Produced by Susan Skinner, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: Jared Barhite] OUR PROFESSION AND OTHER POEMS. BY JARED BARHITE, Principal of Third Ward Grammar School, Long Island City, N. Y. PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM E. BARHITE, 270 Freeman Avenue, Long Island City, N. Y. 1895. COPYRIGHT, 1895. PRESS OF WEISEL, MEIER & WITTE, 109 NASSAU ST., N. Y. PREFACE. During the past quarter of a century, it has been a pleasant pastime for me to obey the dictates of my feelings and inscribe them upon paper. The present volume is a collection of these vagrant pastimes, some of which have wandered far, while others have never before appeared to any eye save the writer's. To call them home, introduce them to each other, and properly house them, seems a parental duty. If in them there is a thought that shall inspire others of my profession to feel the dignity and responsibility of the calling, their publication will not have been in vain. The intent being good, the fruit cannot be evil. The Author. DEDICATION. TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER, WHOSE DEVOTION, ENERGY, AND PERSEVERANCE LED ME TO DRINK AT THE FOUNTAIN OF KNOWLEDGE AND TRUTH, UNTIL I SAW BEAUTY THEREIN, THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. The true end of life is to elevate man In body, in mind, and in spirit, That here he may serve some beneficent plan, Then a mansion in heaven inherit. INDEX. PAGE. A Beacon Light 129 A Boy 81 A Lesson from Nature 189 All Things are Second-handed 212 Alone 140 Amityville 215 An Open Book 175 A Picture 200 Arbor Day Tribute 84 Artist Nature 119 Boding Snow 174 Buttercups and Daisies 87 Communion with Nature 96 Courage and Faith 26 Discontent 132 Drifting Away 158 Duty Done 42 Ere and at my Call 173 Evil Habits 56 Faces I Read 214 Fact versus Form 29 Fidelity 219 Finis 231 Fragments 127 Good Habits 53 Heartstrings 147 Important Moments 166 Incompetence 27 Indulgence 61 Interest 31 Invocation to the Muse 9 Kindred Spirits 160 Lake George, N. Y. 106 Liberty 154 Lies 145 Life's Emergencies 58 "Lo," The Departed 157 Love 142 Many 40 Maple at my Father's Door 115 Memory 130 Memory and Reason 32 Mind Awakened 71 Mirrors 39 Morning Flowers 118 Mountain Brook 99 Music 120 My Brother's Birthday 196 My Choice 76 My Mother's Love 192 My Room in Boyhood's Days 202 Nature's Child 105 Nature's Voice 204 Needs and Powers 19 Oceanus' Mirrors 116 On Brooklyn Bridge 183 Our Battlefield 49 Our Politics 134 Our Profession 11 Perhaps 165 Pious Pie Poem Puns 218 Poundridge, N. Y. 205 Rest 123 Retrospection 138 Robin Redbreast 110 Rye 95 School Days 162 Selfishness 137 Some Characters I Can't Admire 180 Some Characters I Much Adore 177 Soul Speaks to Soul 48 Strand Despair 60 Success 125 Sunset 135 Survival of the Fittest 66 The Dandelion 90 The Desirable Undefined 34 The Difference 67 The Evening before my Brother's Fifty-third Birthday 194 The Farmer 112 The Flowers I Love 91 The Fringed Gentian 89 The Future 170 The Goldenrod 86 The Hair 152 Their Life is what they Make It 185 The Lone Bird 187 The Morning Glory 94 The Ogre 72 The Old Farm 114 The Requirements of the Hour 80 The Rose 85 The Second Sunday in May 104 The Senses 44 The Stream's Story 102 The Teacher's Soliloquy 63 The Thrush 108 The Tree of State 82 The Unwritten Letter 210 The Voice 198 Tim 208 To a Mountain Brook 101 To My Daughter Blanche in Heaven 197 Trailing Arbutus 93 True Wealth 217 Twilight Hour 150 Who Knows? 149 Who Shall Judge? 169 INVOCATION TO THE MUSE. Didactic muse Calliope, Expand thy soothing silent wings, Touch chords of measured harmony Wherein the soul ecstatic sings, Let language fraught with living truth Find such expression by thy art, As shall assist the guides of youth To fire the soul and win the heart. Remove the barriers which so long Have held in thraldom many a mind, Sing to the deaf a ransom-song, Be eyes to those whose souls are blind; Teach those who mould the plastic mind To know that God hath never given A mission weightier, more refined, To angels round the courts of heaven, Than that of training human minds Committed unto human hands, In which the spirit e'er survives And through eternity expands. Paint truthfully the living dead Whose sensibilities were slain By tyros, oft unskilled, unread, In all the workings of the brain; Whose concepts of the avenues That reach the mind of tender youth, Are labyrinths of tangled views Devoid of art, science, and truth; Touch but that chord of magic power Which gives the soul augmented bliss, And lifts it for the present hour Above the world's base selfishness; Then let the search-light of the soul Illumine every page that's read, Until an animated whole Shall supersede the living dead. Then, then shall dawn the golden day When Ignorance shall shamed-faced fly Before the potent living ray Of mind, touched by effulgency That pours its light in vital force, Upon the mind of plastic youth, And leads it gently to the source Of light and scientific truth. OUR PROFESSION. There's an art in our profession, Which cannot be wholly learned From all books in our possession, Though their leaves be deftly turned Till the mind shall grasp the meaning Of each truth they may contain, Yet there remains a gleaning Not a product of the brain. One may know the truths of science Till his mind may have full store, Or may place some great reliance On ancient and modern lore; He may count the stars in heaven, He may trace them in their course, And from data that is given He may prove creation's source; He may use the best of diction To portray his studied thought; He may draw from truth and fiction All the charm with which