Philanthropists

Little grains of short weight,
    Little crooked twists,
Fill the land with magnates
    And philanthropists.

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CXLV. Songs.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCXXXVI. Riddles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCXXXI. Riddles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Beer

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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The Philanthropist

(With apologies to a beautiful poem.)


Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe decrease
By cautious birth-control and die in peace)
Mellow with learning lightly took the word
That marked him not with them that love the Lord,
And told the angel of the book and pen
"Write me as one that loves his fellow-men:
For them alone I labour; to reclaim
The ragged roaming Bedouin and to tame
To ordered service; to uproot their vine
Who mock the Prophet, being mad with wine,
Let daylight through their tents and through their lives,
Number their camels, even count their wives,
Plot out the desert into streets and squares;
And count it a more fruitful work than theirs
Who lift a vain and visionary love
To your vague Allah in the skies above."

Gently replie...

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

The Little People

Who are these strange small folk,
These that come to our homes as kings,
Asking nor leave nor grace,
Bending our necks to their yoke,
Taking the highest place,
And mastery of all things?

Whence they come none may know,
But a wondrous land it must be;
Angels in exile they!
Here in this dull world below
Creatures of sinful clay
We feel near their purity.

Clearer their young eyes are
Than the dew in the cups of flowers
Gleaming, when shines at dawn,
Faintly, the mornings one star,
Eyes whose still gaze, indrawn,
Sees things unseen by ours.

Deep in those orbs serene,
Little planets be-ringed and bright,
Mysteries marvellous lie:
Known unto us they might mean
Faith, without fear, to die,
All sure of the waiting ...

Victor James Daley

Nursery Rhyme. CCCLXXI. Paradoxes.

    Here am I, little jumping Joan;
    When nobody's with me,
    I'm always alone.

Unknown

Thin People

There was an old fellow named Green,
Who grew so abnormally lean,
    And flat, and compressed,
    That his back touched his chest,
And sideways he couldn't be seen.

There was a young lady of Lynn,
Who was so excessively thin,
    That when she essayed
    To drink lemonade
She slipped through the straw and fell in.

Unknown

Cosmopolitan Woman, A

She went round and asked subscriptions
For the heathen black Egyptians
And the Terra del Fuegians,
        She did;
For the tribes round Athabasca,
And the men of Madagascar,
And the poor souls of Alaska,
        So she did;
She longed, she said, to buy
Jelly, cake, and jam, and pie,
For the Anthropophagi,
        So she did.

Her heart ached for the Australians
And the Borriobooli-Ghalians,
And the poor dear Amahagger,
        Yes, it did;
And she loved the black Numidian,
And the ebon Abyssinian,
And the charcoal-coloured Guinean,
        Oh, she did!
And she said she'd cross the seas
With a ship of bread and cheese
For those starving Chimpanzees,
        So she did.

How she loved the cold Norwegian
And...

Unknown

In The Long Run.

In the long run fame finds the deserving man.
    The lucky wight may prosper for a day,
But in good time true merit leads the van,
    And vain pretense, unnoticed, goes its way.
There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate,
But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait,
    In the long run.

In the long run all goodly sorrow pays,
    There is no better thing than righteous pain,
The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days,
    Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain.
Unmeaning joys enervate in the end.
But sorrow yields a glorious dividend
    In the long run.

In the long run all hidden things are known,
    The eye of truth will penetrate the night,
And good or ill, thy secret shall be known,
    However well 'tis guarded from the li...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox