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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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You’re a Pagan – so am I.
So the fluting on the hill
Passed and died, and all was still.
So the Pagan Pickings died,
And I laid the pipe aside.
THE LAUNDRY OF LIFE
(An Adventure in Sentiment.)
Life is a laundry in which we
Are ironed out, or soon or late.
Who has not known the irony
Of fate?
We enter it when we are born,
Our colors bright. Full soon they fade.
We leave it “done up,” old and worn,
And frayed;
Frayed round the edges, worn and thin —
Life is a rough old linen slinger.
Who has not lost a button in
Life’s wringer?
With other linen we are tubbed,
With other linen often tangled;
In open court we then are scrubbed,
And mangled.
Some take a gloss of happiness
The hardest wear can not diminish;
Others, alas! get a “domes-
Tic finish.”
WISDOM IN A CAPSULE
“If she be not so to me.
What care I how fair she be?”
– The Shepherd’s Resolution.
Here we have in this truism
Mr. James’s pragmatism.
Test your troubles day by day
With it, and they fly away.
Is the weather boiling hot,
Hot enough to boil a pot —
If it be not so to me,
What care I how hot it be?
Take a pudding made of bread;
Much against it has been said;
But it does not lack defense —
Many say it is immense.
Be it damned or be it blessed,
Let us make the acid test —
If it be not so to me,
What care I how good it be?
So with every blooming thing
That has power to soothe or sting;
Ships or shoes or sealing wax,
Carrots, comets, carpet tacks.
Every philosophic need
Covered by this capsule creed:
If it be not so to me,
What care I how
it be?
THE LAND OF RAINBOW’S-END
Young Faintheart lay on a wayside bank,
Full prey to doubts and fears,
When he did espy come trudging by
A Pilgrim bent with years.
His back was bowed and his step was slow,
But his faith no years could bend,
As he eagerly pressed to the rose-lit west
And the Land of Rainbow’s-End.
“It’s ho, for a pack!” sang the Pilgrim gray,
“And a stout oak staff for friend,
And it’s over the hills and far away
To the Land of Rainbow’s-End!”
“Thou’rt old,” young Faintheart cried, “thou’rt old,
And there’s many a league to go;
And still thou seekest the pot of gold
At the farther end of the bow.”
“I am old, I am old,” said the Pilgrim gray,
“But ever my way I’ll wend
To the rose-lit hills of the dying day
And the Land of Rainbow’s-End.”
“Come, rest thee, rest thee by my side;
Give o’er thy doomsday quest.”
“Have done, have done!” the Pilgrim cried:
So the fluting on the hill
Passed and died, and all was still.
So the Pagan Pickings died,
And I laid the pipe aside.
THE LAUNDRY OF LIFE
(An Adventure in Sentiment.)
Life is a laundry in which we
Are ironed out, or soon or late.
Who has not known the irony
Of fate?
We enter it when we are born,
Our colors bright. Full soon they fade.
We leave it “done up,” old and worn,
And frayed;
Frayed round the edges, worn and thin —
Life is a rough old linen slinger.
Who has not lost a button in
Life’s wringer?
With other linen we are tubbed,
With other linen often tangled;
In open court we then are scrubbed,
And mangled.
Some take a gloss of happiness
The hardest wear can not diminish;
Others, alas! get a “domes-
Tic finish.”
WISDOM IN A CAPSULE
“If she be not so to me.
What care I how fair she be?”
– The Shepherd’s Resolution.
Here we have in this truism
Mr. James’s pragmatism.
Test your troubles day by day
With it, and they fly away.
Is the weather boiling hot,
Hot enough to boil a pot —
If it be not so to me,
What care I how hot it be?
Take a pudding made of bread;
Much against it has been said;
But it does not lack defense —
Many say it is immense.
Be it damned or be it blessed,
Let us make the acid test —
If it be not so to me,
What care I how good it be?
So with every blooming thing
That has power to soothe or sting;
Ships or shoes or sealing wax,
Carrots, comets, carpet tacks.
Every philosophic need
Covered by this capsule creed:
If it be not so to me,
What care I how
it be?
THE LAND OF RAINBOW’S-END
Young Faintheart lay on a wayside bank,
Full prey to doubts and fears,
When he did espy come trudging by
A Pilgrim bent with years.
His back was bowed and his step was slow,
But his faith no years could bend,
As he eagerly pressed to the rose-lit west
And the Land of Rainbow’s-End.
“It’s ho, for a pack!” sang the Pilgrim gray,
“And a stout oak staff for friend,
And it’s over the hills and far away
To the Land of Rainbow’s-End!”
“Thou’rt old,” young Faintheart cried, “thou’rt old,
And there’s many a league to go;
And still thou seekest the pot of gold
At the farther end of the bow.”
“I am old, I am old,” said the Pilgrim gray,
“But ever my way I’ll wend
To the rose-lit hills of the dying day
And the Land of Rainbow’s-End.”
“Come, rest thee, rest thee by my side;
Give o’er thy doomsday quest.”
“Have done, have done!” the Pilgrim cried:
Другие электронные книги автора Bert Taylor
Последний отзыв
Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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