they're fraught; He may be a friend of Nature And may understand her laws; He may prove embryo creature Has within itself a "cause"; He may fathom all creation And dwell among the stars, Visit every land and nation And return with honor's scars; Yet he may lack a power,-- Occult to scientific truth-- Which is Heaven's richest dower To the guides of ardent youth. Though all these may give a polish To the gem that lights the soul, They are weak, useless, and foolish, When they're taken for the whole Of all the powers required To entrance the youthful mind, With a spirit so inspired As to touch the eyes of blind With a bright illumination That shall prove itself to be More than a corruscation Of a short-lived ecstasy. By intuition, children know A heart that cares for them; They recognize a friend or foe, At instantaneous ken. No mask can shield a fraud or fool, E'en from a puerile mind; It knows by rules not learned at school The way true hearts to find. An earnest love, unbounded, firm,-- A God-gift from our birth-- By far outweighs the noblest charm Can be acquired on earth. Who has not drunk deep at the well Of childhood's innocence, Or thinks that he should ever dwell At such an eminence, That he can never bend to raise And cheer a longing heart, Will waste his precious hours and days, And finally depart Without such fruitage or reward As ever should be given To him, who serves master or Lord, And hopes for bliss in heaven. Who sees no soul-buds here expand To blossom by and by, Hath fathomed not the great command For which we live and die. The State demands that every son And daughter shall be free From ignorance and vice which run Toward crime and misery. The future of our noble State Dwells now in plastic form; If she her past would emulate And meet the coming storm Of chaos, whose portentous wing Seems hovering not afar, In every school-room we should sing Of banner and of star That gave the land to Liberty, And with a bold huzza Proclaim that he who would be free Must honor right and law. Who serves his State and fellow-man And plies his skill at best, Assists to carry out the plan To make all truly blest; He may not sit in marble hall Where legislators meet, Nor may he rear fine towers tall, Or dwell in a retreat Where monks and nuns with solemn prayer Pour out their orison; The test of faith is filial care, And duty nobly done. Minds let us mould, men may we rear, For God, for State, for man, Using the right without a fear To mar the heaven-born plan. The test of great didactic skill Is not to train the few Whose active genius, tact, and will Are always plain to view; But he who takes an inert mind, Housed in a sluggish frame, And forms such man as God designed, Deserves an honored name. Like Sisyphus some ever roll The same old round of things Which dwarf the mind and starve the soul, Until they long for wings To fly from dull monotony, Which carries in its train That wreck of thought--Despondency-- Which preys on heart and brain. The artist knows the colors best That blend in harmony With richest cloud-scenes, in the west, That gild the sunset sky; The minstrel knows what song to sing To please the multitude; His fingers deftly touch the strings That yield response subdued When weary soul would find relief From sorrow's withering sigh, Or when the heart is bowed with grief, And tear-drops dew the eye; But when the soul is full of joy, How jubilant the strain The tactful artist will employ To please the heart and brain. If those who toil in lowly spheres Employ such artful ways To charm the dull and listless ears That such may sound their praise, Why should the artist of the mind Shrink from that noble aim That seeks to elevate mankind, And light a deathless flame! Or why should he who shapes the lives And destiny of man, Be less exact than he who strives From mercenary plan. No instrument man ever made-- None ever can be found-- No matter when or where 'tis played, Will yield so rich a sound As that which falls from human tongue When heart speaks unto heart, Nor are its mysteries among The hidden things of art; A tyro on life's winding road Reads understandingly Each tone and word, each varied mode The tongue and form portray. Our heart's intents are from our looks More plainly to be read, Than thoughts expressed in printed books Whose language oft seems dead, Because it lacks a living form-- A voiceless, dull decree That of itself has little charm For youth's activity. A potent charm of living light Flows with resistless force, Dispelling clouds of mental night That meet its onward course, When all the soul is centred in The great and primal thought That services which hearts would win, With price can ne'er be bought. Such service heaven alone repays E'en though on earth 'tis done, Its echoes last through endless days, And dies but with the sun. A mercenary soul must find A more congenial field Than that of training human mind Wherein a soul's concealed, If it would live out all the days Allotted unto man, And bask in all the genial rays Revealed in God's great plan. No lubrication of the nerves Has ever yet been found, For him who like a menial serves Dull lesson's daily round; But gnawing friction, stern and gaunt, Tears flesh and brain away, While ghosts nocturnal ever haunt A soul with fell dismay, Whose mercenary greed has led Itself into a snare That counts by scores its strangled dead, Its hundreds, in despair. He doubly lives who can forget Himself and his own ease, While toiling patiently to set New gems in crowns he sees, That may adorn some other head Than that he calls his own, And animate the germs wide spread In seeds already sown. * * * * * To skim the surface of