I THROW a guess out here or there, I breathe a hope into the air, I feel a dumbness like a prayer. What, with this fenced human mind, What can I do to help my kind? I such a stammerer, they so blind! Nothing; save through the single gate Of utterance throw my little weight To swell the praise of what is great. Nothing; save in my every song Heap cold discredit on the wrong, And cheer the march of right along. And when I hear the lark's pure mirth, Or see sweet flowers gladden earth, Sing forth the mood that feels their worth. Or when a bitter woe in me Is healed by tender sympathy, To let the healing songful be. So add what force a singer may, To ring opinion's echoing sway A few chords mellower day by day. Through chiming all that's pure and true, Through hymning steadfast love anew, This is the most that I may do. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUNDAY NIGHT by LOUIS UNTERMEYER HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON FAREWELL TO MALTA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LINES TO WILLIAM LINLEY WHILE HE SANG A SONG TO PURCELL'S MUSIC by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE IN AFTER DAYS; RONDEAU by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE AMERICAN FOREST GIRL by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS FOR LOVE'S SAKE, KISS ME ONCE AGAIN! by BEN JONSON |