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# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Mercy

Excerpt from Merchant of Venice
Mercy.
"Mercy," an excerpt from "The Merchant of Venice," "Polonius' Advice," from "Hamlet," and Antony's Speech," from "Julius Cæsar" (all fragments from Shakespeare, 1564-1616), find a place in this book because a well-known New York teacher—one who is unremitting in his efforts to raise the good taste and character of his pupils—says: "A book of poetry could not be complete without these extracts."
The quality of mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His scepter shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above his sceptered sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Shakespeare ("Merchant of Venice").
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/My Own Shall Come to Me

My Own Shall Come to Me.
If John Burroughs (1837-) had never written any other poem than "My Own Shall Come to Me," he would have stood to all ages as one of the greatest of American poets. The poem is most characteristic of the tall, majestic, slow-going poet and naturalist. There is no greater line in Greek or English literature than
"I stand amid the eternal ways."
Serene I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea. I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For lo! my own shall come to me.
I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face.
​Asleep, awake, by night or day The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tide of destiny.
What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years; My heart shall reap when it has sown, And gather up its fruit of tears.
The stars come nightly to the sky; The tidal wave comes to the sea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, Can keep my own away from me.
The waters know their own and draw The brook that springs in yonder heights: So flows the good with equal law Unto the soul of pure delights.
John Burroughs.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Old Grimes

Old Grimes.
"Old Grimes" is an heirloom, an antique gem. We learn it as matter of course for its sparkle and glow.
Old Grimes is dead; that good old man, We ne'er shall see him more; He used to wear a long, black coat, All buttoned down before.
His heart was open as the day, His feelings all were true; His hair was some inclined to gray, He wore it in a queue.
He lived at peace with all mankind, In friendship he was true; His coat had pocket-holes behind, His pantaloons were blue.
He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its desert; He had no malice in his mind, No ruffles on his shirt.
​His neighbours he did not abuse, Was sociable and gay; He wore large buckles on his shoes, And changed them every day.
His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view, Nor make a noise town-meeting days, As many people do.
His worldly goods he never threw In trust to fortune's chances, But lived (as all his brothers do) In easy circumstances.
Thus undisturbed by anxious cares His peaceful moments ran; And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman.
Albert Gorton Greene.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/Mortality

Mortality.
"Mortality" (by William Knox, 1789-1825) is always quoted as Lincoln's favourite poem.
O why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passes from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around and together be laid; And the young and the old, and the low and the high, Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.
The child that a mother attended and loved, The mother that infant's affection that proved, The husband that mother and infant that blessed, Each, all, are away to their dwelling of rest.
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure,—her triumphs are by; And the memory of those that beloved her and praised Are alike from the minds of the living erased.
​The hand of the king that the scepter hath borne, The brow of the priest that the miter hath worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.
The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep, The beggar that wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread.
The saint that enjoyed the communion of heaven, The sinner that dared to remain unforgiven, The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.
So the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed That wither away to let others succeed; So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that hath often been told.
For we are the same that our fathers have been; We see the same sights that our fathers have seen,— We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun, And we run the same course that our fathers have run.
The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers would think; From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink; To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling; But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing.
​They loved, but their story we cannot unfold; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold, They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers may come; They enjoyed, but the voice of their gladness is dumb.
They died, ay! they died! and we things that are now, Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, Who make in their dwellings a transient abode, Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road.
Yea! hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain, Are mingled together like sunshine and rain; And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge, Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.
'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,— O why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
William Knox.
# Poems That Every Child Should Know/O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! My Captain!
"O Captain! My Captain!" by Walt Whitman (1819-92), is placed here out of compliment to a little boy aged ten who wanted to recite it once a week for a year. This song and Edwin Markham's poem on Lincoln are two of the greatest tributes ever paid to that hero
O Captain! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, ​The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
Walt Whitman.
# Poems (Toke)/Nicolas Toke (Beloved! on this festal morn)

January 1st, 1839.
# Poems (Toke)/Nicolas Toke (Fair spreads the unstained page before me now)

October 6, 1845.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Tis almost midnight's hour, and bright on high)

Godinton, June, 1838.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines for music

