Virtue Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A A BBCCAADD EEFFGGCCAAHH IIBBJJKKLLMMNN O MMMMPPQQRSTTUUVV WWXXCCYYZZ A A YYA2A2B2B2 C2C2D2D2E2E2F2F2 G2G2H2H2AABBNNII BBI2I2 J2J2I2I2I2I2I2I2XXK2 K2L2L2I2I2I2I2 F2M2N2N2BBXXO2O2I2I2 P2P2Q2Q2AACCNNI2I2

From Farmer Harrington's CalendarA
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OCTOBERA
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Wind in the south west weather fit to stayB
A sweet old fashioned Indian summer dayB
When Heaven and Earth both seem to look at youC
Through hair of gold and misty eyes of blueC
My wife said as we talked of it togetherA
It seemed as if some of our old farm weatherA
Had got tired of the sober hills of brownD
Hitched up a cloud and driven into townD
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We went to church and heard a sermon preachedE
Which all the way from Earth to Heaven reachedE
And lifted us up toward the town divineF
Till we could almost see the steeples shineF
And hear the mighty chariots as they rolledG
Along the massive turnpikes made of goldG
We had some music so sweet lipped and trueC
It made me think of every flower I knewC
And when with benediction the old pastorA
Said Good bye for himself but not his masterA
It put my resolution to the rackH
To head my poor old tears and drive them backH
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We tried to come straight out as Christians shouldI
And bring away all of it that we couldI
But there were certain persons there to dayB
Who after church was over clogged the wayB
And standing 'round with worldly nods and smilesJ
Held a week day reception in the aislesJ
Now when one's mind falls in celestial frameK
He wants to get home safely with the sameK
And hates through jostling gossipers to walkL
And stumble 'gainst the smallest kinds of talkL
Intended by some power his mind to bringM
Down out of Heaven to every worldly thingM
From office and good methods to ensure itN
To rheumatism and proper means to cure itN
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-
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From Arthur Selwyn's Note bookO
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These are the spires that were gleamingM
All through my juvenile dreamingM
Here the high belfries are singingM
Gold invitations they're wingingM
Asking man through the charmed portalP
Where he is once more immortalP
Where he may hide from his caresQ
Under a shelter of prayersQ
Why do these halls high and broadR
Under the same constant GodS
Vary in structure and styleT
Differ from chancel to aisleT
Why forms and creeds so diverseU
Why is my blessing your curseU
Pondering here on the streetV
This is one reason I meetV
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Man's brain is devious and strangeW
Differs in form and in rangeW
So that God's fervid love sunX
Falling the same on each oneX
Differs in form and in hueC
Not the less precious or trueC
Body and brain and heartY
Temple of infinite artY
You had no power to controlZ
Hues of your windows of soulZ
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-
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From Farmer Harrington's CalendarA
-
OCTOBERA
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Sweet virtue virtue virtue what a startY
You've got here in this city's feverish heartY
There isn't a thing to do that's square and rightA2
But some one's here to teach it day and nightA2
No soothing balm soul may from soul demandB2
But some one has it ready to his handB2
-
And then the churches thick and rich of yieldC2
As corn shocks in a new made prairie fieldC2
Where any one the golden fruit can findD2
All ready cooked to suit his heart and mindD2
Great brick and mortar prayers that never ceaseE2
And costing fifty good sized farms apieceE2
Much too expensive it might well be saidF2
If bodies only need be clothed and fedF2
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And then the missions regular district schoolsG2
Where transient men are taught eternal rulesG2
Then the Salvation Army girls and boysH2
Who season their religion up with noiseH2
And when they get to Heaven won't have the powerA
To help keep silent even half an hourA
But who take ragged wretches every dayB
Haul them into the straight and narrow wayB
Strip them of vain conceit soon as they show itN
And get them saved almost before they know itN
It's something good to make these people goodI
Who never go to church and never wouldI
-
God bless each woman man and child I sayB
That leads His creatures in the heavenly wayB
Whether they work by still old fashioned meansI2
Or march with drums and flags and tambourinesI2
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Then there's those men who've crept and crawled as lowJ2
As even Satan cared to have them goJ2
Have marched through strong iron doors in striped ranksI2
Have toiled where convict labor whirls and clanksI2
Have made hard beds in cramped and lonely cellsI2
Have sinned their way through several different hellsI2
Whose lives have been so terribly amissI2
To ever find worse worlds than they've made thisI2
Then groped out into Virtue's bath and sunX
And been washed up as clean as any oneX
And warmed up with sweet sunlight from aboveK2
Till they themselves start off on deeds of loveK2
And say to men with scarred and crime flushed browL2
I've been as bad or worse than you are nowL2
Whereat the wretch says with dull shadowy blissI2
What can there be some square way out of thisI2
And maybe brings to pass through Virtue's schemesI2
Some of his poor old mother's fondest dreamsI2
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Oh you who shout or sing or chant or readF2
Whatever be your name or style or creedM2
If any one on earth a plan has gotN2
Whether it's half as good as yours or notN2
To find a gate into the narrow wayB
And let in others that have gone astrayB
If there's a single chance to mortals givenX
By which to slip poor mortals into HeavenX
For Heaven's sake do not frown in righteous wrathO2
Or throw a scornful word into their pathO2
But interfere with help in their affairsI2
And push them with your money and your prayersI2
For Pain is Pain and God to see it loathP2
In this strange world and in the next one bothP2
And he who saves his fellow men from painQ2
Is God's hired man and does not toil in vainQ2
But I'm reminded by the bell for dinnerA
That I'm no preacher but a poor old sinnerA
Unable even to follow my own viewC
Much less to counsel others how to doC
I can't even eat when I come right down to itN
Without a bell to tell me when to do itN
So I will cork my sermon snub my museI2
And go down stairs with Wife and learn the newsI2

William Mckendree Carleton



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