Sympathy is something that shouldn't be bestowed upon the Yankees. Apparently it angers them.
quote by Bob Feller
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Sympathy is worse than death….
Sympathy makes an organism feel dreadfully weak—as if the world around it had metamorphosed into a coffin of morose blackness; though an infinite streams of scarlet blood still ran enthusiastically through each of its blessed veins,
Sympathy makes an organism feel lividly inferior—with every living being in vicinity appearing to be a boundless times stronger; though they both were royally equal by the grace of the unparalleled Omnipotent Lord,
Sympathy makes an organism inadvertently lick decrepit dust—whereas it should’ve been unflinching marching forward in the fervor of bustling youth; head held high with its compatriot organism and only bowing down before the Lord Almighty,
Sympathy makes an organism a veritably devilish parasite-forever leaning and sucking upon its good-willed befriender; though volcano’s of latent energy itched to fulminate from each of its robustly handsome veins,
Sympathy makes an organism wholesomely lose its own voice—as it started to profusely relish the extravagant attention and care; preferred to fantasize about the things that it’d like to do in life; rather than honestly sweat it out and reach there,
Sympathy makes an organism overwhelmingly finicky and fastidious about the tiniest of things—again and again finding faults with the most majestically perfect of creation; as there was always a person to wholesomely commiserate with its every eccentricity and peevish demand,
Sympathy makes an organism haplessly infertile-pathetically unable to indulge into even the most sensuously bountiful pleasures of life; as inevitable habit compelled it to let others complete its job of proliferating its very own kin,
Sympathy makes an organism miserably fail again and again-as the inexplicably stabbing blackness that it’d enshrouded itself with; incorrigibly denied any beam of optimistic sunlight to triumphantly creep in,
Sympathy makes an organism look frenetically naked even when fully clothed-as it indefatigably kept begging for being fed even that morsel of food; which lay copiously sprawled right into the center of its palms,
Sympathy makes an organism an irrefutable devil on the prowl-inexhaustibly searching for that shoulder to baselessly weep; and then disgustingly sleep-float in an unfathomable ocean of tears,
Sympathy makes an organism a dreadfully unbearable burden upon the planet-as it neither wholesomely died nor lived; just kept flagrantly loitering in-between the dormitories of certainty and uncertainty,
Sympathy makes an organism hopelessly deteriorate into nothingness with every unleashing minute—as his unstoppably taking the support of others; made his very own spine rust and eventually crumble to inconspicuous dust,
Sympathy makes an organism an irrevocably maimed beggar—as he shamefully lost all his ability to sight; hear and fearlessly speak; wantonly clinging like a deplorable leech to the panic button of every second person on the street,
Sympathy makes an organism a coffin of cursed negativity-spreading the wretched stench of satanic dependency upon every step that he dared tread; and thereby maligning the true spirit of symbiotically independent life,
Sympathy makes an organism lose all priceless self respect-an attribute which was profoundly embedded in each of its veins just like an infinite other of its counterpart; right since its very first divinely breath,
Sympathy makes an organism look like an invisible ghost infront of the mirror-such an abominable jinx that was impossible to break; once it surreptitiously passed itself on upon another equally insipid organism,
Sympathy makes an organism come to such an exasperating stage—that it started to unceasingly ridicule its very ownself; as there virtually none else in this world who was as inconsolably sick and helpless as its rapidly flailing form,
Sympathy makes an organism come to an earth-screeching lifeless halt—as after a period of time every door on the Universe brutally shut up on its deliberately tear stained face; and that’s when the true reality and hardship of life hit it right in the center of its eye,
And sympathy makes an organism entirely dead even in the heart of exuberantly infallible life-a lifelessly fetid carcass which was spat upon and shunted by every section of the society; even before it could try lifting its very first footstep on soil by itself…
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Accept my sympathy
In all sincerity
It is a pathetic pity
I merely offer sympathy
With such velocity
This sadness born out of the blue
That decides to levy itself on you
In your fixed stillness
I sense your illness
Accept my sympathy
You lost a pet
Somebody made you upset
Accept my sympathy
You lost a friend
Your broken heart is yet to mend
Accept my sympathy
You were once abused
Possibly at times wrongly accused
Accept my sympathy
You marriage is on the rocks
You got divorced, left without a buck
Accept my sympathy
You lost a fortune
Your voice can't sing a decent tune
Accept my sympathy
You lost in love or lost your job
Or perhaps at one stage got robbed
Accept my sympathy
Your life is a mess
Everything around you depresses
Whatever the circumstances
Accept my sympathy
And if I happen to show no sympathy
Please accept my sympathy!
