My pen is mournful--you ask why
When all the time my face is glad,
And though contentment lights my eye,
You say my verse is strangely sad;
So serious that e’en the strain
You can detect, as on the pane
You know the patter in the night,
Although the cloud is hid from sight.
You asked me once to change my tone,
“To trim my pen for gayer verse,”
And, laughing, said ’twas like a moan
That followed close behind a hearse.
My muse was saddened at the stroke,
And in my heart new chords awoke,
Chords that vibrate like the bell
That tolled one day a funeral knell.
I would not have them otherwise;
I claim my caged bird’s song more sweet
Because ’tis sad, than one which tries
The echo merrier to repeat.
How quickly I would turn aside,
And soon forget a boist’rous tide,
To hear the brooklet, sad and low,
Sing in a minor key I know.
I’ll not attempt Hood’s humorous style,
I do not crave John Gilpin’s ride.
It was my custom, when a child,
To linger at my mother’s side
When she would sing “The Old Church Yard,”
That told how soft and green its sward.
“The angels that watched ’round the tomb”
Crept, as she sang, into our room.
’Tis said the clown will never jest
When folded is the showman’s tent;
That she who pathos renders best
Has loudest laugh in merriment.
Thus, _vice versa_ is the theme,
Or, “all things are not what they seem.”
Sadness to Joy is as a twin,
One rules without, one rules within.
My life is full of love and joy,
My heart-strings, though, with sadness tuned.
Then do not ask me to destroy
The mournful measures; it would wound
My Muse--the playmate of my youth--
Who taught me early many a truth
From others’ woes, and bid me think
While she supplied the pen and ink.
Speak Kindly.
Speak kindly in the morning,
When you are leaving home,
And give the day a lighter heart
Into the week to roam.
Leave kind words as mementoes
To be handled and caressed,
And watch the noon-time hour arrive
In gold and tinsel dressed.
Speak kindly in the evening!
When on the walk is heard
A tired footstep that you know,
Speak one refreshing word,
And see the glad light springing
From the heart into the eye,
As sometimes from behind a cloud
A star leaps to the sky.
Speak kindly to the children
That crowd around your chair,
The tender lips that lean on yours
Kiss, smooth the flaxen hair;
Some day a room that’s lonesome
The little ones may own,
And home be empty as the nest
From which the birds have flown.
Speak kindly to the stranger
Who passes through the town,
A loving word is light of weight--
Not so would prove a frown.
One is a precious jewel
The heart would grasp in sleep,
The other like a demon’s gift
The memory loathes to keep.
Speak kindly to the sorrowful
Who stand beside the dead,
The heart can lean against a word
Though thorny seems the bed.
And oh, to those discouraged
Who faint upon the way,
Stop, stop--if just a moment--
And something kindly say.
Speak kindly to the fallen ones,
Your voice may help them rise;
A word right-spoken oft unclasps
The gate beyond the skies.
Speak kindly, and the future
You’ll find God looking through!
Speak of another as you’d have
Him always speak of you.