The Way Of The World.

    Since Adam's first sin in the garden of song,
        Where the hopes of the race were empearled,
    Whenever a mortal does anything wrong,
        It is only the way of the world!

    If statesmen forget all the pledges they made,
        And the people to evils are hurled,--
    Excuse their misdeeds! 'Tis a trick of the trade,
        And is only the way of the world!

    If bankers, confusing distinctions of wealth,
        Have your gold to their own pockets whirled,
    And then gone to Europe for pleasure and health--
        It is only the way of the world.

    If preachers, forgetting the Master of old
        And the banner of light He unfurled,
    Elope with the fairest ewe-lambs of the fold,--
        It is only the way of the world.

    If merchants, unscrupulous, cheat with a will
        While their lips are at honesty curled,--
    Harsh blame, hie away! And your censure, be still!
        It is only the way of the world!

    The way of the world! What a happy excuse
        For the faults and the follies unfurled!
    Bind virtue securely! The vices turn loose!
        'Tis the way--'tis the way--of the world!

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

Reconciled.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

Estranged.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

Love, Thou Gayest Fancy-Weaver.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

When Thou Art Near.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

English

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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

Discontent.

    The sun comes up in the east
        And the sun goes down in the west,
    And man to me is a heartless beast
        And the world has only a savage breast.

    How thoughts rush over my soul
        As the waves walk over the sea!
    Their forms flee soon and the sorrows roll
        In the deep distress that is over me.

    How hopes arise in my heart,
        As the roses bloom over the plain!
    But time is tearing their sweets apart
        And they die in darkness and awful pain.

    Ambitions burn in my breast,
        As the fires in a city rage;
    But damp creeps over their fervid zest
        And they sink away into ashen age.

    If there was pleasure for pain
        I could well be happy awhile,
    And,...

Freeman Edwin Miller

Lo, All The Age Is Rank With Wrong.

    Lo, all the age is rank with wrong!
        The nations kneel to monstrous might,
        And horrid cries that haunt the night,
    Have hushed the notes of happy song;
    Mankind the deepest truth has missed,
        The best emotions have grown dim;
    We praise the God that dwelt in Christ,
        But crucify the man in him.

    Laws, noble, good, and great at first,
        With plan perverted, bind again
        The regal rights of mind and men
    And prove of tyrants far the worst;
    With blinded eyes is Nature made,
        And knows her constant purpose crossed,
    While crafty Jacob plies his trade
        And Esau finds his blessing lost.

    Earth yields her fruits in ample store;
        Her children all are heirs that ...

Freeman Edwin Miller

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

Despondency.

    O, gloomy world that rolls in weary space,
        And moans wild music to the broken spheres,
        Whose rivers wander into seas of tears,
    Despair has bound thee in a close embrace;
        A birth, a life, a death; man is no more!

    Death grows beside existence, and with time
        Is comrade of its changes; cycles roll
        Their heavy circles through the human soul,
    And pour their dirges into mournful rhyme;
        A birth, a life, a death; man is no more!

    He gropes in shadows for a happy beam
        That shall delight his bosom; into mist
        Dissolves the substance that ambition kissed,
    While greatness grows the garland of a dream;
        A birth, a life, a death; man is no more!

    Endeavor struggles to...

Freeman Edwin Miller

To The Lord Viscount Forbes.

FROM THE CITY OP WASHINGTON.


If former times had never left a trace
Of human frailty in their onward race,
Nor o'er their pathway written, as they ran,
One dark memorial of the crimes of man;
If every age, in new unconscious prime,
Rose, like a phenix, from the fires of time,
To wing its way unguided and alone,
The future smiling and the past unknown;
Then ardent man would to himself be new,
Earth at his foot and heaven within his view:
Well might the novice hope, the sanguine scheme
Of full perfection prompt his daring dream,
Ere cold experience, with her veteran lore,
Could tell him, fools had dreamt as much before.
But, tracing as we do, through age and clime,
The plans of virtue midst the deeds of crime,
The thinking follies and the reason...

Thomas Moore