www.sylviachidi.co.uk
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Sympathy In End
In all sincerity
It is a pathetic pity
I merely offer sympathy
With such velocity
This sadness born out of the blue
That decides to levy itself on you
In your fixed stillness
I sense your illness
Accept my sympathy
You lost a pet
Somebody made you upset
Accept my sympathy
You lost a friend
Your broken heart is yet to mend
Accept my sympathy
You were once abused
Possibly at times wrongly accused
Accept my sympathy
You marriage is on the rocks
You got divorced, left without a buck
Accept my sympathy
You lost a fortune
Your voice can't sing a decent tune
Accept my sympathy
You lost in love or lost your job
Or perhaps at one stage got robbed
Accept my sympathy
Your life is a mess
Everything around you depresses
Whatever the circumstances
Accept my sympathy
And if I happen to show no sympathy
Please accept my sympathy! By SARTHAK DAS
poem by Sarthak Das
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Dont Break This Rhythm
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
All this momentum keeps stealing through
Across the cornfields, through all the marshland
Theres nothing gonna stop this thing
Clear the trees, burn the brushwood
Bring the diggers in, Im gonna move this earth
Lay the big stones, put down the sleepers
Haul the steel in, I will beat this land
Dont care how but, Im coming through here
Whatever it takes, oh
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
We work together in sympathy
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
We work together in sympathy
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
We work together in sympathy
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
We work together in sympathy
Right through these fences, cut through the stone walls
Dig out the tunnels from a solid stone
There she is, but so surrounded
All those fancy men with soft white hands
Come all this distance, that should be me there
Whatever it takes (whatever it takes), oh
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
We work together in sympathy
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
We work together in sympathy
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
We work together in sympathy
Dont break this rhythm, dont break this motion
We work together in sympathy
song performed by Peter Gabriel
Added by Lucian Velea
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George Steinbrenner, the Boss
He bought the Yankees for a song
From CBS and Michael Burke:
He worked restoring Yankee Pride
It was his life's great work.
The House that Ruth built long ago
Was then in disrepair
Where aging veterans stumbled through
long seasons of despair.
With Crafty Gabe Paul at his side
He made some dandy trades-
Deals that worked out better
than the one Mike Kekich made.
The boss was quite the artist
And his medium was rare.
Free agents flocked to sign here
Sacrificing facial hair.
Wth Munson as his Captain
And Jackson as his straw
He won a pair of trophies
And the Yanks became a draw.
For hiring and firing
The Boss has known few equals
As soon as Billy would depart
The Boss would plan a sequel.
But Munson took up flying
One day he died in flames.
Remember Murcer’s Eulogy
at church and in the game?
Boss castigated “Mr. May”
When Rings were hard to find-
George fell for Howie Spira’s spiel
and was banished for a time.
Just then his Yanks in doldrums lay
as the Mets in Queens would rise.
Gene Michael Drafted wisely
And he held on to his guys.
A core of good young players rose,
His Yanks on top again
Mr. Torre won four trophies
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Ballad of the Calliope
By the far Samoan shore,
Where the league-long rollers pour
All the wash of the Pacific on the coral-guarded bay,
Riding lightly at their ease,
In the calm of tropic seas,
The three great nations' warships at their anchors proudly lay.
Riding lightly, head to wind,
With the coral reefs behind,
Three German and three Yankee ships were mirrored in the blue;
And on one ship unfurled
Was the flag that rules the world --
For on the old Calliope the flag of England flew.
When the gentle off-shore breeze,
That had scarcely stirred the trees,
Dropped down to utter stillness, and the glass began to fall,
Away across the main
Lowered the coming hurricane,
And far away to seaward hung the cloud-wrack like a pall.
If the word had passed around,
"Let us move to safer ground;
Let us steam away to seaward" -- then his tale were not to tell!
