Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/111
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YOUTH.
93
Be kind to the crooked, the lame, and the blind;
What's lacked in the body they feel in the mind;
And while virtue through trial and pain cometh forth.
In the mind, not the body, is man's truest worth.
What's lacked in the body they feel in the mind;
And while virtue through trial and pain cometh forth.
In the mind, not the body, is man's truest worth.
Be kind to the fallen who lives but to mourn;
Be kind to the outcast who seeks to return;
Be kind to the hardened who never hath prayed;
Be kind to the timid who still is afraid!
Be kind to the outcast who seeks to return;
Be kind to the hardened who never hath prayed;
Be kind to the timid who still is afraid!
The injured who down by oppression is borne;
The slighted who withers; the victim of scorn;
The flattered who topples aloft but to fall;
The wronger and wronged—oh, be kindly to all!
The slighted who withers; the victim of scorn;
The flattered who topples aloft but to fall;
The wronger and wronged—oh, be kindly to all!
Bor vast is the world of the generous mind,
And narrow the sphere to the selfish assigned;
And clear is the path of the warm and the true—
Of the haughty and vain, how delusive the view!
And narrow the sphere to the selfish assigned;
And clear is the path of the warm and the true—
Of the haughty and vain, how delusive the view!
Then unto the old show respect while thou mayest—
The poor, while to Him who gives all things thou prayest—
The weak or the lost, 'neath the load of his sorrow—
And thine own cup of joy shall o'erflow ere the morrow!
The poor, while to Him who gives all things thou prayest—
The weak or the lost, 'neath the load of his sorrow—
And thine own cup of joy shall o'erflow ere the morrow!
Youth.
Blest hour of childhood! then, and then alone,
Dance we the revels close round Pleasure's throne,
Quaff the bright nectar from her fountain-springs,
And laugh beneath the rainbow of her wings.
Oh! time of Promise, Hope, and Innocence,
Of Trust, and Love, and happy Ignorance!
Whose every dream is Heaven, in whose fair joy
Experience yet has thrown no black alloy;
Whose Pain, when fiercest, lacks the venomed pang
Which to maturer ill doth oft belong.
When, mute and cold, we weep departed bliss,
And Hope expires on broken Happiness.
Dance we the revels close round Pleasure's throne,
Quaff the bright nectar from her fountain-springs,
And laugh beneath the rainbow of her wings.
Oh! time of Promise, Hope, and Innocence,
Of Trust, and Love, and happy Ignorance!
Whose every dream is Heaven, in whose fair joy
Experience yet has thrown no black alloy;
Whose Pain, when fiercest, lacks the venomed pang
Which to maturer ill doth oft belong.
When, mute and cold, we weep departed bliss,
And Hope expires on broken Happiness.