Birds go seeking
Mates,
All on a day made gay.
“Trees are blooming,
Branches waiting, —
Will you come?”
Shy the answer —
Swift surrender —
Roundelays are heard.
Time is flying,
Summer coming,
When the families
Say farewell.
In a pasture green
Fair flowers bloom;
Gay their faces —
Bright their dresses.
Swiftly seeking,
Whirling, wheeling,
Comes a flock
At noon.
“Here are daisies,
Sweetest grasses,
Buttercups and clover,
Let us linger, sip and treasure.”
Summer passes,
Grasses perish,
But in sweetness
Is Springtime cherished.
Daylight passes,
Night approaches,
Lights begin to gleam.
In the houses
One can fancy
Nestlings tucked to rest.
Good night, sea,
Good night world,
All my soul goes out
To thee.
Happy meeting,
Friendly greeting
Upon the milky way,
Trusting
Upon the ocean wide
Two little ships set sail.
Over an ocean blue
Two little birds sailed true.
Kneeling upon a nursery floor
Two little children fair.
Under a star-lit sky
A youth and a maiden, shy.
With sightless eyes and folded hands,
Old age murmurs,”
God knows best.”
Faith — trust — love — courage! That is all — God does the rest.
Thoughts
Thinking, thinking, thinking,
As the needle travels to and fro
Through sheerest linen — finest lace-
Weaving patterns — all unseen,
Upon its face.
Pictures vivid, pictures dim,
Pictures gay and with sadness grim,
Tiny feet — clinging hands —
All are in the fabric’s sheen.
Unseen tracery takes its place,
To weave again its mystic theme.
Thinking
The only value of thinking
Is thinking of things worth while,
Of thinking of what you want to be,
And thinking of things to do
For the folks — who know not the value
Of thinking of things worth while.
All that you are, or will be,
Is vested in thinking,
And it’s the thoughts worth while,
And the deeds well planned,
Which build your mansion here — and there,
So what are you thinking now — there?
Oh! the hours we spend,
And the days we spend,
In thinking no thoughts at all —
For the only thoughts — which really count —
Are the thoughts of love sent out to all,
For they are the thoughts worth while.
The Crucible
HARD ye may be in the tumult,
Red to your battle hilts,
Blow give for blow in the foray,
Cunningly ride in the tilts;
But when the roaring is ended,
Tenderly, unbeguiled,
Turn to a woman a woman’s
Heart, and a child’s to a child.
Test of the man, if his worth be
In accord with the ultimate plan,
That he be not, to his marring,
Always and utterly man;
That he bring out of the tumult,
Fitter and undefiled,
To a woman the heart of a woman,
To children the heart of a child.
Good when the bugles are ranting
It is to be iron and fire;
Good to be oak in the foray,
Ice to a guilty desire.
But when the battle is over
(Marvel and wonder the while)
Give to a woman a woman’s
Heart, and a child’s to a child.
Biography of O. Henry