But each Captain seemed to say
"If the others stay, I stay!"
And they lingered at their moorings till the shades of evening fell.
Then the cloud-wrack neared them fast,
And there came a sudden blast,
And the hurricane came leaping down a thousand miles of main!
Like a lion on its prey,
Leapt the storm fiend on the bay,
And the vessels shook and shivered as their cables felt the strain.
As the surging seas came by,
That were running mountains high,
The vessels started dragging, drifting slowly to the lee;
And the darkness of the night
Hid the coral reefs from sight,
And the Captains dared not risk the chance to grope their way to sea.
In the dark they dared not shift!
They were forced to wait and drift;
All hands stood by uncertain would the anchors hold or no.
But the men on deck could see,
If a chance for them might be,
There was little chance of safety for the men who were below.
Through that long, long night of dread,
While the storm raged overhead,
[...] Read more
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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You Are 'Bestowed' the Blessings
Remember this...
To you are bestowed the blessings.
Gifts given to which through you flow.
Those blessings are for you to share.
Your presence 'is' a blessing.
However...
Your wish to be worshipped,
As if you are The Creator...
Of the light that glows.
Is not the way it works.
Or the way it goes.
To you are 'bestowed' the blessings.
The Creator provides,
Those blessings to be bestowed.
The Creator,
Provides...
Those blessings,
To be bestowed.
Remember this...
You are 'bestowed' the blessings.
To assist.
Not create to provide.
Many get this twisted.
To stir up for themselves,
Endless conflict.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sympathy
(mark ashton, graham stansfield, david kaffinetti, stephen gould)
Now when you climb into your bed tonight
And when you lock and bolt the door
Just think about those out in the cold and dark
cause theres not enough love to go round
No theres not enough love to go round
And sympathy is what we need my friends
And sympathy is what we need
And sympathy is what we need my friends
cause theres not enough love to go round
No theres not enough love to go round
Now half the world hates the other half
And half the world has all the food
And half the world lies down and quietly starves
cause theres not enough love to go round
No theres not enough love to go round
No theres not enough love to go round
No theres not enough love to go round
And sympathy is what we need my friends
And sympathy is what we need
And sympathy is what we need my friends
cause theres not enough love to go round
No theres not enough love
No theres not enough love to go round
song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sympathy
So you've seen the sunrise on the Nile
solved the mystery of the mona lisa's smile
you proclaim your innocence
what you saying
makes no sense to me at all
So you help the needy and the sick
heard confessions of a lunatic
my eyes are growing dim
ghost shadows closing in
around me now
and there ain't no sympathy at all
just a sea of angry faces
staring at me
there ain't no sympathy at all
I gotta find someone
to make me happy
so you've scattered roses at Versailles
wiped a teardrop from an old man's eye
seeing you in such distress
I'm afraid I must confess
that boys don't cry
and there ain't no sympathy at all
just a sea of angry faces
staring at me
there ain't no sympathy at all
I gotta find someone
to make me happy
Solo
and there ain't no sympathy at all
just a sea of angry faces
staring at me
there ain't no sympathy at all
I gotta find someone,
gotta find someone,
gotta find someone
song performed by Ufo
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Princess Betrothed To The King Of Garba
WHAT various ways in which a thing is told
Some truth abuse, while others fiction hold;
In stories we invention may admit;
But diff'rent 'tis with what historick writ;
Posterity demands that truth should then
Inspire relation, and direct the pen.
ALACIEL'S story's of another kind,
And I've a little altered it, you'll find;
Faults some may see, and others disbelieve;
'Tis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve;
Alaciel's mem'ry, it is very clear,
Can scarcely by it lose; there's naught to fear.
Two facts important I have kept in view,
In which the author fully I pursue;
The one--no less than eight the belle possessed,
Before a husband's sight her eyes had blessed;
The other is, the prince she was to wed
Ne'er seemed to heed this trespass on his bed,
But thought, perhaps, the beauty she had got
Would prove to any one a happy lot.
HOWE'ER this fair, amid adventures dire,
More sufferings shared than malice could desire;
Though eight times, doubtless, she exchanged her knight
No proof, that she her spouse was led to slight;
'Twas gratitude, compassion, or good will;
The dread of worse;--she'd truly had her fill;
Excuses just, to vindicate her fame,
Who, spite of troubles, fanned the monarch's flame:
Of eight the relict, still a maid received ;--
Apparently, the prince her pure believed;
For, though at times we may be duped in this,
Yet, after such a number--strange to miss!
And I submit to those who've passed the scene,
If they, to my opinion, do not lean.
THE king of Alexandria, Zarus named,
A daughter had, who all his fondness claimed,
A star divine Alaciel shone around,
The charms of beauty's queen were in her found;
With soul celestial, gracious, good, and kind,
And all-accomplished, all-complying mind.
THE, rumour of her worth spread far and wide,
The king of Garba asked her for his bride,
And Mamolin (the sov'reign of the spot,)
To other princes had a pref'rence got.
THE fair, howe'er, already felt the smart
[...] Read more
poem by La Fontaine
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St. Julian's Prayer
TO charms and philters, secret spells and prayers,
How many round attribute all their cares!
In these howe'er I never can believe,
And laugh at follies that so much deceive.
Yet with the beauteous FAIR, 'tis very true,
These WORDS, as SACRED VIRTUES, oft they view;
The spell and philter wonders work in love
Hearts melt with charms supposed from pow'rs above!
MY aim is now to have recourse to these,
And give a story that I trust will please,
In which Saint Julian's prayer, to Reynold D'Ast,
Produced a benefit, good fortune classed.
Had he neglected to repeat the charm,
Believed so thoroughly to guard from harm,
He would have found his cash accounts not right,
And passed assuredly a wretched night.
ONE day, to William's castle as he moved.
Three men, whose looks he very much approved,
And thought such honest fellows he had round,
Their like could nowhere be discovered round;
Without suspecting any thing was wrong,
The three, with complaisance and fluent tongue,
Saluted him in humble servile style,
And asked, (the minutes better to beguile,)
If they might bear him company the way;
The honour would be great, and no delay;
Besides, in travelling 'tis safer found,
And far more pleasant, when the party's round;
So many robbers through the province range,
(Continued they) 'tis wonderfully strange,
The prince should not these villains more restrain;
But there:--bad MEN will somewhere still remain.
TO their proposal Reynold soon agreed,
And they resolved together to proceed.
When 'bout a league the travellers had moved,
Discussing freely, as they all approved,
The conversation turned on spells and prayer,
Their pow'r o'er worms of earth, or birds of air;
To charm the wolf, or guard from thunder's roar,
And many wonderful achievements more;
Besides the cures a prayer would oft produce;
To man and beast it proves of sov'reign use,
Far greater than from doctors e'er you'll view,
Who, with their Latin, make so much ado.
IN turn, the three pretended knowledge great,
And mystick facts affected to relate,
[...] Read more
poem by La Fontaine
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Sympathy
I don't want nothing
Cause nothing's all you give
I don't need your touch
That could be too much for me
I don't want your lies
Burning deep inside of me
Look into my eyes
I don't want your sympathy
Should've known it was over
Can we still bring back before
As the love is certainly colder
You don't need me any more
Now nothing lasts forever like I said before
I don't want your sympathy no more
I don't want my love
It's been misunderstood
So I think I'm giving up
I can never give it up fair way
I don't want your lies
Burning deep inside of me
Look into my eyes
I don't want your sympathy
I don't want your sympathy
I don't need you here with me
I don't want your sympathy
I can't take it anymore
Because I'm hurt enough before
song performed by BBMak from Into Your Head
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sympathy
Stranger than your sympathy
And this is my apology
I killed myself from the inside out
And all my fears have pushed you out
And I wished for things that I dont need
(all I wanted)
And what I chased wont set me free
(all I wanted)
And I get scared but Im not crawlin on my knees
Oh, yeah
Everythings all wrong, yeah
Everythings all wrong, yeah
Where the hell did I think I was?
And stranger than your sympathy
Take these things, so I dont feel
Im killing myself from the inside out
And now my heads been filled with doubt
Were taught to lead the life you choose
(all I wanted)
You know your loves run out on you
(all I wanted)
And you cant see when all your dreams arent coming true
Oh, yeah
Its easy to forget, yeah
When you choke on the regrets, yeah
Who the hell did I think I was?