May, 1837.
# Poems (Toke)/Look on the yellow leaves, the drooping flowers

October 6, 1858.
# Poems (Toke)/New years sonnet

January 1, 1842,
# Poems (Toke)/Morning hymn

Barns'on, August 21, 1842,
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (We have looked our last on the well-known walls)

February 21, 1844,
# Poems (Toke)/Lines for music (Trough distant lands I've wandered far)

February 26, 1847.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in New Year's Gift, 1829/To a Child on his Birthday

TO A CHILD ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
I. Where sucks the bee now? Summer is flying, Leaves round the grass-plot, faded are lying; Violets are gone from the grassy dell, With the cowslip-cups, where the fairies dwell; The rose from the garden hath passed away— Yet this, happy fair boy! is thy natal-day.
II. For love bids it welcome, the love which hath smiled Ever around thee, my gentle child! Watching thy footsteps and guarding thy bed, And pouring out joy on thy sunny head. Roses may vanish, but this will stay— Happy and bright is thy natal-day!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1827

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
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Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1827
Compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Cottage Girl
* The Hour of Prayer
* The Cross in the Wilderness
* The Bell at Sea
* Christ Stilling the Tempest
* The Fountain of Marah
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1827/The Bell at Sea

THE BELL AT SEA.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
The dangerous islet called the Bell Rock, on the coast of Fife, used formerly to be marked only by a Bell, which was so placed as to be swung by the motion of the waves, when the tide rose above the rock. A light-house has since been erected there.
When the tide's billowy swell
 Had reached its height,
Then tolled the Rock's lone Bell,
 Sternly by night.
Far over cliff and surge
 Swept the deep sound,
Making each wild wind's dirge
 Still more profound.
Yet that funereal tone
 The sailor bless'd,
Steering through darkness on,
 With fearless breast.
E'en so may we, that float
 On life's wide sea,
Welcome each warning note,  Stern though it be!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1826

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1826
Compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Hebrew Mother
* The Trumpet
* Christ in the Garden
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1826/Christ in the Garden

CHRIST IN THE GARDEN.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
He knelt—the Saviour knelt and pray'd,
 When but His Father's eye
Look'd thro' the lonely Garden's shade,
 On that dread agony!
The Lord of All above, beneath,
Was bow'd with sorrow unto death.
The sun set in a fearful hour;
 The heavens might well grow dim,
When this mortality had power,
 So to o'ershadow Him!
That He who gave man's breath might know
The very depths of human woe.
He knew them all!—the doubt, the strife,
 The faint perplexing dread;
The mists that hang o'er parting life,
 All darken'd round His head;
And the Deliverer knelt to pray—
Yet pass'd it not, that cup, away!
It pass'd not—tho' the stormy wave
 Had sunk beneath His tread;
It pass'd not—tho' to Him the grave
 Had yielded up its dead.
But there was sent Him, from on high,
A gift of strength, for man to die!
And was His mortal hour beset
 With anguish and dismay? How may we meet our conflict yet
 In the dark, narrow way?
How, but thro' Him, that path who trod?—
Save, or we perish, Son of God!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1826/The Trumpet

THE TRUMPET.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
The Trumpet's voice hath roused the land,
 Light up the beacon-pyre!
A hundred hills have seen the brand,
 And waved the sign of fire!
A hundred banners to the breeze
 Their gorgeous folds have cast,
And, hark! was that the sound of seas?
 A king to war went past!
The chief is arming in his hall,
 The peasant by his hearth;
The mourner hears the thrilling call,
 And rises from the earth!
The mother on her first-born son
 Looks with a boding eye;—
They come not back, tho' all be won,
 Whose young hearts leap so high.
The bard hath ceased his song, and bound
 The falchion to his side;
E'en for the marriage altar crowned,
 The lover quits his bride!
And all this haste, and change, and fear,
 By earthly clarion spread!
How will it be when kingdoms hear
 The blast that wakes the dead?
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1827/Christ Stilling the Tempest

CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
"But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves, for the wind was contrary." St. Matthew, Chap. xiv. Ver. 24.
Fear was within the tossing bark,
 When stormy winds grew loud,
And waves came rolling high and dark,
 And the tall mast was bowed.
And men stood breathless in their dread,
 And baffled in their skill—
But One was there, who rose and said
 To the wild sea, Be still!
And the wind ceased—it ceased—that word
 Passed through the gloomy sky;
The troubled billows knew their Lord,
 And sank beneath his eye.
And slumber settled on the deep,
 And silence on the blast,
As when the righteous falls asleep,
 When death's fierce throes are past.
Thou that didst rule the angry hour,
 And tame the tempest's mood,—
Oh! send thy Spirit forth in power,
 O'er our dark souls to brood!
Thou that didst bow the billow's pride,
 Thy mandates to fulfil,—
So speak to passion's raging tide,
 Speak and say,—Peace, be still!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Amulet, 1827/The Cottage Girl

* Painted by H. Howard R.A. Engraved by W. Finden
* THE COTTAGE GIRL.
THE COTTAGE GIRL.
A Child beside a hamlet's fount at play,
Her fair face laughing at the sunny day;
The cheerful girl her labour leaves a while,
To gaze on Heaven's and Earth's unsullied smile;
Her happy dog looks on her dimpled cheeks,
And of his joy in his own language speaks;
A gush of waters, tremulously bright,
Kindling the air to gladness with their light;
And a soft gloom beyond, of summer-trees,
Darkening the turf, and, shadowed o'er by these,
A low, dim, woodland cottage:—this was all!
 What had the scene for memory to recall
With a fond look of love? What secret spell
With the heart's pictures bade its image dwell?
What but the spirit of the joyous child,
That freshly forth o'er stream and verdure smiled,
Casting upon the common things of earth
A brightness, born and gone with infant mirth!
F. H.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/His Face

HIS FACE
THEY tell you Lincoln was ungainly, plain? To some he seemed so: true. Yet in his look was charm to gain E'en such as I, who knew With how confirmed a will he tried To overthrow a cause for which I would have died.
The sun may shine with naught to shroud Its beam yet show less bright Than when from out eclipsing cloud It pours its radiant light; And Lincoln seen amid the shows of war Clothed in his sober black, was somehow felt the more
To be a centre and a soul of power,— An influence benign To kindle in a faithless hour New trust in the divine. Grave was his visage, but no cloud could dull The radiance from within that made it beautiful. ​A prisoner, when I saw him first— Wounded and sick for home— His presence soothed my yearning's thirst While yet his lips were dumb; For such compassion as his countenance wore I had not seen nor felt in human face before.
And when, low-bending o'er his foe, He took in his firm hand My wasted one, I seemed to know We two were of one Land; And as my cheek flushed warm with young surprise, God's pity looked on me from Lincoln's sorrowing eyes.
His prisoner I was from then— Love makes surrender sure— And though I saw him not again, Some memories endure, And I am glad my untaught worship knew His the divinest face I ever looked into!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Helen Keller with a Rose

HELEN KELLER WITH A ROSE
OTHERS may see thee; I behold thee not; Yet most I think thee, beauteous blossom, mine: For I, who walk in shade, like Proserpine— Things once too briefly looked on, long forgot— Seem by some tender miracle divine, When breathing thee, apart, To hold the rapturous summer warm within my heart.
We understand each other, thou and I! Thy velvet petals laid against my cheek, Thou feelest all the voiceless things I speak, And to my yearning makest mute reply: Yet a more special good of thee I seek, For God who made—oh, kind!— Beauty for one and all, gave fragrance for the blind!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/He and I

HE AND I
HE and I,—and that was all,— The boundless world had grown so small: So small, so narrow in content, So single in possession sweet, So personal, so love-complete, So still, so eloquent!
He and I,—and Earth made new! The flowers blossomed for us two, And birds, to voice our rapture, sung Divinely 'neath our northern skies, As sung the birds in Paradise When life and love were young!
He and I,—O aching heart!— Only a narrow grave apart! Yet seeking for his face in vain, How changed, to me, the world has grown; How cold it seems, how strange, how lone, How infinite in pain!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
1807-1882
IF tasting Heliconian springs He of their waters drank not deep, If, smiling, he beheld not things Revealed to eyes that weep, If dread Dodona's Oracle And Delphi's voice for him were mute, If grave Minerva in his path Dropped never silver flute,—
Yet beauty wove a magic spell For him, and early, at his need, Upon a bed of asphodel He found a tuneful reed,— The Syrinx-reed Thessalian, Of plaintive, far renown, The universal pipe of Pan,— Where the god laid it down.
Right reverently from the ground He lifted up the sacred thing, ​Accepted it with awe profound, With faith unfaltering; And when its music forth he drew Earth half forgot her ancient pain, For Marsyas himself ne'er blew A purer, sweeter strain!
Though still there be who, self-attired In robes of judgment some misuse, Protest that he was not inspired By the authentic Muse,— Love, granting all his faults to these, Forever holds his name apart, Who moved not senseless stones and trees, But the quick human heart.
"The people's poet." Did he lack Return? He served in high degree The people, and they gave him back Their immortality! Time careless grows of costly wit, Brave monuments are quickly gone, But that which on the heart is writ Lives on, and on, and on!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Every Night at Marathon

