To Reformers in Despair

    'Tis not too late to build our young land right,
    Cleaner than Holland, courtlier than Japan,
    Devout like early Rome, with hearths like hers,
    Hearths that will recreate the breed called man.

Vachel Lindsay

Vachel Lindsay was an American poet known for his innovative performances of his poetry, which combined spoken word with music and theatrics. Born in Springfield, Illinois, Lindsay's work often revolved around American history and culture, reflecting his progressive social views. He played a significant role in the early 20th-century American poetry scene, influencing contemporaries and later poets with his dynamic style and passionate delivery.

Vachel Lindsay

Parvenu

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

The Traveller-heart

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

Shakespeare

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

On the Garden-wall

Vachel Lindsay, Simple Poetry

English

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A Reformer.

When I was young, my heart elate
    With ardent notions warm,
I thirsted to inaugurate
    A spirit of reform;
The universe was all awry,
    Philosophy despite,
And mundane things disjointed I
    Was bound to set aright.

My mind conceived a million plans,
    For Hope was brave and strong,
But dared not with unaided hands
    Combat a giant wrong;
So with caress I sought to coax
    Those who had humored me
In infancy - the dear old folks -
    And gain their sympathy.

But quarreling with extant laws
    They would have deemed a shame
Who clung to error, just because
    Their fathers did the same.
I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls,
    Where grace and beauty stirred
At revelry's impetuous calls,
    To make ...

Hattie Howard

On the Building of Springfield

    Let not our town be large, remembering
    That little Athens was the Muses' home,
    That Oxford rules the heart of London still,
    That Florence gave the Renaissance to Rome.

    Record it for the grandson of your son -
    A city is not builded in a day:
    Our little town cannot complete her soul
    Till countless generations pass away.

    Now let each child be joined as to a church
    To her perpetual hopes, each man ordained:
    Let every street be made a reverent aisle
    Where Music grows and Beauty is unchained.

    Let Science and Machinery and Trade
    Be slaves of her, and make her all in all,
    Building against our blatant, restless time
    An unseen, skilful, medieval wall.

    Let every citizen be rich to...

Vachel Lindsay

The Illinois Village

    O you who lose the art of hope,
    Whose temples seem to shrine a lie,
    Whose sidewalks are but stones of fear,
    Who weep that Liberty must die,
    Turn to the little prairie towns,
    Your higher hope shall yet begin.
    On every side awaits you there
    Some gate where glory enters in.

    Yet when I see the flocks of girls,
    Watching the Sunday train go thro'
    (As tho' the whole wide world went by)
    With eyes that long to travel too,
    I sigh, despite my soul made glad
    By cloudy dresses and brown hair,
    Sigh for the sweet life wrenched and torn
    By thundering commerce, fierce and bare.
    Nymphs of the wheat these girls should be:
    Kings of the grove, their lovers strong.
    Why are they not inspired,...

Vachel Lindsay

Arise, American!

The soul of a nation awaking, -
High visions of daybreak, - I saw;
A people renewed; the forsaking
    Of sin, and the worship of law.

Sing, pine-tree; shout, to the hoarser
Response of the jubilant sea!
Rush, river, foam-flecked like a courser;
    Warn all who are honest and free!

Our birth-star beckons to trial
The faith of the far-fled years,
Ere scorn was our share, and denial,
    Or laughter for patriots' tears.

And Faith shall come forth the finer,
From trampled thickets of fire,
And the orient open diviner
    Before her, the heaven rise higher.

O deep, sweet eyes, but severer
Than steel! See you yet, where he comes -
Our hero? Bend your glance nearer;
Speak, Faith! For, as wakening drums,

Your voice s...

George Parsons Lathrop

To The Reformers Of England

God bless ye, brothers! in the fight
Ye 're waging now, ye cannot fail,
For better is your sense of right
Than king-craft's triple mail.
Than tyrant's law, or bigot's ban,
More mighty is your simplest word;
The free heart of an honest man
Than crosier or the sword.
Go, let your blinded Church rehearse
The lesson it has learned so well;
It moves not with its prayer or curse
The gates of heaven or hell.
Let the State scaffold rise again;
Did Freedom die when Russell died?
Forget ye how the blood of Vane
From earth's green bosom cried?
The great hearts of your olden time
Are beating with you, full and strong;
All holy memories and sublime
And glorious round ye throng.
The bluff, bold men of Runnymede
Are with ye still in times like these;...

John Greenleaf Whittier

Ecclesiastical Sonnets - Part II. - XXXVII - English Reformers In Exile

Scattering, like birds escaped the fowler's net,
Some seek with timely flight a foreign strand;
Most happy, re-assembled in a land
By dauntless Luther freed, could they forget
Their Country's woes. But scarcely have they met,
Partners in faith, and brothers in distress,
Free to pour forth their common thankfulness,
Ere hope declines: their union is beset
With speculative notions rashly sown,
Whence thickly-sprouting growth of poisonous weeds;
Their forms are broken staves; their passions, steeds
That master them. How enviably blest
Is he who can, by help of grace, enthrone
The peace of God within his single breast!

William Wordsworth