And stranger than your sympathy
And all these thoughts you stole from me
And Im not sure where I belong
And no wheres home and no more wrong
And I was in love with things I tried to make you believe I was
And I wouldnt be the one to kneel before the dreams I wanted
And all the dark and all the lies were all the empty things disguised as me
Mmm, yeah
Stranger than your sympathy
Stranger than your sympathy
Mmm hmmm mmm
song performed by Goo Goo Dolls
Added by Lucian Velea
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IX. Juris Doctor Johannes-Baptista Bottinius, Fisci et Rev. Cam. Apostol. Advocatus
Had I God's leave, how I would alter things!
If I might read instead of print my speech,—
Ay, and enliven speech with many a flower
Refuses obstinate to blow in print,
As wildings planted in a prim parterre,—
This scurvy room were turned an immense hall;
Opposite, fifty judges in a row;
This side and that of me, for audience—Rome:
And, where yon window is, the Pope should hide—
Watch, curtained, but peep visibly enough.
A buzz of expectation! Through the crowd,
Jingling his chain and stumping with his staff,
Up comes an usher, louts him low, "The Court
"Requires the allocution of the Fisc!"
I rise, I bend, I look about me, pause
O'er the hushed multitude: I count—One, two—
Have ye seen, Judges, have ye, lights of law,—
When it may hap some painter, much in vogue
Throughout our city nutritive of arts,
Ye summon to a task shall test his worth,
And manufacture, as he knows and can,
A work may decorate a palace-wall,
Afford my lords their Holy Family,—
Hath it escaped the acumen of the Court
How such a painter sets himself to paint?
Suppose that Joseph, Mary and her Babe
A-journeying to Egypt, prove the piece:
Why, first he sedulously practiseth,
This painter,—girding loin and lighting lamp,—
On what may nourish eye, make facile hand;
Getteth him studies (styled by draughtsmen so)
From some assistant corpse of Jew or Turk
Or, haply, Molinist, he cuts and carves,—
This Luca or this Carlo or the like.
To him the bones their inmost secret yield,
Each notch and nodule signify their use:
On him the muscles turn, in triple tier,
And pleasantly entreat the entrusted man
"Familiarize thee with our play that lifts
"Thus, and thus lowers again, leg, arm and foot!"
—Ensuring due correctness in the nude.
Which done, is all done? Not a whit, ye know!
He,—to art's surface rising from her depth,—
If some flax-polled soft-bearded sire be found,
May simulate a Joseph, (happy chance!)—
Limneth exact each wrinkle of the brow,
Loseth no involution, cheek or chap,
Till lo, in black and white, the senior lives!
Is it a young and comely peasant-nurse
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Book Sixth [Cambridge and the Alps]
THE leaves were fading when to Esthwaite's banks
And the simplicities of cottage life
I bade farewell; and, one among the youth
Who, summoned by that season, reunite
As scattered birds troop to the fowler's lure,
Went back to Granta's cloisters, not so prompt
Or eager, though as gay and undepressed
In mind, as when I thence had taken flight
A few short months before. I turned my face
Without repining from the coves and heights
Clothed in the sunshine of the withering fern;
Quitted, not loth, the mild magnificence
Of calmer lakes and louder streams; and you,
Frank-hearted maids of rocky Cumberland,
You and your not unwelcome days of mirth,
Relinquished, and your nights of revelry,
And in my own unlovely cell sate down
In lightsome mood--such privilege has youth
That cannot take long leave of pleasant thoughts.
The bonds of indolent society
Relaxing in their hold, henceforth I lived
More to myself. Two winters may be passed
Without a separate notice: many books
Were skimmed, devoured, or studiously perused,
But with no settled plan. I was detached
Internally from academic cares;
Yet independent study seemed a course
Of hardy disobedience toward friends
And kindred, proud rebellion and unkind.
This spurious virtue, rather let it bear
A name it now deserves, this cowardice,
Gave treacherous sanction to that over-love
Of freedom which encouraged me to turn
From regulations even of my own
As from restraints and bonds. Yet who can tell--
Who knows what thus may have been gained, both then
And at a later season, or preserved;
What love of nature, what original strength
Of contemplation, what intuitive truths
The deepest and the best, what keen research,
Unbiassed, unbewildered, and unawed?
