Live Life With Love.

    There is no soul of anguish or repining,
        That doubts and trembles in the shades of gloom,
    But love can lead where softest suns are shining
        And fill his days with beauty and its bloom.
            Live life with love!

    There is no bosom dark with lonely caring,
        That sadly sorrows in the nights of woe,
    But love can soothe his torture and despairing,
        And scatter gladness where his feet may go.
            Live life with love!

    There is no scene of misery or sorrow
        That droops and withers in the dark of night,
    But love can bring fond yearnings for the morrow
        And heap the heart with hope's unfading light.
            Live life with love!

    There is in all the world no sinful creature
        That gropes and falters on his troubled way,
    But love can overcome his erring nature,
        And change his darkness to eternal day.
            Live life with love!

    Sweet love, with bounties that her hands are giving,
        Can blossom roses on the desert heath,
    Can brighten all the longings of the living
        And with found kisses warm the lips of death.
            Live life with love!

    As love is thine, so shall thy days be sweeter
        With all the deeds that shall thy fellows bless;
    Thy small achievements nobler and completer
        With truth and hope and highest happiness!
            Live life with love!

Freeman Edwin Miller

Freeman Edwin Miller was an American poet, journalist, and teacher, best known for his work in Oklahoma. Born on November 9, 1864, in New Jersey, Miller moved to Oklahoma in 1894, where he became a prominent figure in the literary and educational communities. He is remembered for his contributions to early Oklahoma literature, as well as his work in promoting education and journalism in the region. He passed away on July 14, 1951.

Freeman Edwin Miller

When Christmas Comes.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

To One Who Pledged Her Friendship.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

The Songs That Mother Used To Sing.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

If We Don't Or If We Do.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

English

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Make The Most Of This Life.

    Make the most of this life; where the shadow reposes
        The beams of the summer shall gather in glee,
    And the snow on the graves of the lilies and roses
        But cradles the blooms that shall whiten the lea;
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        And billows of wretchedness mutter and roll,
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    Make the most of this life; where the carols are sleeping
        That rose in their rapture from lips of the spring,
    That awakened the world from its winter of weeping,
        Sweet songs shall be sung by the birds on the wing.
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        And solitudes gather so heav...

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Love, Thou Gayest Fancy-Weaver.

    Love, thou gayest fancy-weaver,
    Heart-betrayer, soul-deceiver,
    Come with all thy clinging kisses;
    Bringing all thy beaming blisses;
    It may serve the cynic's parts,
        If he curse and if he scout thee,
    But, O, where were gentle hearts,
        If they had to live without thee!

    Weave the spells of thy beguiling
    'Round and 'round me with thy smiling,
    Till the ashen cheek is beaming,
    And the faded eye is gleaming;
    Millions may endure the fight
        In the battle vain to end thee,
    But when taste they thy delight
        They will serve thee and defend thee.

    Bring thy little winsome graces
    And the sweets of glad embraces,
    Till the pleasures all are dancing
    Into mazy wh...

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If Love Were King.

            If Love were king,
    That sacred Love which knows not selfish pleasure,
    But for its children spends its fondest treasure,
            Sad hearts would sing,
    And all the hosts of misery and wrong
    Forget their anguish in the happy song
            That joy would bring.

            If Love were king,
    Gaunt wickedness would hide his loathsome features,
    And virtue would to all the world's sad creatures
            Her treasures fling;
    Till drooping souls would rise above their fate,
    And find sweet flowers for all the desolate
            And sorrowing.

            If Love were king,
    Before the scepter of his might should vanish
    Toil's curse and care, and happiness should banish
            Want's aw...

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Compensation.

    The softest beams of the stars are born in the farthest skies,
    And fairest rays of the sun where evening shadows rise;
    The sweetest songs of the bird are sung in the darkest days,
    And rarest blooms of the spring are found in the wildest ways.

    The brightest blush of the rose is blown as the petals fade.
    The greenest grass of the earth is grown in the hidden glade;
    The fondest rhyme of the rill is heard in the secret vale,
    And lightest lays of the breeze are borne from the dying gale.

    The highest hopes of the heart in saddest of sorrows grow,
    The purest pleasures of joy arise in the wane of woe;
    The gladdest smiles of the lips are seen in the hours of pain,
    And proudest days of the free are spent by the broken chain.

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Love Eternal

The human heart will never change,
The human dream will still go on,
The enchanted earth be ever strange
With moonlight and the morning sun,
And still the seas shall shout for joy,
And swing the stars as in a glass,
The girl be angel for the boy,
The lad be hero for the lass.

The fashions of our mortal brains
New names for dead men's thoughts shall give,
But we find not for all our pains
Why 'tis so wonderful to live;
The beauty of a meadow-flower
Shall make a mock of all our skill,
And God, upon his lonely tower
Shall keep his secret - secret still.

The old magician of the skies,
With coloured and sweet-smelling things,
Shall charm the sense and trance the eyes,
Still onward through a million springs;
And nothing old and nothin...

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Stanzas.

    Put not trust nor tenderness to sleep,
        In sorrow sad;
    The heart, in which a little love may creep,
        Is not all bad.

    The darkest hours that wear a wondrous gloom,
        Are somewhat light,
    If but one ray of brilliancy illume
        The brooding night.

    The field in which the weed and bramble thrive
        Has some of good,
    If but a single blossom struggling live
        Amid the rude.

    The ocean vast is not all desolate,
        The worlds between,
    If on its waters bearing human freight
        One sail is seen.

    All is not harsh and cold amid the wood,
        If warbled song
    Resound, how feebly, through the solitude
        Of tangled wrong.

    The deser...

Freeman Edwin Miller