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I had rather write one word upon the rock	A
Of ages than ten thousand in the sand	B
The rock of ages lo I cannot reach	C
Its lofty shoulders with my puny hand	B
I can but touch the sands about its feet	D
Yea I have painted pictures for the blind	E
And sung my sweetest songs to ears of stone	F
What matter if the dust of ages drift	G
Five fathoms deep above my grave unknown	F
For I have sung and loved the songs I sung	H
Who sings for fame the Muses may disown	F
Who sings for gold will sing an idle song	I
But he who sings because sweet music springs	J
Unbidden from his heart and warbles long	I
May haply touch another heart unknown	F
There is sweeter poetry in the hearts of men	K
Than ever poet wrote or minstrel sung	H
For words are clumsy wings for burning thought	L
The full heart falters on the stammering tongue	H
And silence is more eloquent than song	I
When tender souls are wrung by grief or shameful wrong	I
	-
The grandest poem is God's Universe	M
In measured rhythm the planets whirl their course	N
Rhythm swells and throbs in every sun and star	O
In mighty ocean's organ peals and roar	P
In billows bounding on the harbor bar	O
In the blue surf that rolls upon the shore	P
In the low zephyr's sigh the tempest's sob	Q
In the rain's patter and the thunder's roar	P
Aye in the awful earthquake's shuddering throb	Q
When old Earth cracks her bones and trembles to her core	P
	-
I hear a piper piping on a reed	R
To listening flocks of sheep and bearded goats	S
I hear the larks shrill warbling o'er the mead	R
Their silver sonnets from their golden throats	S
And in my boyhood's clover fields I hear	T
The twittering swallows and the hum of bees	U
Ah sweeter to my heart and to my ear	T
Than any idyl poet ever sung	H
The low sweet music of their melodies	U
Because I listened when my soul was young	H
In those dear meadows under maple trees	U
My heart they molded when its clay was moist	V
And all my life the hum of honey bees	U
Hath waked in me a spirit that rejoiced	V
And touched the trembling chords of tenderest memories	U
	-
I hear loud voices and a clamorous throng	I
With braying bugles and with bragging drums	W
Bards and bardies laboring at a song	I
One lifts his locks above the rest preferred	X
And to the buzzing flies of fashion thrums	W
A banjo Lo him follow all the herd	X
When Nero's wife put on her auburn wig	Y
And at the Coliseum showed her head	Z
The hair of every dame in Rome turned red	Z
When Nero fiddled all Rome danced a jig	Y
Novelty sets the gabbling geese agape	A2
And fickle fashion follows like an ape	A2
Aye brass is plenty gold is scarce and dear	B2
Crystals abound but diamonds still are rare	C2
Is this the golden age or the age of gold	D2
Lo by the page or column fame is sold	D2
Hear the big journal braying like an ass	W
Behold the brazen statesmen as they pass	W
See dapper poets hurrying for their dimes	W
With hasty verses hammered out in rhymes	W
The Muses whisper ' Tis the age of brass	W
Workmen are plenty but the masters few	E2
Fewer to day than in the days of old	D2
Rare blue eyed pansies peeping pearled with dew	E2
And lilies lifting up their heads of gold	D2
Among the gaudy cockscombs I behold	D2
And here and there a lotus in the shade	F2
And under English oaks a rose that ne'er will fade	F2
	-
Fair barks that flutter in the sun your sails	W
Piping anon to gay and tented shores	W
Sweet music and low laughter it is well	G2
Ye hug the haven when the tempest roars	W
For only stalwart ships of oak or steel	H2
May dare the deep and breast the billowy sea	W
When sweeps the thunder voiced dark hurricane	I2
And the mad ocean shakes his shaggy mane	I2
And roars through all his grim and vast immensity	F2
	-
The stars of heaven shine not till it is dark	J2
Seven cities strove for Homer's bones 'tis said	F2
Through which the living Homer begged for bread	F2
When in their coffins they lay dumb and stark	J2
Shakespeare began to live Dante to sing	K2
And Poe's sweet lute began its werbelling	K2
