and well trained.

I glanced o'er my shoulder; ha! Tenny! the cost Of that one second's flagging will be--the race lost; One second's yielding of courage and strength, And the daylight between us has doubled its length.

The first mile is covered, the race is mine--no!

For the blue blood of Tenny responds to a blow; He shoots through the air like a ball from a gun, And the two lengths between us are shortened to one.

My heart is contracted, my throat feels a lump, For Tenny's long neck is at Salvator's rump; And now with new courage grown bolder and bolder, I see him once more running shoulder to shoulder.

With knees, hands and body I press my grand steed; I urge him, I coax him, I pray him to heed!

O Salvator! Salvator! List to my calls, For the blow of my whip will hurt both if it falls.

There's a roar from the crowd like the ocean in storm, As close to the saddle leaps Tenny's great form; One mighty plunge, and with knee, limb and hand, I lift my horse first by a nose past the stand.

We are under the string now--the great race is done-- And Salvator, Salvator, Salvator won!

Cheer, h.o.a.ry-headed patriarchs; cheer loud, I say; 'Tis the race of a century witnessed to-day!

Though ye live twice the s.p.a.ce that's allotted to men Ye never will see such a grand race again.

Let the shouts of the populace roar like the surf, For Salvator, Salvator, king of the turf, He has rivaled the record of thirteen long years; He has won the first place in the vast line of peers.

'Twas a neck-to-neck contest, a grand, honest race, And even his enemies grant him his place.

Down into the dust let old records be hurled, And hang out 2:05 to the gaze of the world!

_Ella Wheeler Wilc.o.x._

I Got to Go to School

I'd like to hunt the Injuns 't roam the boundless plain!

I'd like to be a pirate an' plow the ragin' main!

An' capture some big island, in lordly pomp to rule; But I just can't be nothin' cause I got to go to school.

'Most all great men, so I have read, has been the ones 'at got The least amount o' learnin' by a flickerin' pitch pine knot; An' many a darin' boy like me grows up to be a fool, An' never 'mounts to nothin' 'cause he's got to go to school.

I'd like to be a cowboy an' rope the Texas steer!

I'd like to be a sleuth-houn' or a b.l.o.o.d.y buccaneer!

An' leave the foe to welter where their blood had made a pool; But how can I git famous? 'cause I got to go to school.