Young and Old by Charles Kingsley When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a Queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day.
When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels rund down: Creep home, and take your place there, The spent and maimed among: God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young.
If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking by Emily Dickinson If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life aching, Or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin Unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain.
For This Is Wisdom by Laurence Hope For this is Wisdom; to love, to live, To take what Fate, or the Gods, may give, To ask no question, to make no prayer, To kiss the lips and caress the hair, Speed passion's ebb as you greet it's flow,- To have,-to hold,-and,-in time,-let go!
Dawn by Paul Laurence Dunbar An Angel, robed in spotless white, Bent down and kissed the sleeping Night. Night woke to blush; the sprite was gone. Men saw the blush and called it dawn.
Words by an unknown author Boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds, You can't do that when you're flying words. "Careful with fire," is good advice, we know; "Careful with words," is ten times doubly so. Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead, But god himself can't kill them when they're said!
Johnny's Hist'ry Lesson by Nixon Waterman I think of all the things at school A boy has got to do, That studyin' hist'ry, as a rule, Is worst of all, don't you? Of dates there are an awful sight, An' though I study day an' night, There's only one I've got just right- That's fourteen ninety-two.
Columbus crossed the Delaware In fourteen-ninety two; We whipped the British, fair an' square, In fourteen ninety-two. At Concord an' at Lexington We kept the redcoats on the run While the band played "Johnny Get Your Gun," In fourteen ninety-two.
Pat Henry, with his dying breath- In fourteen ninety-two- Said "Gimme liberty or death!" In fourteen ninety-two. An' Barbara Fritchie, so 'tis said, Cried, "Shoot if you must this old gray head, But I'd rather 'twould be your own instead!" In fourteen ninety-two.
The Pilgrims come to Plymouth Rock In fourteen ninety-two, Ab' the Indians standin' on the dock Aske
d, "What are you goin' to do?" An' they said, "We seek your harbor drear That our children's children's children dear May boast that their forefathers landed here In fourteen ninety-two."
Miss Pocahontas saved the life, In fourteen ninety-two, Of John Smith, an' became his wife In fourteen ninety-two. An' the Smith tribe started than an' there, An' now there are John Smiths everywhere, But they didn't haev any Smiths to spare In fourteen ninety-two.
Kentucky was settled by Daniel Boone In fourteen ninety-two, An' I think the cow jumped over the moon In fourteen ninety-two. Ben Franklin flew his kite so high He drew the lightnin' from the sky, An' Washington couldn't tell a lie, In fourteen ninety-two.
The Friend Who Just Stands By by B.Y. Williams When trouble comes your sould to try, You love the friend who just "stands by." Perhaps there's nothing he can do- The thing is strictly up to you; For there are troubles all your own, And paths the sould must tread alone; Times when love cannont smooth the road Nor friendship life the heavy load, But just to know you have a friend Who will "stand by" until the end, Whose sympathy through all endures, Whose warm handclasp is always yours- It helps, someway, to pull you through, Although there's nothing he can do. And so with fervent heart you cry, "God bless the friend who just 'stands by!'"
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes Part I The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly gelleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding- Riding-riding- The Highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jewled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long
black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like moldy hay, But he loved the landlord's daughter, The landlord's red-lipped daughter, Dumb as a dog he listened, and he hear the robber say-
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart. I'm after a prize tonight, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight,
and galloped away to the West.
Part II He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching- Marching-marching- King George's man came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through her casement, the road thathe would ride.
They tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep a good watch!" and the kissed her. She heard the dead man say- Look for me by moonlight: Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight,
though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing: she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the bloof of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The Highwaym
an came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silince! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the Westward; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew gray to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking, a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs in the gold
en noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding- Riding-riding- A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard; And he taps with hiswhip on the shutters, but all ois locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