knowledge, And seldom its root to reach, Is a recipe one may offer To direct "How Not To Teach." NEEDS AND POWERS. I know of no profession 'Mong profane or divine, Excelling in its mission The power embraced in mine. It reaches earth and heaven Through heart and soul of man, It lives beyond the present-- Eternity doth span. Mind in its first formation, While in its plastic state, Receives primal impressions Which make it vile or great. When soil of thought is fertile And ready for the seeds, It may bring precious fruitage, Or vile and noxious weeds. No sower should be careless, For harvest much depends Upon the well-selected seeds, With mental soil he blends. If field be rich and mellow And no good seed be sown, With tangled mass of vileness It will be overgrown, And shield the deadly serpent, The basilisk of sin, That far exhales its pois'nous breath, Then crawls its den within. No atoms of pollution In matter e'er was known, So vile or so destructive As soul by sin o'erthrown. The vilest spot upon the earth, Through sunshine, air, and rain, May be transformed in ev'ry part And purified again. The fields where chaos reigned supreme And Nature frowned aghast, By patient-toil have fruitage borne And blossomed fragrance cast. The wreck of spheres by traction's laws Hurled wildly into space, May gather atoms round itself And find some resting place Where it may serve creation's end, And 'mong the planets roll, True to the laws of gravity That marks its outer pole. The mind and soul can never Within themselves find rest, When all the sin's pollutions Are harbored in the breast. Then sow good seed, brave teacher, And deeply plant with care, That both here and hereafter Rich harvest it may bear. The sowing may be silent-- It may be but a tear, Its strength is in its purpose, Its aim must be sincere. It should not be a rite or creed, But wider far than these, It should encompass God and man, Home and antipodes. To learn the truths of science, Know tables, books and charts, To analyze the potent thrill That fires all earnest hearts, To revel in the mysteries That lie deep in the earth, To give the proper data When planets had their birth, To know the exact elements That constitute the sun, The causes why swift currents Within the ocean run, The ratio of the vapors That color sunset skies, Time's infinitesimal fraction When planets set and rise, To solve the problems of the air, The secrets of the deep, Are all intrinsic subjects And worthy of our keep. But these alone are worthless, They need augmented force To lead mind toward the fountain From which it had its source. They leave one vital question-- Development of man-- Without e'en crude solution, Without a working plan. They leave the mighty problem Of Maker and the Made, Devoid of any sequence, Or any plan portrayed. These are of greatest moment To persons and to State, Upon their wise adjustment Must hang progression's fate. Cold are the truths of science, Lifeless their every plan, Until in living presence, They're crystalized in man. As hidden truths are useless And aid not human skill, So slumber mighty forces Through lack of human will. To know the right is not enough, It must be given power Through culture of the heart and soul, If it shall blessings shower. To State, to manhood and to God Must mind be wholly given, Ere truth will shine a beacon light, To illumine earth and heaven. All things were made but to subserve Man's powers to improve, And beautify his being here Through charity and love. Power, gold, and wealth are agencies Placed in a creature's hand To serve an end, but not to rule,-- Obey, but not command. As mind and soul matter surpass And error flies from truth, So should we train the nobler parts Of plastic, trusting youth. The sacred man by God ordained, Links sinful earth with heaven, But his success oft must depend On how instruction's given. The holy task of training mind Is not a trivial thing, Its influence lives, grows and expands Till harvest it shall bring. No task, to human hands assigned, Excels in force and weight The grave responsibilities Of those who educate. Let knowledge of the sciences, Skill in didactic art, Power in the impulse of the soul A knowledge to impart, A love for God and human kind, Forgetfulness of self, A heart devoted to the cause More than to worldly pelf, Be given as a heritage To those who fain would teach, Then living truth shall flourish, And all mankind shall reach. * * * * * There's an ebb and flow of sentiment In educational tides, Which oft discards some solid old facts, And on wild new hobbies rides. The educator of modern times Must prove the false and the true, Hold fast the worthy of the old, Unprejudiced, test the new. COURAGE AND FAITH. Courage and Faith are of heavenly birth, Though sent down to our lowly earth To cheer the heart of man; They are only strong when the human soul Yields perfect trust and full control To heaven's benignant plan. Nature expands when this God-sent pair Finds a fertile heart that needs the care Of a messenger divine, And permits their strength to succor give That truth may grow and honor live To yield their fruit benign. * * * * * Who gives no sunshine from his soul Must live in darkness ever, For Nature scorns to such degree, She blinds a sordid giver. But he who scatters noble deeds, And lives to bless mankind, Shall see the beauties God reveals To men with hearts refined. INCOMPETENCE. Sometimes our soul within us burns To see dark Ignorance aspire To move toward light a mind that yearns For knowledge that may lift it higher Upon the royal road of truth, While every word and act and thought Betrays an atmosphere so fraught With lack of common