The Beam of Devotion.

I never could find a good reason
    Why sorrow unbidden should stay,
And all the bright joys of life's season
    Be driven unheeded away.
Our cares would wake no more emotion,
    Were we to our lot but resigned,
Than pebbles flung into the ocean,
    That leave scarce a ripple behind.

The world has a spirit of beauty,
    Which looks upon all for the best,
And while it discharges its duty,
    To Providence leaves all the rest:
That spirit's the beam of devotion,
    Which lights us through life to its close,
And sets, like the sun in the ocean,
    More beautiful far than it rose.

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

Well-A-Day!

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

In Memory of John W. Francis, Jr.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Oh, Boatman, Haste!

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

The Rock of the Pilgrims.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

As A Beam O'er The Face Of The Waters May Glow.

As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below,
So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile,
Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.

One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes.
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring
For which joy has no balm and affliction no sting--

Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay,
Like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright ray;
The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain,
It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again.

Thomas Moore

To The Evening Star.

The woods waved welcome in the breeze,
    When, many years ago,
Lured by the songs of birds and bees,
    I sought the dell below;
And there, in that secluded spot,
    Where silver streamlets roved,
Twined the green ivy round the cot
    Of her I fondly loved.

In dreams still near that porch I stand
    To listen to her vow!
Still feel the pressure of her hand
    Upon my burning brow!
And here, as in the days gone by,
    With joy I meet her yet,
And mark the love-light of her eyes,
    Fringed with its lash of jet.

O fleeting vision of the past!
    From memory glide away!
Ye were too beautiful to last,
    Too good to longer stay!
But why, attesting evening star,
    This sermon sad recall:
"THAN LOVE AND LOSE 'TI...

George Pope Morris

The Star of Love.

The star of love now shines above,
    Cool zephyrs crisp the sea;
Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves
    Its serenade for thee.
The star, the breeze, the wave, the trees,
    Their minstrelsy unite,
But all are drear till thou appear
    To decorate the night.

The light of noon streams from the moon,
    Though with a milder ray
O'er hill and grove, like woman's love,
    It cheers us on our way.
Thus all that's bright--the moon, the night,
    The heavens, the earth, the sea,
Exert their powers to bless the hours
    We dedicate to thee.

George Pope Morris

Stanzas.

A beam of tranquillity smiled in the west,
The storms of the morning pursued us no more;
And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest.
Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er.

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,
    Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead;
And the spirit becalmed but remembered their power,
    As the billow the force of the gale that was fled.

I thought of those days, when to pleasure alone
    My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known,
    Was pity for those who were wiser than I.

I reflected, how soon in the cup of Desire
    The pearl of the soul may be melted away;
How quickly, alas, the pure sparkle of fire
    We inherit from heaven, may be quenched ...

Thomas Moore

The Exile to his Sister.

As streams at morn, from seas that glide,
    Rejoicing on their sparkling way,
Will turn again at eventide,
    To mingle with their kindred spray--
Even so the currents of the soul,
    Dear sister, wheresoe'er we rove,
Will backward to our country roll,
    The boundless ocean of our love.

You northern star, now burning bright,
    The guide by which the wave-tossed steer,
Beams not with a more constant light
    Than does thy love, my sister dear.
From stars above the streams below
    Receive the glory they impart;
So, sister, do thy virtues glow
    Within the mirror of my heart.

George Pope Morris

Address. For the benefit of William Dunlap.

(Spoken by Mrs. Sharpe)




What gay assemblage greets my wondering sight!
What scene of splendor--conjured here to-night!
What voices murmur, and what glances gleam!
Sure 'tis some flattering unsubstantial dream.
The house is crowded--everybody's here
For beauty famous, or to science dear;
Doctors and lawyers, judges, belles, and beaux,
Poets and painters--and Heaven only knows
Whom else beside!--And see, gay ladies sit
Lighting with smiles that fearful place, the pit--
(A fairy change--ah, pray continue it.)
Gray heads are here too, listening to my rhymes,
Full of the spirit of departed times;
Grave men and studious, strangers to my sight,
All gather round me on this brilliant night.
And welcome are ye all.    Not now ye come
To spea...

George Pope Morris