The Poet's soul was with me at that time;
Sweet meditations, the still overflow
Of present happiness, while future years
Lacked not anticipations, tender dreams,
No few of which have since been realised;
And some remain, hopes for my future life.
Four years and thirty, told this very week,
[...] Read more
poem by William Wordsworth
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Everybody says we hated the Yankees. We didn't hate the Yankees. We just hated the way they beat us.
quote by Al Lopez
Added by Lucian Velea
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Aunt Chloe
.
I remember, well remember,
.
That dark and dreadful day,
.
When they whispered to me, "Chloe,
.
Your children's sold away!" 1.
It seemed as if a bullet
.
Had shot me through and through,
.
And I felt as if my heart-strings
.
Was breaking right in two. 1.
And I says to cousin Milly,
.
"There must be some mistake;
.
Where's Mistus?" "In the great house crying --
.
Crying like her heart would break. 1.
"And the lawyer's there with Mistus;
.
Says he's come to 'ministrate,
.
'Cause when master died he just left
.
Heap of debt on the estate. 1.
"And I thought 'twould do you good
.
To bid your boys good-bye --
.
To kiss them both and shake their hands,
.
And have a hearty cry. 1.
"Oh! Chloe, I knows how you feel,
.
[...] Read more
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems
March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan
Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.
Sincerely,
George W. Bush
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.
They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.
The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.
They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.
The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.
[...] Read more
poem by Tom Zart
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Ho For California!
Rouse ye, Yankees, from your dreaming!
See that vessel, strong and bold,
On her banner proudly streaming,
California for gold!
See a crowd around her gather,
Eager all to push from land!
They will have all sorts o' weather
Ere they reach the golden strand.
Rouse to action,
Fag and faction;
Ho, for mines of wealth untold!
Rally! Rally!
All for Cali-
Fornia in search of gold!
Away, amid the rush and racket,
Ho for the California packet!
Wake ye! O'er the surging ocean,
Loud above each coral cave,
Comes a sound of wild commotion
From the lands beyond the wave.
Riches, riches, greater--rarer,
Than Golconda's far-famed mines;
Ho for California's shores!
Where the gold so brightly shines.
O'er the ocean
All's commotion;
Ho for mines of wealth untold!
Countless treasure
Waits on pleasure;
Ho for California's gold!
Let us go the rush and racket,
On the Californian packet.
Hear the echo wildly ringing
Through our country far and wide!
Thousands leaving home and springing
Into the resistless tide.
Now our nation's roused from sleeping,
All alert and wide awake.
O, there's no such thing as keeping
Folks asleep when gold's the stake!
Old Oregon
We'll look not on;
Ho, for mines of wealth untold!
We'll take our way,
Without delay,
In search of gold--of glittering gold!
Here we go, amid the racket,
On the Californian packet!
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The Deliverance
Master only left old Mistus
One bright and handsome boy;
But she fairly doted on him,
He was her pride and joy.
We all liked Mister Thomas,
He was so kind at heart;
And when the young folkes got in scrapes,
He always took their part.
He kept right on that very way
Till he got big and tall,
And old Mistus used to chide him
And say he'd spile us all.
But somehow the farm did prosper
When he took things in hand;
And though all the servants liked him,
He made them understand.
One evening Mister Thomas said,
'Just bring my easy shoes;
I am going to sit by mother,
And read her up the news.'
Soon I heard him tell old Mistus
We're bound to have a fight;
But we'll whip the Yankees, mother,
We'll whip them sure as night!'
Then I saw old Mistus tremble;
She gasped and held her breath;
And she looked on Mister Thomas
With a face as pale as death.
'They are firing on Fort Sumpter;
Oh! I wish that I was there! -
Why, dear mother! what's the matter?
You're the picture of despair.'
'I was thinking, dearest Thomas,
'Twould break my very heart
If a fierce and dreadful battle
Should tear our lives apart.'
'None but cowards, dearest mother,
Would skulk unto the rear,
When the tyrant's hand is shaking
All the heart is holding dear.'
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Added by Poetry Lover
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