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 desert, barren, bleak, a waste of sand
        Does never spread,
    If spear of grass in verdure green expand
        Above the dead.

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

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

Nature Has A Thousand Choirs.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

July Fourth.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

Love.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

At Perry, September 16, 1893.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

English

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Discontent.

    The sun comes up in the east
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        As the waves walk over the sea!
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Freeman Edwin Miller

Ex Anima.

    The gloomy hours of silence wake
        Remembrance and her train,
    And phantoms through the fancies chase
        The mem'ries that remain;
    And hidden in the dark embrace
        Of days that now are gone,
    I see a form, a fairy form,
        And fancy hurries on!

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        I hear the tender tone,
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        As they were felt before.

    I name the vows, the fresh young vows,
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        She slumbers with the dead!
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Freeman Edwin Miller

Stanzas.

    God bless the man who gave us rest
        And him who taught us play,
    For kindness reigned within his breast
        To all our sorrow slay;
    The weary heart, the fainting limb,
        The soul that droops in woe,
    Should most unceasing praise on him
        In gratitude bestow.

    He is the hero of the race,
        The toiling nation's friend,
    For pity smiles upon his face
        With joys that never end;
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        That chain our best repose,
    And makes the deserts of our lives
        To blossom as the rose.

    He pours his balms into the wound
        Of bosom weak and sad,
    Till holy pleasures flit around
        And all the heart is glad;
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Freeman Edwin Miller

O, Gentle Shade Of Quiet Woods.

    O, gentle shade of quiet woods,
        Where nature dwells in leafy halls,
        I love the sacred voice that falls
    In music o'er thy solitudes!
    Within thine arms the weary heart
        Is hidden from the toils of men,
    And pleasure makes ambition start
        Into a nobler life again.

    Among the fragrant shadows throng
        With all the riches of their truth,
        Glad echoes from the days of youth
    And mingle into laughing song;
    While angel fingers touch the keys
        That slumber in the silent breast,
    Till mem'ry wakes her lullabies
        And childhood fancies rock to rest.

    Again the hours of early joy
        Upon the aged years intrude,
        And dance amid the summer wood
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Freeman Edwin Miller

O, Weak And Weary World!

        O weak and weary world
        Forever struggling on,
    When will thy toils in comfort be impearled,
        When will thy sorrows and thy cares be gone?
    When shall the races, all ambition dead,
        Forsake the stony slope and rocky steep,
    And in contentment sweetly wed
        The joys that never sleep?

        O, weak and weary world,
        Long hast thou toiled in vain;
    The smoky fumes of woe are darkly curled
        With endless troubles and enduring pain;
    When will thy bosom, faint and helpless grown,
        Rest sweetly in the balmy bowers of ease?
    Avoid the woes that constant groan
        And follow shapes that please?

        O, weak and weary world,
        Why search the hills and seas?
   ...

Freeman Edwin Miller

A Sonnet.

    We gentler grow by sorrow; not the breast
        That never crouches in the nights of tears,
        That never bends beneath the loads of years,
    Has sympathies that are the kindliest.
    There is a strength in agony that best
        Can link the careless heart with human fears,
        And teach it that fond kindness which endears
    The millions that with sadness are oppressed.

    Grief softens while it saddens; pleasure smites
        The timid soul with harshness, till it knows
        Small earnest of the great world's grievous woes
    And little of its struggles; sorrow plights
    Her troth with sorrow, and in tears unites
        Man unto man and hatred overthrows.

Freeman Edwin Miller