| Battle Song to the Soldier of Life ( Helen Ludlow) Thou whose light is slowly waning With no heart to hold thine own Know the might of uncomplaining Stout endurance all alone! Up! And be a slave no longer Dare to speak the word "I can!" Love is strong but souls are stronger And the giant will of man. Up! and fight for day is fleeting, He who sleeps and shuns his part, Lives but in the languid beating Of a chill and coward heart. Though the Soul is intensest yearning Lash thy bosom like a sea. Godlike joys shall come in learning That thou hast the mastery. Golden images of Beauty Lure thee to the dreaming Past But though Death march on with Duty Be thy soul's Iconoclast. From the Heart's enshrining inches, From the pomp of gold and gem, Hurl the statues, though the riches Of a life go down with them. Shapes impossible but cherished Mighty joys that cannot be Perish all, as aye have perished Those which had reality. Thus shalt thou lay down thine hammer, Wipe thy brow and rest in peace, And the trumpet-din and clamor Of embattled passions cease. Strong to the deed that makes thee glorious Who for thee thy burial mound E'en thy death shall be victorious And thy head shall slumber crowned Serve God with the Best Helen Ludlow's notebook God's bounties fill the hand of thrift, Yet we with garners stored Forget the Giver in the gift, Nor well requite the Lord, But we whose strivings he hath blest Should serve him ever with the best. When Plenty sets her golden seals Where Labor's hand hath been, When the last harvest-burdened wheels Have brought their blessing in, Let the first fruits of increase won Be His who gave the rain & sun, When Morn unlocks his rosy door Earth teems with stillness sweet, Before her paths are printed o'er With hurrying human feet; Give God this opening bud of time And praise Him in the morning's prime. Give God thy manhood's earliest part Nor yield him Malessly The last sad gleamings of a heart Reaped by his enemy; Shall he behold thee grey in sin Who died in youth thy soul to win? Back to Trixie's Home Forest Battle Song Poems |
| Battle Songs |
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| Hymn of Forbearance Fitz Hugh Ludlow, O living were a bitter thing, A riddle without reasons, If each sat lonely, gathering Within his own heart's narrow ring The hopes and fears encumbering The flight of earthly seasons. Thank God that in Life's little day, Between our dawn and setting, We have kind deeds to give away, Sad hearts for which our own may pray And strength when we are wronged to stay, Forgiving and forgetting. Thank God for other feet that be By ours in Life's wayfaring -- For blessed Christian charity, Believing good she cannot see, Suffering her friends' infirmity, Enduring and forbearing. We all are travellers, who throng A thorny road together, And if some pilgrim not so strong As I, but foot-sore, does me wrong, I'll make excuse, the road is long, And stormy is the weather. What comfort will it yield the day Whose light shall find us dying, To know that once we had our way Against a child of weaker clay, And bought our triumph in the fray, With purchase of his sighing? Oh, who, when Life to many souls So little hath to cheer it, Will cover up his kindly coals In ashes, hoard the slender doles Which to the shipwrecked on Earth's shoals Might still so much endear it? Most like our Lord are they who bear, Like him, long with the sinning; The music of long suffering prayer Brings angels down God's golden stair, Like those through Olivet's darkened air, Who saw our life beginning. |