Progress

There is no progress in the world of bees,
However wise and wonderful they are.
Their wisdom makes not increase.    Lies the bar,
To wider goals, in that tense strife to please
A Sovereign Ruler?    Forth from flowers to trees
Their little quest is; not from star to star.
This is not growth; the mighty avatar
Comes not to do his work with such as these.

So in the world of men; when legions toil
To feed a Monarch, and begem a crown,
They build before high heaven a narrowing wall
And the great purpose of Creation spoil.
Not on, and upward, is the trend, but down;
The Race can rise but with the rise of all.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox was an American author and poet, born on November 5, 1850, and died on October 30, 1919. She was known for her works expressing optimistic views and moral lessons. Her most famous book was 'Poems of Passion'. Her poem 'Solitude' contains the famous lines, 'Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone'. Over her career, Wilcox became popularly known as a 'people's poet'.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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English

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Progression

To each progressive soul there comes a day
    When all things that have pleased and satisfied
Grow flavourless, the springs of joy seem dried.
    No more the waters of youth's fountains play;
Yet out of reach, tiptoeing as they may,
    The more mature and higher pleasures hide.
Life, like a careless nurse, fails to provide
    New toys for those the soul has cast away.

Upon a strange land's border all alone,
    Awhile it stands dismayed and desolate.
Nude too, since its old garments are outgrown;
    Till clothed with strength befitting its estate,
It grasps at length those raptures that are known
    To souls who learn to labour, and to wait.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Progress.

        Let there be many windows to your soul,
        That all the glory of the universe
        May beautify it. Not the narrow pane
        Of one poor creed can catch the radiant rays
        That shine from countless sources. Tear away
        The blinds of superstition; let the light
        Pour through fair windows broad as Truth itself
        And high as God.

    Why should the spirit peer
        Through some priest-curtained orifice, and grope
        Along dim corridors of doubt, when all
        The splendor from unfathomed seas of space
        Might bathe it with the golden waves of Love?
        Sweep up the debris of decaying faiths;
        Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out beliefs,
        And throw your soul wide open to the light
...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The World Grows Better

Oh! the earth is full of sinning
    And of trouble and of woe,
But the devil makes an inning
    Every time we say it's so.
And the way to set him scowling,
    And to put him back a pace,
Is to stop this stupid growling,
    And to look things in the face.

If you glance at history's pages,
    In all lands and eras known,
You will find the buried ages
    Far more wicked than our own.
As you scan each word and letter.
    You will realise it more,
That the world to-day is better
    Than it ever was before.

There is much that needs amending
    In the present time, no doubt;
There is right that needs amending,
    There is wrong needs crushing out.
And we hear the groans and curses
    Of the poor who starve and die,

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Year Outgrows The Spring.

        The year outgrows the spring it thought so sweet,
    And clasps the summer with a new delight,
        Yet wearied, leaves her languors and her heat
    When cool-browed autumn dawns upon his sight.

        The tree outgrows the bud's suggestive grace,
    And feels new pride in blossoms fully blown.
        But even this to deeper joy gives place
    When bending boughs 'neath blushing burdens groan.

        Life's rarest moments are derived from change.
    The heart outgrows old happiness, old grief,
        And suns itself in feelings new and strange;
    The most enduring pleasure is but brief.

        Our tastes, our needs, are never twice the same.
    Nothing contents us long, however dear.
        The spirit in us, like the grosser fr...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Plough

If you listen you will hear, from east to west,
Growing sounds of discontent and deep unrest.
It is just the progress-driven plough of God,
Tearing up the well-worn custom-bounded sod;
Shaping out each old tradition-trodden track
Into furrows, fertile furrows, rich and black.
Oh, what harvests they will yield
When they widen to a field.

They will widen, they will broaden, day by day,
As the Progress-driven plough keeps on its way.
It will riddle all the ancient roads that lead
Into palaces of selfishness and greed;
It will tear away the almshouse and the slum
That the little homes and garden plots may come.
Yes, the gardens green and sweet
Shall replace the stony street.

Let the wise man hear the menace that is blent
In this ever-growing sound...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Worker And The Work

In what I do I note the marring flaw,
The imperfections of the work I see;
Nor am I one who rather DO than BE,
Since its reversal is Creation's law.

Nay, since there lies a better and a worse,
A lesser and a larger, in men's view,
I would be better than the thing I do,
As God is greater than His universe.

He shaped Himself before He shaped one world:
A million eons, toiling day and night,
He built Himself to majesty and might,
Before the planets into space were hurled.

And when Creation's early work was done,
What crude beginnings out of chaos came -
A formless nebula, a wavering flame,
An errant comet, a voracious sun.

And, still unable to perfect His plan,
What awful creatures at His touch found birth -
Those protoplasmic mo...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox