- Man toils, and strives, and wastes his little life to claim--
- At last the transient glory of a splendid name,
- And have, perchance, in marble mockery a bust,
- Poised on a pedestal, above his sleeping dust.
- Faith, not Knowledge, builds for every man,
- In his own spiritual consciousness,
- The ultimate, bright Heaven of his hope,
- The realm of joy, the goal of his desire.
- No weaker hand can lead the errant soul
- From Doubt's dark labyrinth into the light,
- And up the starry heights whereon is God.
ANDREW DOWNING, "The Sphinx"
- Fear not, too much, an open enemy;
- He is consistent--always at his post;
- But watchful be of him who holds the key
- Of your own heart, and flatters you the most.
ANDREW DOWNING, "Your Enemy"
- What weak, inglorious fools we mortals are
- That war must be, or any need of war.
- And yet, the better day is coming when
- The teachings of the lowly Nazarene
- Shall be the rule of nations--as of men;
- The sword and bayonet shall be preserved,
- By the fair children of a nobler race,
- As relics only, of a barbarous past.
ANDREW DOWNING, "The Bluebird"
- That song is sweetest, bravest, best,
- Which plucks the thistle-barb of care
- From a despondent brother's breast,
- And plants a sprig of heart's-ease there.
ANDREW DOWNING, "The Sweetest Song"
- So life discloses--
- Howe'er the pathway curve or turn--
- New hopes that rise, new stars that burn
- In changing splendor night or day;
- New joys that drive old griefs away.
ANDREW DOWNING, "Among the Roses"
- So long as honest men neglect to vote;
- So long as good men leave the cares of state
- To weak, incompetent, or careless hands,
- Or place them in the grip of scheming knaves,
- Our safety is imperiled. Every man
- On Freedom's ramparts must a warder be,
- To warn of danger when the foe appears;
- To meet the onset when the foe assaults.
- Else--vain our hopes, and else the temple grand,
- Of all our rights, and birth-right liberties,
- Ere long will fall, and crumble in the dust,
- A ruin, more abject and dire than Rome
- Or Carthage was.
ANDREW DOWNING, "A Picture"
- A wise old mother is Nature--
- She guideth her children's feet
- In many a flowery pathway;
- And her strong life-currents beat,
- Sometimes in intricate channels--
- As a mountain stream may run--
- But ever her purpose triumphs,
- And ever the goal is won.
- Her eyes are the eyes of Argus,
- And she utters her decree:
- The brook shall come to the river,
- And the river shall reach the sea.
ANDREW DOWNING, "Destiny"