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- Poems of Progress - 16/16 -

With one hand on the bar, A final chance to brook defeat, And board the moving car. Step lively!

'Move up!' Make way for others as you sit Or stand. This crowded earth Has room for every journeying soul En route to higher birth. Ay, room and comfort, if no one Took double share or space, Nor let his greed and selfishness Absorb another's place. Move up!

'Hold fast!' The jolting switch of obstacles With jarring rails is near. Stand firm of foot, be strong of grip, Brace well and have no fear. The Maker of the Car of Life Foresaw that curve--Despair, And hung the straps of faith, and hope So you might grasp them there. Hold fast!


Send forth your heart's desire, and work and wait; The opportunities of life are brought To our own doors, not by capricious fate, But by the strong compelling force of thought.


The wonderful age of the world I sing - The age of battery, coil and spring, Of steam, and storage, and motored thing.

Though faith may slumber and art seem dead, And all that is spoken has once been said, And all that is written were best unread;

Though hearts are iron and thoughts are steel, And all that has value is mercantile, Yet marvellous truths shall the age reveal.

Ay, greater the marvels this age shall find Than all the centuries left behind, When faith was a bigot and art was blind.

Oh, sorry the search of the world for gods, Through faith that slaughters and art that lauds, While reason sits on its throne and nods.

But out of the leisure that men will know, When the cruel things of the sad earth go, A Faith that is Knowledge shall rise and grow.

In the throb and whir of each new machine Thinner is growing the veil between The visible earth and the worlds unseen.

The True Religion shall leisure bring; And Art shall awaken and Love shall sing: Oh, ho! for the age of the motored thing!


MORTAL: 'The night is cold, the hour is late, the world is bleak and drear; Who is it knocking at my door?'

THE NEW YEAR: 'I am Good Cheer.'

MORTAL: 'Your voice is strange; I know you not; in shadows dark I grope. What seek you here?'

THE NEW YEAR: 'Friend, let me in; my name is Hope.'

MORTAL: 'And mine is Failure; you but mock the life you seek to bless. Pass on.'

THE NEW YEAR: 'Nay, open wide the door; I am Success.'

MORTAL: 'But I am ill and spent with pain; too late has come your wealth. I cannot use it.'

THE NEW YEAR: 'Listen, friend; I am Good Health.'

MORTAL: 'Now, wide I fling my door. Come in, and your fair statements prove.'

THE NEW YEAR: 'But you must open, too, your heart, for I am Love.'


We have outgrown the helmet and cuirass, The spear, the arrow, and the javelin. These crude inventions of a cruder age, When men killed men to show their love of God, And he who slaughtered most was greatest king. We have outgrown the need of war! Should men Unite in this one thought, all war would end.

Disarm the world; and let all Nations meet Like Men, not monsters, when disputes arise. When crossed opinions tangle into snarls, Let Courts untie them, and not armies cut. When State discussions breed dissensions, let Union and Arbitration supersede The hell-created implements of War. Disarm the world! and bid destructive thought Slip like a serpent from the mortal mind Down through the marshes of oblivion. Soon A race of gods shall rise! Disarm! Disarm!


All wantonly in hours of joy, I made a song of pain. Soon Grief drew near, and paused to hear, And sang the sad refrain, Again and yet again.

Then recklessly in my despair, I sang of hope one day. And Joy turned back upon life's track, And smiled, and came my way, And sat her down to stay.


Oh, a great world, a fair world, a true world I find it; A sun that never forgets to rise, On the darkest night, a star in the skies, And a God of love behind it.

Oh, a good life, a sweet life, a large life I take it, Is what He offers to you, and me; A chance to do, and a chance to be, Whatever we chose to make it.

Oh, a far way, a high way, a sure way He leads us; And if the journey at times seems long, We must trudge ahead, with a trustful song, And know at the end He needs us.

Poems of Progress - 16/16

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