sense and lore, We plead for some almighty power To save from such our precious youth. No ray of truth can ever shine To beautify and make divine The heart and mind of anxious soul, When doubts and fears have full control Of him who knows he blindly leads. If human minds and souls and hearts May not command those who have arts And power to waken, lead, inspire, Then knowledge fails of her desire, And Ignorance on Wisdom feeds. Let science, art, didactic skill, Be guided by unyielding will Born in some earnest, patient one Whose heart glows like the summer sun And warms all by its ardent fire; Whose interest is so intense It readily itself imprints Upon the tender minds of youths, Precepts and scientific truths Such as their yearning hearts desire. Then there shall come a brighter day, When darkness shall to light give way, And Wisdom on her throne rejoice, And speak with accent in her voice That charms and cheers a hungry mind. Then, students, beauty shall receive Instead of ashes that deceive, Their days and nights of earnest toil, Their struggles by the midnight oil Give recompense complete, refined. FACT VERSUS FORM. As shadows are to material forms, As mists to the copious shower As dead calms are to tornado storms That in tropical region lower So are educational fallacies That ignore and decry as naught The value and power that ever lie In the scope of original thought. No smooth device with a soulless form Should obscure the living thought; It smothers the mind, destroys the charm That comes to him who has wrought To discover new truth, by a truth well known, On which he may safely build, Till his mental strength by use has grown To a giant strong and skilled. When thought is secure, the reason clear, And the language to tell is pure, Abridgement comes like a friend sincere, For it cannot the mind obscure. The wasted time on a form-clad task Steals gems from youth's precious years, Leaves a wreck on life's shore, we cannot mask With our sorrows and sighs and tears. If what we have learned has given no power To acquire what yet we must learn, If all our past struggles leave not a dower To which we may joyously turn And feel that a strength within us is given Through efforts already bestowed, In vain have we lived, in vain have we striven, Each task is the same weary load. If task of to-day shall not lighten th' one May come upon us to-morrow, It is but a proof our work was ill done, And bodes to us grief and sorrow. Ev'ry effort of mind applied aright Augments the mental perception, For God aids the brave, and giveth a light To shine away imperfection. There's a magic power in a task well done, There's a charm in solid reason, There's a mighty force in a victory won, Which an alert mind will seize on, And with giant strength that is thus acquired March on till the fields of science And the zones of thought wherein man aspired Shall be won by self-reliance. INTEREST. Who has not seen the inert mind, Bowed down and sore oppressed, Start into life, and vigor find At touch of interest Some sympathetic soul has shown, By look in kindness given, Or word whose accent, cadence, tone, Gave joy akin to heaven? No emanation from the heart Has greater power to win, Than that which lays aside all art And quietly steps in To soothe through sympathy, the cares And sorrows, one by one, Of timorous soul who scarcely dares Go forward all alone, But needs some word of magic power To give him life and zest, Some animating heart-given dower Whose wealth is interest. Few, few there are who know the force That dormant lies in many a brain, Who trace inertia to its source Or see how mind o'er mind may reign. MEMORY AND REASON. Who stores the mind with richest truth Gathered from sages of all lands, May toil through days of sunny youth, And on till Death gives his commands, But fails to call to him the aid Of Reason, Judgment, and Good Sense, Will find himself at last dismayed At smallness of his consequence. The choicest gems must polish bear, And metals must be purged from earth, Before a lustre they can wear That tells of their intrinsic worth. The brain requires friction of thought, Obtained through contact with the world, With which may skillfully be wrought The mental gems research unfurled. Who builds alone on Memory Will find he lacks a needed force To fire and set the spirit free, And move him onward in the course That tends to lead him by a way Whose goal is sure, complete success, But wanting such, can but display Chaotic mass of nothingness. Let Memory and Reason wed, Their product then may fully know The food on which great minds are fed, The founts from which great actions flow; Each holds its share of honored meed, But each requires the other's aid To stimulate the urgent need By which great genius is displayed. * * * * * Many a brave resolution Is formed on New Year's Day To annihilate some vices That on our morals prey; But before the year is ended They go so far astray We find our lives are pursuing The old, accustomed way. THE DESIRABLE UNDEFINED. I have often thought there's a power Unknown to science or art, That opens and closes the portals That lead to the human heart. I have learned there's a secret something That remains yet undefined, That touches the springs and pulleys That open the human mind. I have watched the glow of faces, As a light from this occult source Has touched some inert nature With an energizing force. The effect was so magnetic, It seemed like creative skill From the hand of the Great Master, To give passive being _will_. Sometimes its power seemed but presence, Sometimes, a soft, mild tone, Sometimes, a look of decision, Ofttimes, from a source unknown. There's a