Songs of East and West

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J. P. Morton, 1906 - 58 ˹
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˹ 13 - Wail not for precious chances passed away, Weep not for golden ages on the wane! Each night I burn the records of the day; At sunrise every soul is born again. Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, But never bind a moment yet to come. Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep; I lend my arm to all who say,
˹ 13 - I can!" No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep But yet might rise and be again a man! Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow? Then turn from blotted archives of the past And find the future's pages white as snow. Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell. Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven. Each morning gives thee wings to flee from hell. Each night a star to guide thy feet to heaven.
˹ 13 - To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, But never bind a moment yet to come. Though deep in mire wring not your hands and weep, I lend my arm to all who say, "I can!" No shamefaced outcast ever sank so deep But yet might rise and be again a man! Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? Dost reel from righteous retribution's blow? Then turn from blotted archives of the past And find the future's pages white as snow. Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee...
˹ 46 - ... we agree with one of his sonnets contained therein : The Death of Poetry. They tell us that the poet's day is past, That song no more shall gush from human heart ; They tell us all the old dreams must depart, The old ideals by the way be cast. What babbling folly! Frailest dreams outlast The noisy jargon of the mightiest mart, Great empires crumble, yet the realm of Art Unconquered, glorious, stands forever fast. When spring comes not in triumph as of yore, When earth's last rose her last sweet...
˹ 46 - ... so soon, so soon! The orange odors soon must faint, The lemon blossoms soon must die, The mocking-bird must end his plaint, Magnolias, fading, flutter by. Then come, sweet mate, Before it be too late! While Youth is blissful, Love divine, O maiden of the flower-like face, be mine, be mine, be mine! THE DEATH OF POETRY They tell us that the poet's day is past, That Song no more shall gush from human heart; They tell us all the old dreams must depart, The old ideals by the way be cast. What babbling...
˹ 58 - All men are my brothers, the world is my home. Wherever we meet, on sea or on sod, We are brethren of Christ, we are children of God. They may prattle of Codes, or prate of their Creeds I care not for these, but for brotherly deeds.
˹ 3 - SONGS OF EAST AND WEST BY WALTER MALONE JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY LOUISVILLE COPYRIGHT, 1906 BY WALTER MAI.ONK INDEX.

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