Greenleaf Whittier Pickard Puns

Of all that Orient lands can vaunt
Of marvels with our own competing,
The strangest is the Haschish plant,
And what will follow on its eating.
What pictures to the taster rise,
Of Dervish or of Almeh dances!
Of Eblis, or of Paradise,
Set all aglow with Houri glances!
The poppy visions of Cathay,
The heavy beer-trance of the Suabian;

The wizard lights and demon play
Of nights Walpurgis and Arabian!
The Mollah and the Christian dog
Change place in mad metempsychosis;
The Muezzin climbs the synagogue,
The Rabbi shakes his beard at Moses!
The Arab by his desert well
Sits choosing from some Caliph's daughters,
And hears his single camel's bell
Sound welcome to his regal quarters.

The Koran's reader makes complaint
Of Shitan dancing on and off it;
The robber offers alms, the saint
Drinks Tokay and blasphemes the Prophet.
Such scenes that Eastern plant awakes;
But we have one ordained to beat it,
The Haschish of the West, which makes
Or fools or knaves of all who eat it.
The preacher eats, and straight appears
His Bible in a new translation;
Its angels negro overseers,
And Heaven itself a snug plantation!
The man of peace, about whose dreams
The sweet millennial angels cluster,
Tastes the mad weed, and plots and schemes,
A raving Cuban filibuster!
The noisiest Democrat, with ease,
It turns to Slavery's parish beadle;
The shrewdest statesman eats and sees
Due southward point the polar needle.
The Judge partakes, and sits erelong
Upon his bench a railing blackguard;
Decides off-hand that right is wrong,
And reads the ten commandments backward.
O potent plant! so rare a taste
Has never Turk or Gentoo gotten;
The hempen Haschish of the East
Is powerless to our Western Cotton!

When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is strange with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns
And many a failure comes about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow—
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out—
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell just how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit—
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

From The Birmingham Age-Herald, March 11, 1913.

Still sits the schoolhouse by the road,    
A ragged beggar sunning;
Around it still the sumachs grow,    
And blackberry vines are running.

Within, the master’s desk is seen,    
Deep scarred by raps official; T
he warping floor, the battered seats,    
The jack knife’s carved initial.

The charcoal frescoes on the wall;    
Its door’s worn sill, betraying
The feet that, creeping slow to school    
Went storming out to playing.

Long years ago a winter sun    
Shone over it at setting;
Lit up its western window panes,    
And low eaves icy fretting.

It touched the tangled golden curls,    
And brown eyes full of grieving,
Of one who still her steps delayed    
When all the school was leaving.

For near her stood the little boy    
Her childish favor singled;
His cap pulled low upon a face    
Where pride and shame were mingled.

Pushing with restless feet the snow    
To right and left, he lingered—
As restlessly her tiny hands    
The blue checked apron fingered.

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt    
The soft hand’s light caressing,
And heard the tremble of her voice,    
As if a fault confessing.

“I’m sorry that I spelt the word;    
I hate to go above you,
Because,”—the brown eyes lower fell—    
“Because, you see, I love you!”

Still memory to gray haired man    
That sweet child face is showing,
Dear girl! The grasses on her grave    
Have forty years been growing!

He lives to learn in life’s hard school    
How few who pass above him
Lament their triumph and his loss,    
Like her—because they love him.

June 24th began a period of glorious euphoria after quitting my decades long addiction. I cleaned house and renewed all sense of purpose in life excited to death about a second chance. Eight weeks later it came to a screeching halt and a period of deep sadness and grief replaced the joy. I was faced with massive waves of grief as I recognized the magnitude of my losses and mistakes. Now that too seems to be passing. I am grateful for being more present. Just living in this day. Not looking back with regrets about my addiction. Not too focused on the future full of unknowns. Just today. Just this moment. Not high. Not low. Just now. Just here. Just me.

Maud Muller, on a summer's day,

Raked the meadows sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth

Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee

The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But, when she glanced to the far-off town,

White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest

And a nameless longing filled her breast--

A wish, that she hardly dared to own,

For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane,

Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed

Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,

And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down

On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught

From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees,

Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether

The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown,

And her graceful ankles bare and brown;

And listened, while a pleasant surprise

Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay

Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away,

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me!

That I the Judge's bride might be!

"He would dress me up in silks so fine,

And praise and toast me at his wine.

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat;

My brother should sail a painted boat.

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay,

And the baby should have a new toy each day.

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,

And all should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill,

And saw Maud Muller standing still.

"A form more fair, a face more sweet,

Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

"And her modest answer and graceful air

Show her wise and good as she is fair.

"Would she were mine, and I to-day,

Like her, a harvester of hay:

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,

Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

"But low of cattle, and song of birds,

And health, and quiet, and loving words."

But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold,

And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,

And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,

When he

In calm and cool and silence, once again

I find my old accustomed place among

My brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue

Shall utter words; where never hymn is sung,

Nor deep-toned organ blown, nor censer swung,

Nor dim light falling through the pictured pane!

There, syllabled by silence, let me hear

The still small voice which reached the prophet’s ear;

Read in my heart a still diviner law

Than Israel’s leader on his tables saw!

There let me strive with each besetting sin,

Recall my wandering fancies, and restrain

The sore disquiet of a restless brain;

And, as the path of duty is made plain,

May grace be given that I may walk therein,

Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain,

With backward glances and reluctant tread,

Making a merit of his coward dread,

But, cheerful, in the light around me thrown,

Walking as one to pleasant service led;

Doing God’s will as if it were my own,

Yet trusting not in mine, but in His strength alone!

https://youtu.be/q5_TbHsgXIk?t=52s

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill.
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile but you have to sigh.
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must, but don’t you quit.
For life is queer with its twists and turns
As everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out.

Don’t give up though the pace seems slow-
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out-
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt.
And you never can tell how close you are.
It may be near when it seems so far:
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit
It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.

Don't Quit
When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is strange with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns
And many a failure comes about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow—
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out—
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell just how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit—
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

When things go wrong as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all up hill, When the funds are low and the debts are high And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest if you must, but don't you quit. Life is strange with its twists and turns As every one of us sometimes learns And many a failure comes about When he might have won had he stuck it out; Don't give up though the pace seems slow— You may succeed with another blow. Success is failure turned inside out— The silver tint of the clouds of doubt, And you never can tell just how close you are, It may be near when it seems so far; So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit— It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

For all those who feel like giving up the ghost in lockdown!

Don't Quit

When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is strange with its twists and turns
As every one of us sometimes learns
And many a failure comes about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow—
You may succeed with another blow.
Success is failure turned inside out—
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell just how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit—
It's when things seem worst that you must not quit