something wrapped in th' nature Of those most adapted to teach That charms and holds the attention Of those whom its powers reach. There's a sound from some vibration Within the human voice That arouses the latent spirit And makes the soul rejoice. Its tone has a magic power Whereby the heart is impressed With the weight of its noble mission And unselfish interest. There's a mystic charm most winsome In th' glance of a speaking eye Whose light shines in dark recesses And explores them in passing by. It illumines the page of the student As his soul warms by its fire, And stirs him to greater action, And lifts aspirations higher. Every word and look and action Has weight on trustful youth, That needs no sage to interpret Or explain its vital truth. They are fully comprehended Through the instinct, every one, And need no labored searching In a massive lexicon. Some call this power attraction, Some term it affinity, But all recognize its existence And wonderful potency. There's also a power of repulsion That breathes with abated breath, Whose presence is best betokened By ominous signs of death. No word has an inspiration, No look has a sign of cheer, Each act reveals that a burden Must be borne in sorrow and fear. The wrecks that are made by its presence Have filled almshouses and jails With the deepest of lamentations, The saddest of human wails. A selfish, terrible monster That drives away honor and truth Is the cold-blooded fiend Repulsion, The destroyer of tender youth. The sea in its frenzy and fury, When lashed by the wintry gales Casts on the rocks its vessels Bereft of their spars and sails; The path of the fierce tornado, Overstrewn with wild debris Of fallen habitations And uprooted forest tree; The wreck of a world of matter That transforms revolving spheres, Which have gathered all their greatness Through the lapse of a million years; The snow-clad mountain terror-- The fearful avalanche-- Whose thunders are heard in valleys Where imploring faces blanch; The mouth of a raging Etna With its stifling breath of fire, Wherein the pride of a city In a moment may expire; The trembling of the mountains When an earthquake passes by, And the terror of the people Struck dumb in their agony; The rage of a foaming torrent, After the bursting cloud Has poured its liquid fury In destruction wild and loud; Are but the potent protests Of Nature's elements Against some ill arrangement That brings them discontents. But these in separate actions, Or in forces all combined, Leave not so sad a ruin As the wreck of one human mind. The voice, the eye, and the manner Are all unlocked by a key That has for its great attraction A confiding sympathy. The knowledge of books is essential To those who youth would guide, But the grace of earnest endeavor Excels all else beside. Truth in its plainness is beauty, Science itself is a charm, But the frown of a tyrant tutor Puts both in constant alarm. To receive a healthful impression, Mind must be free from fear, Will must be held by attraction, Soul, by a soul sincere. MIRRORS. Some persons in mind are but mirrors Reflecting what others have thought, That make no original errors, They are only able to quote. You may ask their opinion on matters That pertain to affairs of the day, Their minds are but shreds and tatters Of what all their neighbors say. We respect the man who is careful With others his mind to compare, But who of himself is not fearful His honest opinion to share With men, when some public measure Upon the State has been thrown,-- Who proves his mind a rich treasure He uses and calls his own. MANY. Many a grand ambition Had birth and died in a day, From lack of vigorous nursing To keep it from decay. Many a hope has faded And sunk in deepest despair, Through lack of careful pruning That fruitage it might bear. Many a mind is ruined And becomes chaotic mass, Through want of systematic Training in the class. Many a song of sweetness Has lost its harmony, Because at its beginning It had not the proper key. Many a field most fertile Bears vile and noxious weeds, Through failure of the tiller To sow some worthy seeds. Many a flower of beauty And sweetness blooms unseen, And dies in its seclusion On a bed of mossy green. Better to have no talent, No excellence to give, Than permit vice to destroy The talent we may have. * * * * * No dam can restrain the water When leaks receive no care, When the tempest in wild fury Doth chafe and gnaw and tear, And no hand is raised to succor, No effort to repair, Till the torrent bursts in fury And fills us with despair. 'Tis too late then for repining, Too late, for work or prayer. DUTY DONE. A duty done is victory won, E'en though in the doing, Efforts may fail to bring avail In lines we are pursuing. Nothing is lost whate'er the cost, When efforts made are noble, Beyond the sky acts never die, And honor's crown is double. Right cannot fail, but must prevail, If noble be the motive; Heaven is nigher if we aspire With hearts sincere and votive. Much strength we gain when we maintain A truth for truth's sake solely; A mighty power guides effort's hour And stamps its cause as holy. If honest heart act well its part, And ask the aid of heaven Its feeblest word will be so heard That succor will be given. It matters not how low our lot We rise by honest trial; No effort made for needed aid E'er met complete denial. The soul expands when it demands A right for self and others, And darkest night has ray of light For honest helpful brothers. A noble soul spurns the control Would bind in servile fetters; No chains can bind God-given mind Inspired by love and letters. An earnest will can ne'er be still Though oft its hopes be