When Fortunes Frown.

    When fortunes frown, the woes, bedight
    With brooding shadows, bring the night,
        While dismal sorrows darkness dole,
        And disappointments rise and roll
    Above the longings for the light.

    Despair, with hands that curse and blight,
    Sows weakness in the hearts of might
        Until they falter near the goal,
        When fortunes frown.

    But onward still! The valleys white
    With Heaven's blossoms are in sight;
        The Holy Mountains, knoll on knoll,
        Are waiting for the Master Soul,
    And he shall conquer for the right,
        When fortunes frown!

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

At Eventide.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

If We Don't Or If We Do.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

Sonnet.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

If We But Knew.

Freeman Edwin Miller, Simple Poetry

English

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Hope.

    When man from pure perfection fell,
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Freeman Edwin Miller

Compensation.

    The softest beams of the stars are born in the farthest skies,
    And fairest rays of the sun where evening shadows rise;
    The sweetest songs of the bird are sung in the darkest days,
    And rarest blooms of the spring are found in the wildest ways.

    The brightest blush of the rose is blown as the petals fade.
    The greenest grass of the earth is grown in the hidden glade;
    The fondest rhyme of the rill is heard in the secret vale,
    And lightest lays of the breeze are borne from the dying gale.

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    And proudest days of the free are spent by the broken chain.

Freeman Edwin Miller

Shadow And Shine.

    They will find in this life who are grieved with its gladness
        No songs for the heart and no hopes for the soul,
    But will faint in the glooms where the dirges of sadness
        In tremulous murmurs of wretchedness roll;
    For the sweets of this earth never lavish their kisses
        Where lives in the valleys of rapture repine;
    In the tortures they mourn who denounce all the blisses,--
        They weep in the shadow that rail at the shine.

    In the fields that are fair with the blooms of the clover,
        No garlands are grown for the arbors of shade
    Where the woes of the wood in their darkness hang over
        The grasses that wave with the winds of the glade;
    From the chimes of the breezes there echo no measures
        That gladd...

Freeman Edwin Miller

At Perry, September 16, 1893.

    Crowds! Crowds! Crowds!
        Suddenly here as if come from the clouds
    That faded away as they came;
        Mad acres of people aflame
    With thirst for a morsel of land;
        Wild hunters of fortune, whose game
    Is ever escaping the hand;
        Vast, countless, uncountable throngs
    With restless, unrestable feet,
        That hurry the ways, full of agonized wrongs,
    For the conquest of happiness sweet;
        Wild seas of ambition whose waves of desire
    On their obstacles mighty continually beat,
        Where neither the shore nor the ocean is fixed;
        Like thunderous songs of a choir,
    Whose murmurs in music repeat;
        And confusion and chaos are terribly mingled and mixed.

        Dust! Dust! Dust!

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

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