EVERY NIGHT AT MARATHON
"In their plains the neighing of horses is heard nightly, and men are seen fighting; and those who purposely come as hearers or spectators into these plains suffer for their curiosity; but such as are accidentally witnesses of these prodigies are not injured by the anger of the dæmons. The Marathonians highly honor those that have fallen in battle and give them the appellation of heroes."—Pausanias.
EVERY night at Marathon (Shepherd boy, beware!)— Every night at Marathon Sounds are in the air: Ghostly sounds, the heart dismaying, As of maddened horses neighing, Over all the plain.
Every night at Marathon (Boy, the vision fly!)— Every night at Marathon, 'Neath a darkened sky, Form with form in shadow blending, Warrior-shapes are seen contending As in conflict vain.
These are they at Marathon (Mark, O shepherd-lad!) ​Who, for freedom, to the gods Offered all they had; Who in danger, Death defying, Triumphed over Fate in dying, For our gain—our gain!
Dæmons sentinel the field; Venture thou not near,— Neither seek those forms to view, Nor those sounds to hear. This enough for thee: they perish Never!—whom the high gods cherish One with life remain.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Exaltation

EXALTATION
AFTER THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO
ALONE by the waves, on a starlight night, No mist on the sea, not a cloud in sight, My eyes pierced further than earth's desires; And nature—all nature, the hills, and the woods, Seemed to question, with murmur of myriad moods, The waves of the sea and the heavenly fires.
And the infinite legion of golden stars Replied in a chant of harmonious bars, Their scintillant crowns seeming earthward to nod; And the waves, which no puissance can rule or arrest, Made answer, while curbing the foam of each crest: —It is God! it is God! it is God!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Father

FATHER
HOW should I dream but you were old Who seemed so strangely wise? The truth, had I the truth been told, Had filled me with surprise; But now that you are gone, alas! Beyond Death's voiceless sea, Still, as your birthdays come and pass, Younger you grow to me.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Heart-Room

HEART-ROOM
THE heart has room for gladness, None for joyless things and dull; Such a very little sadness Fills it over-full. So, with boundless space for loving, Enmity it deems excess, Just a little hatred proving Too great bitterness.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume II/Henry James

HENRY JAMES
YOU were not of one country. To one Race, Rather, you gave your spirit's full devotion. Careless a little as to bounds of space Set by dividing hill or severing ocean, An exiled patriot, wherever dwelling, An alien on either side the sea, You gave your loyalty, through love's compelling, To English speech and English liberty.
We claim you—both, drawn closer through your coming, England and she that nursed you at her breast. Beauty you loved, and ne'er from truth went roaming, Through all the long desire, the ardent quest. Ah, never quite at home, but ever homing, Passionate pilgrim, you have found your rest!
# Political History of the Devil Upon Two Sticks/Chapter 4

​THE DUKE OF ORLEANS, in the earliest part of his life chose the most notorious characters for debauchery and irreligion as his associates. In this glorious course he soon outstripped the most experienced. To lead ingenouus youth from the paths of virtue into the stream of vice, to triumph in the ruin of innocence, is a refinement in wickedness, which was flattering to the ambition, and delightful to the heart of the Duke of Orleans.
The implacable hatred he has manifested against ​the King, his cousin, and the virulence with which he joined the savage Persecutors of his queen originate thus. When the beautiful Marie Antoinette was shining in all the splendour of united attractions, our gallant made a proffer to her of his person, which she rejected with contempt, and even reported it to her husband, who upbraided him with his baseness. This virtuous nobleman, to gain a seat in the convention, changed his name to that of Mr. Equality; was one of the most forward to condemn his king; and at last, by the jealousy of Robespierre, met that fate he so justly merited.
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