The Building.

"Build me a house," said the Master,
    "But not on the shifting sand,
Mid the wreck and roar of tempests,
    A house that will firmly stand.

"I will bring thee windows of agates,
    And gates of carbuncles bright,
And thy fairest courts and portals
    Shall be filled with love and light.

"Thou shalt build with fadeless rubies,
    All fashioned around the throne,
A house that shall last forever,
    With Christ as the cornerstone.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper was an African American abolitionist, suffragist, poet, teacher, public speaker, and writer. Born free in Baltimore, Maryland, she was one of the first African American women to be published in the United States. She was active in social reform movements and used her poetry and prose to advocate for abolition and women's rights. Her best-known works include the poetry collection "Forest Leaves" and the novel "Iola Leroy."

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

A Double Standard.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

Dandelions.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

The Crocuses.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

The Martyr Of Alabama.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, 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.

Renewal Of Strength.

The prison-house in which I live
    Is falling to decay,
But God renews my spirit's strength,
    Within these walls of clay.

For me a dimness slowly creeps
    Around earth's fairest light,
But heaven grows clearer to my view,
    And fairer to my sight.

It may be earth's sweet harmonies
    Are duller to my ear,
But music from my Father's house
    Begins to float more near.

Then let the pillars of my home
    Crumble and fall away;
Lo, God's dear love within my soul
    Renews it day by day.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

The House

There is no architect
Can build as the Muse can;
She is skilful to select
Materials for her plan;

Slow and warily to choose
Rafters of immortal pine,
Or cedar incorruptible,
Worthy her design,

She threads dark Alpine forests
Or valleys by the sea,
In many lands, with painful steps,
Ere she can find a tree.

She ransacks mines and ledges
And quarries every rock,
To hew the famous adamant
For each eternal block--

She lays her beams in music,
In music every one,
To the cadence of the whirling world
Which dances round the sun--

That so they shall not be displaced
By lapses or by wars,
But for the love of happy souls
Outlive the newest stars.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Houses

(For Aline)



When you shall die and to the sky
Serenely, delicately go,
Saint Peter, when he sees you there,
Will clash his keys and say:
"Now talk to her, Sir Christopher!
And hurry, Michelangelo!
She wants to play at building,
And you've got to help her play!"

Every architect will help erect
A palace on a lawn of cloud,
With rainbow beams and a sunset roof,
And a level star-tiled floor;
And at your will you may use the skill
Of this gay angelic crowd,
When a house is made you will throw it down,
And they'll build you twenty more.

For Christopher Wren and these other men
Who used to build on earth
Will love to go to work again
If they may work for you.
"This porch," you'll say, "should go this way!"
A...

Alfred Joyce Kilmer

Adoniram. A Legend of the Temple.

    The dew was gone,
The morn was bright, the skies were fair,
The flowers smiled neath the sunbeams ray,
Tall cedars grew in beauty there.
As Adoniram took his way,
    To Lebanon.

    Praise his heart filled,
More than four hundred years had fled,
Since from stern Egypt marched the bands,
Whose sons, with Solomon at their head,
And Tyrian brethern's skilful hands,
    Prepare to build.

    He watched them there,
Round every block, and every stone,
Masonic implements were laid,
But around one were many thrown,
And yet it seemed already made,
    Tried, true and square.

    He wandering spake,
"Are not all from one mountain brought
As jewels for a diadem,
Why, have they at this one stone wrought,
Will not...

Harriet Annie Wilkins

The Refiner's Gold.

He stood before my heart's closed door,
    And asked to enter in;
But I had barred the passage o'er
    By unbelief and sin.

He came with nail-prints in his hands,
    To set my spirit free;
With wounded feet he trod a path
    To come and sup with me.

He found me poor and brought me gold,
    The fire of love had tried,
And garments whitened by his blood,
    My wretchedness to hide.

The glare of life had dimmed my eyes,
    Its glamour was too bright.
He came with ointment in his hands
    To heal my darkened sight.


He knew my heart was tempest-tossed,
    By care and pain oppressed;
He whispered to my burdened heart,
    Come unto me and rest.

He found me weary, faint and worn,
    On barren moun...

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Burial Of Sarah.

He stood before the sons of Heth,
    And bowed his sorrowing head;
"I've come," he said, "to buy a place
    Where I may lay my dead.

"I am a stranger in your land,
    My home has lost its light;
Grant me a place where I may lay
    My dead away from sight."

Then tenderly the sons of Heth
    Gazed on the mourner's face,
And said, "Oh, Prince, amid our dead,
    Choose thou her resting-place.

"The sepulchres of those we love,
    We place at thy command;
Against the plea thy grief hath made
    We close not heart nor hand."

The patriarch rose and bowed his head,
    And said, "One place I crave;
'Tis at the end of Ephron's field,
    And called Machpelah's cave.

"Entreat him that he sell to me
    For he...

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper