No.132

Keep A-Goin'

Frank L. Stanton 1857-1927

If you strike a thorn or rose,

Keep a-goin'!

If it hails or if it snows,

Keep a-goin'!

'Taint no use to sit an' whine

When the fish ain't on your line;

Bait your hook an' keep a-tryin' - 

Keep a-goin'!

When the weather kills your crop,

Keep a-goin'!

Though 'tis work to reach the top,

Keep a-goin'!

S'pose you're out o' ev'ry dime,

Gittin' broke ain't any crime;

Tell the world you're feelin' prime -

Keep a-goin'!

When it looks like all is up,

Keep a-goin'!

Drain the sweetness from the cup,

Keep a-goin'!

See the wild birds on the wing, 

Hear the bells that sweetly ring,

When you feel like singin', sing -

Keep a-goin'!

-o0o-

No.131

I Dream of Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair

Stephen Foster 1826-64

I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,

Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;

I see her tripping where the bright streams play,

Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.

Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour.

Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er:

Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,

Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

I long for Jeanie with the daydawn smile,

Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile;

I hear her melodies, like joys gone by,

Sighing round my heart o'er the fond hopes that die:—

Sighing like the night wind and sobbing like the rain,—

Wailing for the lost one that comes not again:

Oh! I long for Jeanie, and my heart bows low,

Never more to find her where the bright waters flow.

I sigh for Jeanie, but her light form strayed

Far from the fond hearts round her native glade;

Her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown,

Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone.

Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore

While her gentle fingers will cull them no more:

Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair,

Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

-o0o-

No.130

Touched by an Angel

Maya Angelou 1928-2014

We, unaccustomed to courage

exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.

Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies

old memories of pleasure

ancient histories of pain.

Yet if we are bold,

love strikes away the chains of fear

from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love's light

we dare be brave

And suddenly we see

that love costs all we are

and will ever be.

Yet it is only love

which sets us free.

-o0o-

No.129

The Brook

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809-92

(These are the first three verses of a much longer poem)

I come from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally

And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges,

By twenty thorpes, a little town,

And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow

To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

-o0o-

The Monday Monologue

The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God

Milton Hayes 1884-1940 

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,

There's a little marble cross below the town,

There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,

And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,

He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell,

But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,

And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.

He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,

The fact that she loved him was plain to all,

She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun

To celebrate her birthday with a ball.

He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;

They met next day as he dismissed a squad,

And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do

But the green eye of the little Yellow God.

On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,

And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars,

But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,

Then went out into the night beneath the stars.

He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,

And a gash across his temple dripping red,

He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,

And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.

He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through,

She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod,

He bade her search the pocket saying "That's from Mad Carew,"

And she found the little green eye of the god.

She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,

Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet,

But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone

With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.

When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,

She thought of him and hurried to his room,

As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air

Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.

His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through,

The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod,

An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,

'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,

There's a little marble cross below the town,

There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,

And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

-o0o-

No.127

An Insincere Wish Addressed to a Beggar

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge 1861-1907

We are not near enough to love,

I can but pity all your woe;

For wealth has lifted me above,

And falsehood set you down below.

If you were true, we still might be

Brothers in something more than name;

And were I poor, your love to me

Would make our differing bonds the same.

But golden gates between us stretch,

Truth opens her forbidding eyes;

You can't forget that I am rich,

Nor I that you are telling lies.

Love never comes but at love's call,

And pity asks for him in vain;

Because I cannot give you all,

You give me nothing back again.

And you are right with all your wrong,

For less than all is nothing too;

May Heaven beggar me ere long,

And Truth reveal herself to you! 

-o0o-

No.126

From a Railway Carriage

Robert Louis Stevenson 1850-94

Faster than fairies, faster than witches,

Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;

And charging along like troops in a battle

All through the meadows the horses and cattle:

All of the sights of the hill and the plain

Fly as thick as driving rain;

And ever again, in the wink of an eye,

Painted stations whistle by.

Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,

All by himself and gathering brambles;

Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;

And here is the green for stringing the daisies!

Here is a cart runaway in the road

Lumping along with man and load;

And here is a mill, and there is a river:

Each a glimpse and gone forever! 

-o0o-