baffled, It will succeed though victims bleed And die upon the scaffold. Loud shout and sing, "Crown Effort King," And let the watchword be This earnest prayer heard everywhere, "God and Humanity." A duty done is victory won, For strength comes by the doing; There's no retreat, there's no defeat, If right we are pursuing. THE SENSES. THE EYE. Some eyes are trained to scan large field Till instantaneous glance may yield A knowledge full and plenty; While others keep a narrow ken And view the ways of active men With satisfaction scanty. The optic nerve has power so keen, That ev'ry object by it seen Is stamped upon the brain; But they of sluggish mental mold No vivid photograph will hold, And scarce a scene retain. THE EAR The tympanum with perfect drum Hears not the sound when armies come With clarion notes and song, Unless its stimulated nerve Has fully learned to humbly serve In stations which belong To those which God designed should live For special duties, He might give To move mankind along Upon the road toward perfect man, That He might thus reveal His plan, And happiness prolong. THE TONGUE. The power that lies in perfect speech Dwells with the few who only reach That art through toil and care; A faulty tongue perverts the ear, Destroys the sense, augments the fear, And feeds on empty air. A nation's destinies have hung Upon the influence of a tongue Whose magic eloquence Has swayed the thoughts of men, whose word Was mightier than the glittering sword Of armies most immense. THE HAND. The manual touch when guided by The magic power of sympathy That animates the soul, May lead to fields of cultured art And cast an influence on the heart May through all ages roll. The canvass and the stone may speak To more than Roman and to Greek Though in a foreign land; They show the might of cultured skill Directed by an iron will That guides a master's hand. THE NOSE. The perfumed fields of blooming May, The evening scent of new-mown hay Touch nerve olfactory, And carry to the thoughtful brain Loved memories of a long-past train That once was full of glee. Though flowers to-day are choice and rare, In colors they may well compare With richest hues we meet; They lack the charm that gave them power Since past is youth's entrancing hour Their fragrance seems less sweet. COMBINED INFLUENCE. Five roads lead to the human brain And through these roads all must obtain The commerce of all lore; No thought can enter mental port Of any kind or any sort, Of modern days or yore, Except such as a tariff pays To pass these honored, great highways Which lead to eminence, And follow closely every nerve Which God designed should truly serve Each mind of consequence. * * * * * Perhaps that star in yonder sky, May be my dwelling place on high, When life on earth is done; At eventide I love to gaze Upon its soft reflected rays, When silent and alone. Its brightness charms and draws my soul, By some mysterious, strong control I cannot well explain, Unless it be within it dwell The friends of earth I loved so well, Who could not here remain. SOUL SPEAKS TO SOUL. Soul speaks to soul, eye speaks to eye, And mind by mind is read; The heart bounds in sweet ecstasy Whene'er a light is shed, That shines to illume a cherished thought That seemed to dwell alone, But on through years has nobly sought To solve some truth unknown. The living truth that seemeth dead, Needs but a kindred touch To resurrect thought's vital thread, And give it influence, such As breaks the bands of fettered mind, And sunders thraldom's chains, Spreads benefactions, pure, refined, Where ignorance now reigns. Magnetic touch of spark divine, Speak to the inert soul, Let light from out the darkness shine, And truth her page unroll; Speak to the minds that waiting, starve, And give them power to see, That he who patiently will serve Shall win the victory. OUR BATTLEFIELD. [Written for an entertainment given by the Fife and Drum Corps (36 uniformed members) of the Third Ward Grammar School of Long Island City, of which the writer is Principal.] There are fields of martial glory Where the slain are ne'er bemoaned; There are victories though silent, Where grim monarchs are dethroned; There are scenes of strife and foray Where gigantic forces strive For the mastery and triumph Of the ends for which they live. There are forces more puissant Than ten million armed men, There are banners that are emblems Of the mighty tongue and pen, That reflect upon their blazon Honest purpose grand and true, Such as never graced the victors Of Sedan and Waterloo. There are weapons in these contests Keener than the Damask blade, There are metals of such temper As no crucible e'er made; For the dross must be extracted In the furnace of the soul Till no refuse or pollution Shall defile the perfect whole. Though this army counts its millions, Each must face alone the foe, Each must bring a special weapon, Each must strike himself the blow That shall free him from the shackles Of that despot and his train, Who with ignorance and vices Would destroy the heart and brain. Our true sword is Education And grim Ignorance our foe; We are battling with our passions, And our spirits are aglow With a full determination To accept the proven truth That the days of precious seed-time, Are the sunny days of youth. Day by day the contest rages And each task that's daily done, Brings a soothing satisfaction That another victory's won. Thus the strength we gain in action Aids in each succeeding strife, To make the struggles lighter In the battles of our life. There are avenues and byways Which lead into the heart, Whose intricate environments Require the highest art To tell what inspiration Shall