Be In Earnest

Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
    Life is not the summer, dream
Of the careless, child that gathers
    Daisies in the noontide beam!
It hath conflict, it hath danger,
    It hath sorrow, toil, and strife;
Yet the weak alone will falter
    In the battle-field of life.

There are burdens you may lighten,
    Toiling, struggling ones may cheer,
Tear-dimmed eyes that you may brighten,
    Thorny paths that you may clear; -
Erring ones, despised, neglected,
    You may lead to duty back, -
Beacon-lights to be erected,
    All along life's crowded track.

There are wrongs that must be righted,
    Sacred rights to be sustained,
Truths, though trampled long and slighted,
    'Mid the strife to be maintained; -
Heavy, brooding mists to scatter -
    Mists of ignorance and sin, -
Walls of adamant to shatter,
    Thus to let God's sunlight in.

Boundless is the field and fertile,
    Let the ploughshare deep be driven;
So, at length, the plenteous harvest
    Shall look smiling up to heaven!
Sow the seed at early morning,
    Nor at evening stay thy hand;
Precious fruits, the earth adorning,
    Shall at length around thee stand

Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
    Life is not the summer-dream
Of the careless child that gathers
    Daisies in the noontide beam!
Life hath conflict, toil, and danger, -
    It hath sorrow, pain, and strife, -
Yet the weak alone will falter
    In the battle-field of life!

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Pamela S. Vining, also known by her pseudonym J. C. Yule, was an English poet whose work was recognized in the 19th century. Despite her significant contribution to English poetry, detailed information about her life, including her birth and death dates, remains elusive. She remains a noteworthy figure in the canon of English literature for her emotive and thought-provoking poetry.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Now.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

I Will Not Despair.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

An Allegory - An Old Lesson In A New Dress.

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule), Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Ploughman

Tearing up the stubborn soil,
        Trudging, drudging, toiling, moiling,
        Hands, and feet, and garments soiling -
Who would grudge the ploughman's toil?
            Yet there's lustre in his eye,
            Borrowed from yon glowing sky,
            And there's meaning in his glances
            That bespeak no dreamer's fancies;
            For his mind has precious lore
            Gleaned from Nature's sacred store.

Toiling up yon weary hill,
        He has worked since early morning,
        Ease, and rest, and pleasure scorning,
And he's at his labor still,
            Though the slanting, western beam
            Quivering on the glassy stream,
            And yon old elm's lengthened shadow
            Flung athwart the verdant mea...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

The Earth Voice And Its Answer

        I plucked a fair flower that grew
In the shadow of summer's green trees -
                A rose petalled flower,
                Of all in the bower,
        Best beloved of the bee and the breeze
I plucked it, and kissed it, and called it my own -
        This beautiful, beautiful flower
That alone in the cool, tender shadow had grown,
        Fairest and first in the bower

        Then a murmur I heard at my feet -
        A pensive and sorrowful sound,
                And I stooped me to hear,
                While tear after tear
        Rained down from my eyes to the ground,
                As I, listening, heard
                This sorrowful word,
        So breathing of anguish profound: -

        "I have gathered the fairest...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Idle

"Work to-day in my vineyard!"


Hast thou, then, been called to labor
    In the vineyard of thy Lord,
With the promise that, if faithful,
    Thou shall win a sure reward? -
Look! the tireless sun is hasting
    Toward the zenith, and the day,
Which in vanity thou'rt wasting,
    Speedeth rapidly away!

Lo! the field is white for harvest,
    And the laborers are few;
Canst thou, then, oh, slothful servant!
    Find no work that thou canst do?
Sitting idle in the vineyard!
    Sleeping, while the noon-day flies!
Dreaming, while with every pulse-beat
    Some unsaved one droops and dies!

Waken! overburdened lab'rers,
    Fainting in the sultry ray,
Cry against thee to the Master
    As thou dream'st the hours away
...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Strike The Chords Softly

Strike the chords softly with tremulous fingers,
    While, on the threshold of happiest years,
For a brief moment fond memory lingers,
    Ere we go forth to life's conflicts and fears!

Strike the chords softly! - yet no, as we tarry,
    Swiftly the morning is gliding away;
Weary ones droop 'neath the burdens they carry,
    Toiling ones faint in the heat of the day.

Let us not linger! - Earth's millions are crying
    "Come to us, aid us, we grope in the night!
Come to us, aid us, we're perishing, dying -
    Give us, oh, give us, the heavenly Light!"

Let us not linger! - our brethren are calling, -
    "Aid us, the harvest increases each day; -
Some have grown weary, alas, of their toiling! -
    Others have passed from their labors away."

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)

Harvests.

Other harvests there are than those that lie
Glowing and ripe 'neath an autumn sky,
    Awaiting the sickle keen,
Harvests more precious than golden grain,
Waving o'er hillside, valley or plain,
    Than fruits 'mid their leafy screen.

Not alone for the preacher, man of God,
Do those harvests vast enrich the sod,
    For all may the sickle wield;
The first in proud ambition's race,
The last in talent, power or place,
    Will all find work in that field.

Man toiling, lab'ring with fevered strain,
High office or golden prize to gain,
    Rest both weary heart and head,
And think, when thou'lt shudder in death's cold clasp,
How earthly things will elude thy grasp,
    At that harvest work instead!

Lady, with queenly form and brow,

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

Our Field Is The World.

Our field is the world! - let us forth to the sowing,
    O'er valley and mountain, o'er desert and plain,
Beside the still waters through cool meadows flowing,
    O'er regions unblest by the dew and the rain; -
Let us scatter the seed, though in sorrow and weeping,
    Though fields should be verdureless, wintry, and bare,
The Lord of the harvest hath still in His keeping
    Each seed as it falls, and will guard it with care.

Our field is the world! - let us forth to the reaping;
    The long day is waning, the eve draweth nigh;
Faint omens of storm up the heavens are creeping,
    And the sigh of the tempest is heard in the sky; -
The work-hour is brief, but the rest is forever,
    Then stay not for weariness, languor, or pain,
But forth to the harvest with e...

Pamela S. Vining (J. C. Yule)