Rear monuments of fame or flattery	W
Think ye their sleeping souls are made aware	C2
Heap o'er their heads sweet praise or calumny	W
Think ye their moldering ashes hear or care	C2
Nay praise and fame are by the living sought	F2
But he is wise who scorns their flattery	W
And who escapes the tongue of calumny	W
May count himself an angel or a naught	F2
Lo over Byron's grave a maggot writhes distraught	F2
	-
Genius is patience labor and good sense	W
Steel and the mind grow bright by frequent use	W
In rest they rust A goodly recompense	W
Comes from hard toil but not from its abuse	W
The slave the idler are alike unblessed	F2
Aye in loved labor only is there rest	F2
But he will read and range and rhyme in vain	I2
Who hath no dust of diamonds in his brain	I2
And untaught genius is a gem undressed	F2
The life of man is short but Art is long	K2
And labor is the lot of mortal man	L2
Ordained by God since human time began	L2
Day follows day and brings its toil and song	K2
Behind the western mountains sinks the moon	M2
The silver dawn steals in upon the dark	K2
Up from the dewy meadow wheels the lark	K2
And trills his welcome to the rising sun	N2
And lo another day of labor is begun	N2
	-
Poets are born not made some scribbler said	F2
And every rhymester thinks the saying true	E2
Better unborn than wanting labor's aid	F2
Aye all great poets all great men are made	F2
Between the hammer and the anvil Few	E2
Have the true metal many have the fire	O2
No slave or savage ever proved a bard	F2
Men have their bent but labor its reward	F2
And untaught fingers cannot tune the lyre	P2
The poet's brain with spirit vision teems	W
The voice of nature warbles in his heart	F2
A sage a seer he moves from men apart	F2
And walks among the shadows of his dreams	W
He sees God's light that in all nature beams	W
And when he touches with the hand of art	F2
The song of nature welling from his heart	F2
And guides it forth in pure and limpid streams	W
Truth sparkles in the song and like a diamond gleams	W
	-
Time and patience change the mulberry leaf	Q2
To shining silk the lapidary's skill	R2
Makes the rough diamond sparkle at his will	R2
And cuts a gem from quartz or coral reef	Q2
Better a skillful cobbler at his last	F2
Than unlearned poet twangling on the lyre	P2
Who sails on land and gallops on the blast	F2
And mounts the welkin on a braying ass	W
Clattering a shattered cymbal bright with brass	W
And slips his girth and tumbles in the mire	P2
All poetry must be if it be true	E2
Like the keen arrows of the Grecian god	F2
Apollo that caught fire as they flew	E2
Ah such was Byron's but alas he trod	F2
Ofttimes among the brambles and the rue	E2
And sometimes dived full deep and brought up mud	F2
But when he touched with tears as only he	W
Could touch the tender chords of sympathy	W
His coldest critics warmed and marveled much	S2
And all old England's heart throbbed to his thrilling touch	S2
	-
Truth is the touchstone of all genius Art	F2
In poet painter sculptor is the same	T2
What cometh from the heart goes to the heart	F2
What comes from effort only is but tame	T2
Nature the only perfect artist is	W
Who studies Nature may approach her skill	R2
Perfection hers but never can be his	W
Though her sweet voice his very marrow thrill	R2
The finest works of art are Nature's shadows still	R2
	-
Look not for faultless men or faultless art	F2
Small faults are ever virtue's parasites	W
As in a picture shadows show the lights	W
So human foibles show a human heart	F2
	-
O while I live and linger on the brink	K2
Let the dear Muses be my company	W
Their nectared goblets let my parched lips drink	K2
Ah let me drink the soma of their lips	W
As humming bird the lily's nectar sips	W
Or Houris sip the wine of Salsabil	R2
Aye let me to their throbbing music thrill	R2
And let me never for one moment think	K2
Although no laurel crown my constancy	W
Their gracious smiles are false their dearest kiss a lie	R2

Hanford Lennox Gordon

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