touch a dormant mind, And fire it with a living zeal For a station more refined. It is only voice of music That speaks universal tongue; It matters not in what accent A sweet melody is sung, It will find responsive feelings Which will aptly understand Though it be of unknown measure And sung in a foreign land. We come with our martial music, With our noisy fife and drum To inspire the weak and weary, To open the mouths of the dumb, To train our every emotion For a better sphere in life, To enjoy for the passing moment The sound of the drum and fife. We hope our notes may be peaceful And free from carnage of war; We would bind up the broken hearted And cover the wound and scar, But should foe our country menace And refuse to be just and calm, We would sound aloud the tocsin And march to defend Uncle Sam. * * * * * To plant an intellectual seed And guard its growth from noxious weed, That it may fruitage bear, Is solace more, a thousand fold, Than hoarding bonds and stocks and gold, Or sporting jewels rare. GOOD HABITS. A silent force marks out the course Of every man and woman, No matter what may be the lot Of creatures that are human, The end attained is ever gained By means so strange and hidden, We call it luck, instead of pluck, Or fate by fairies bidden. The human eye cannot descry All workings of the brain; At silent night, it gains a might Which bears a mental train Whose lucid glow may thrones o'erthrow, Or bid new nations rise, May prove some plan whereby proud man May ransack earth and skies. Think not such power a fairy's dower, Or influence from some star, It did not spring from anything Beyond what mortals are. To man is given the keys of heaven If they be rightly used; No being born but must be shorn If blessings are abused. Keep well the trust! Guard it we must, From in and outward foes, Strength will be gained, might be attained By efforts to oppose The secret vice that doth entice To ruin and despair; But he who will hath power to kill Such vice within its lair. Let habits grand the life command And Eden is regained; No future bliss need surpass this If habits are unstained. Let smiling face your presence grace And earth will smile on you, Let from the tongue a song be sung, Its echo will be true, And sing again the same refrain Upon the selfsame key, Till airs elate, reverberate, Heaven's sweetest minstrelsy. If we extend a hand to friend Who needs a brother's care, Though it may hold no purse of gold The act he will revere. Scarce do we know whence comes the glow That duty done e'er gives, Its altar-fire cannot expire-- Here and hereafter lives. Such habits then, for gods and men, Are but the means whereby They may prepare to gain their share To mansions in the sky. Sing then a song, its notes prolong, In praise of Habit's power; Let custom be from evil free And it will blessings shower. EVIL HABITS. How habit grows no one e'er knows, And yet he is a giant That has a will and subtle skill That never yet was pliant. 'Tis very plain that he has slain More than the sword and spear, With wily art he charms the heart And quells the greatest fear. His artful eye is wondrous sly And has bewitching glance, Where'er he moves his victim loves To see his powers advance. He makes no noise 'mong girls and boys Whom he would call his own, His spell is cast, he holds them fast Till they are overthrown. When this is done the field is won, And they are all his own, He heeds no cry, no choking sigh, No plea, no prayer, no groan. If you would be forever free From tyrant so severe, Watch every thought before you're caught, For he is hovering near. Your every word guard with the sword Of truth, which never fails, Its honor's sung in every tongue, Its power e'er prevails. Act well your part, and keep your heart Free from the tares he sows, For at the end like traitor friend He leaves you with your woes. Thus Habit mars with wounds and scars The favored of our race, Transforms the mind that God designed Should be the dwelling place Of noble thought with heaven fraught Into a sterile plain, Whose atmosphere is dank and drear-- A wild chaotic brain. Man scarce may be entirely free From wiles and tricks and snares, Whose stealthy forms and subtle charms Approach us unawares. Our eyes are blind or not inclined To see that powerful hand, That silently, yet forcibly Gives us its strong command. LIFE'S EMERGENCIES. How strangely dark are the vapors That sometimes obscure the way, Ere the light of truth advances To the noon of a perfect day. As the unforeseen approaches In stealth from ambushed retreat, The mettle of soul is summoned Its emergencies to meet. To shrink by its sudden coming, To surrender our control Without a struggle for vantage, Betrays a weakness of soul. The conflicts with emergencies We meet in our daily call, Give strength or death to moral worth As we conquer them or fall. To meet at once with valor true The attack from an ambuscade, In moral strife, or bloody war, Hath many a hero made. Who has not trained himself to meet The vicissitudes that arise Upon the course of life's stern race, Must fail to secure its prize. * * * * * To hold a pessimistic view, And see the world as darkly "blue," And feel mankind is false, untrue, Is not a just conclusion; But Truth demands that Hope shall wear No false rose in her silken hair, To hide Deceit, Fraud, and Despair, That feed on wild Delusion. STRAND DESPAIR. The wrecks that lie on Strand Despair, Should serve as buoys on life's stern seas To guide the voyager safely, where He may escape the tides and breeze That drive to whirlpools, bars, and rocks, Where human vessels oft impinge And leave a ruin that but mocks The pleadings of persuasion's