If.

If all the sermons good men preach
And all the precepts that they teach
    Were gathered into one
Unbroken line of silver speech,
The shining filament might reach
    From earth unto the sun.

If all the stories ever told
By wild romancers, young or old,
    Into a thread were drawn,
And from its cable coil unrolled,
'Twould span those misty hills of gold
    That heaven seems resting on.

If every folly, every freak,
From day to day, from week to week,
    Is written in "The Book,"
With all the idle words we speak,
Would it not crimson many a cheek
    Upon the page to look?

If all the good deeds that we do
From honest motives pure and true
    Shall there recorded be,
Known unto God and angels too,
Is it not sad they are so few
    And wrought so charily?

Hattie Howard

Hattie Howard is recognized for her significant contributions to 19th-century American poetry. Her work, characterized by its wit and lyrical quality, often explored themes of nature, love, and social issues. She had a unique voice that resonated with many of her contemporaries and continues to be appreciated for its depth and artistry.

Hattie Howard

Revenge.

Hattie Howard, Simple Poetry

Let Us Give Thanks.

Hattie Howard, Simple Poetry

Autumn-Time.

Hattie Howard, Simple Poetry

A Fowl Affair.

Hattie Howard, Simple Poetry

English

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Storm-bound.

My careful plans all storm-subdued,
In disappointing solitude
    The weary hours began;
And scarce I deemed when time had sped,
Marked only by the passing tread
    Of some pedestrian.

But with the morrow's tranquil dawn,
A fairy scene I looked upon
    That filled me with delight;
Far-reaching from my own abode,
The world in matchless splendor glowed,
    Arrayed in spotless white.

The surface of the hillside slope
Gleamed in my farthest vision's scope
    Like opalescent stone;
Rich jewels hung on every tree,
Whose crystalline transparency
    Golconda's gems outshone.

Beyond the line where wayside posts
Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts
    Of awful form and mien,
A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride,
A see...

Hattie Howard

Thy Will Be Done.

Sometimes the silver cord of life
    Is loosed at one brief stroke;
As when the elements at strife,
With Nature's wild contentions rife,
    Uproot the sturdy oak.

Or fell disease, in patience borne,
    Attenuates the frame
Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn,
Of energy and beauty shorn,
    Death's sweet release would claim.

By instant touch or long decay
    Is dissolution wrought;
When, lost to earth, the grave and gay,
The young and old who pass away,
    Abide in hallowed thought.

In dear regard together drawn,
    Affection's debt to pay,
Fond greetings we exchange at dawn
With one who, ere the day be gone,
    Is bruised and lifeless clay.

O thou in manhood's morning-time
    With health and hope elate...

Hattie Howard

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

An Old Sermon With A New Text

    My wife contrived a fleecy thing
    Her husband to infold,
    For 'tis the pride of woman still
    To cover from the cold:
    My daughter made it a new text
    For a sermon very old.

    The child came trotting to her side,
    Ready with bootless aid:
    "Lily make veckit for papa,"
    The tiny woman said:
    Her mother gave the means and ways,
    And a knot upon her thread.

    "Mamma, mamma!--it won't come through!"
    In meek dismay she cried.
    Her mother cut away the knot,
    And she was satisfied,
    Pulling the long thread through and through,
    In fabricating pride.

    Her mother told me this: I caught
    A glimpse of something more:
    Great meanings often hide behind
    The little wo...

George MacDonald

Margery.

"Truth lights our minds as sunrise lights the world.
The heart that shuts out truth, excludes the light
That wakes the love of beauty in the soul;
And being foe to these, despises God,
The sole Dispenser of the gracious bliss
That brings us nearer the celestial gate.
They who might feed on rose-leaves of the True,
And grow in loveliness of heart and soul,
Catch at Deception's airy gossamers,
As children clutch at stars.    To some, the world
Is a bleak desert, parched with blinding sand,
With here and there a mirage, fair to view,
But insubstantial as the visions born
Of Folly and Despair.    Could we but know
How nigh we are to the true light of heaven;
In what a world of love we live and breathe;
On what a tide of truth our souls are borne!
Yet we're bu...

Charles Sangster

Indian Summer.

Is it not our bounden duty
    Harsh and bitter thoughts to quell,
    Wild, ambitions schemes repel,
And to revel in the beauty
    Of this Indian summer spell,
    Bathing forest, field, and dell
    As with radiance immortelle?

None can paint like nature dying;
    Whose dissolving struggle lent
    Wealth of hues so richly blent
That, through weary years of trying,
    Artist skill pre-eminent
    May not copy or invent
    Such divine embellishment.

Knights of old from castles riding
    Scattered largesse as they went
    Which, like manna heaven-sent,
Cheered the poverty-abiding;
    But, when 'neath "that low green tent"
    Passed the hand benevolent,
    Sad were they and indigent.

Monarchs, too, have thus d...

Hattie Howard