hinge. An idle mind, companions base, A shrinking from a duty known, A sly deceit, a brazen face, A lying tongue, a sullen tone, Lead toward a wreck on Strand Despair, And none but self can move the helm To change the course for scenes more fair, To save from storms that overwhelm. INDULGENCE. An alarm is sounding through the land That tells of a stronger foe Than that which marched on Lexington, To strike a fatal blow At the liberties our sires did claim For themselves and all mankind, For this foe is a product of deceit And sophistry combined. Its victims fall by the smiling ways Of a charmed environment That lures him on to neglect and sin, And to final banishment Of the vital spark of an earnest man, And all that is noble and true, To the effete round of nothingness Which honor and strength will subdue. No Spartan Helen of beauty and fame, No mermaid with winsome face, No Siren that sings an alluring song, No Pandora in her grace, Can soothe and charm to destruction's retreat, Like the foe that robs of power To meet the needs of life's true aim, The requirements of each hour. It has filled our courts, our prisons, our jails, And filled our almshouses, too, Itself and distress walk hand in hand, No crimes but its victims will do; Though it seems like a true and trusty friend 'Tis a tyrant in disguise, It leads to distrust and uncertainty, It wins no enduring prize. In homes it leads to disorder wild, In school, to defiance of laws, In nations, to strife on bloody fields, In man, to destruction's jaws; In business its office is but to destroy, In friendship, brings lack of respect, In love, oft a maddened, frenzied heart That can never endure neglect. Parents, true kindness holds steady hand, Judges, know justice is kind, Teachers, remember the work for you Is to strengthen heart and mind. Kindness, dethroned by lack of control, Ruins our girls and our boys, Firmness is noble, honest, and true, Indulgence only destroys. THE TEACHER'S SOLILOQUY. And so another week has gone, And I once more am left alone Within my silent room; My mind is worn by fervent care, And, languishing, it needs repair For duties yet to come. From all the cares which come on me I cannot be entirely free Thro' all this mortal life; But cares imported from abroad Make much more ponderous the load, And cause more bitter strife. With patient labor, day by day, I work along this toilsome way Intent on doing good; My pupils' hearts I would inspire With noble thoughts and strong desire For intellectual food. I note the various schemes and arts, As prompted by the different hearts, They lead to different deeds. As deeds and hearts will correspond, By observation it is found There should be different meeds. The wish made known for some will do, And some a gentle frown would rue And feel extremely sad; While others need a sterner look, A reprimand, or sharp rebuke, And sometimes e'en the rod. Most gladly would I hail the day When children cheerfully obey, (If e'er that day shall come,) But ere that happy day I see, A reformation there must be In government at home. And what is my reward for all This watchful care and earnest toil To train the youthful mind? From Ignorance it draws a curse-- Though pocket hold a puny purse-- Yet one reward I find-- To see the young prepared for life And launched upon the outward strife Of its tempestuous sea, And know that I have trained that mind, With noble thought that heart refined, Is rich reward for me. When all life's lessons have been taught, And my own soul with love is fraught For earnest, striving man, Perhaps an understanding Lord Will proffer as a great reward, Redemption through His plan. * * * * * A beautiful vision I sometimes see, That stands in the distance and smiles upon me; It points with a finger of radiance bright, To the fleeting shades of departing night. I would gladly know if this scene designed To be a true type of the human mind, When the mists and clouds of dark ignorance, Shall into the realms of the unknown advance. SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST. The survival of the fittest, The advancement of the best, The enthronement of the truest In the world's great crucial test, Is emblazoned on each banner Wherever man is found, And e'en 'mong plants and animals This holds, the world around. Then prepare for the survival, Allow no base retreat, (Dethronement means delinquency,) Endure the cold and heat; The elements that meet us May all be overcome, With God and right ever in sight, The victory may be won. THE DIFFERENCE. I have scanned the roll of teachers, Have noted the Aarons and Hurs Who have stayed education's Moses, And removed the cumbrous bars That environed its anxious spirit, And bowed down its life with cares. I have counted them all over, Have analyzed heart and brain, Have watched them in daily labor That I might some key obtain To unlock the magical power, By which some supremely reign. I have listened with ear enraptured, Have caught the gleam of the eye, Have felt the glow of emotion When bright corruscations fly From mental touch and fervor, That prompted others to try. The soul knows no fire so warming, No light so fervent and true, As the glow of the living presence Of one of the noble few Who counts her pain but pleasure, If good she may only do. A teacher who knows her subjects And has much of didactic art, Will present the truths of science To the youthful mind and heart, In ways so apt and skillful They will never more depart, But will gather strength and beauty With every day and hour, Until they become
{'title': 'Our Profession and Other Poems by Jared Barhite', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}