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Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two
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Dinah M. Craik
An "If" For Girls
(With apologies to Mr. Rudyard Kipling.)
If you can dress to make yourself attractive,
Yet not make puffs and curls your chief delight;
If you can swim and row, be strong and active,
But of the gentler graces lose not sight;
If you can dance without a craze for dancing,
Play without giving play too strong a hold,
Enjoy the love of friends without romancing,
Care for the weak, the friendless and the old;
If you can master French and Greek and Latin,
And not acquire, as well, a priggish mien,
If you can feel the touch of silk and satin
Without despising calico and jean;
If you can ply a saw and use a hammer,
Can do a man's work when the need occurs,
Can sing when asked, without excuse or stammer,
Can rise above unfriendly snubs and slurs;
If you can make good bread as well as fudges,
Can sew with skill and have an eye for dust,
If you can be a friend and hold no grudges,
A girl whom all will love because they must;
If sometime you should meet and love another
And make a home with faith and peace enshrined,
And you its soul—a loyal wife and mother—
You'll work out pretty nearly to my mind
The plan that's been developed through the ages,
And win the best that life can have in store,
You'll be, my girl, the model for the sages—
A woman whom the world will bow before.
Elizabeth Lincoln Otis.
Boy and Girl of Plymouth
Little lass of Plymouth,—gentle, shy, and sweet;
Primly, trimly tripping down the queer old street;
Homespun frock and apron, clumsy buckled shoe;
Skirts that reach your ankles, just as Mother's do;
Bonnet closely clinging over braid and curl;
Modest little maiden,—Plymouth's Pilgrim girl!
Little lad of Plymouth, stanchly trudging by;
Strong your frame, and sturdy; kind and keen your eye;
Clad in belted doublet, buckles at your knee;
Every garment fashioned as a man's might be;
Shoulder-cloak and breeches, hat with bell-shaped crown;
Manly little Pilgrim,—boy of Plymouth town!
Boy and girl of Plymouth, brave and blithe, and true;
Finer task than yours was, children never knew;
Sharing toil and hardship in the strange, new land;
Hope, and help, and promise of the weary band;
Grave the life around you, scant its meed of joy;
Yours to make it brighter,—Pilgrim girl and boy!
Helen L. Smith.
Work: A Song of Triumph
Work!
Thank God for the might of it,
The ardor, the urge, the delight of it,
Work that springs from the heart's desire,
Setting the brain and the soul on fire—
Oh, what is so good as the heat of it,
And what is so glad as the beat of it,
And what is so kind as the stern command,
Challenging brain and heart and hand?
Work!
Thank God for the pride of it,
For the beautiful, conquering tide of it,
Sweeping the life in its furious flood,
Thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood,
Mastering stupor and dull despair,
Moving the dreamer to do and dare—
Oh, what is so good as the urge of it,
And what is so glad as the surge of it,
And what is so strong as the summons deep,
Rousing the torpid soul from sleep?
Work!
Thank God for the pace of it,
For the terrible, swift, keen race of it,
Fiery steeds in full control,
Nostrils a-quiver to reach the goal.
Work, the power that drives behind,
Guiding the purposes, taming the mind,
Holding the runaway wishes back,
Reining the will to one steady track,
Speeding the energies, faster, faster,
Triumphing ever over disaster;
Oh, what is so good as the pain of it,
An "If" For Girls
(With apologies to Mr. Rudyard Kipling.)
If you can dress to make yourself attractive,
Yet not make puffs and curls your chief delight;
If you can swim and row, be strong and active,
But of the gentler graces lose not sight;
If you can dance without a craze for dancing,
Play without giving play too strong a hold,
Enjoy the love of friends without romancing,
Care for the weak, the friendless and the old;
If you can master French and Greek and Latin,
And not acquire, as well, a priggish mien,
If you can feel the touch of silk and satin
Without despising calico and jean;
If you can ply a saw and use a hammer,
Can do a man's work when the need occurs,
Can sing when asked, without excuse or stammer,
Can rise above unfriendly snubs and slurs;
If you can make good bread as well as fudges,
Can sew with skill and have an eye for dust,
If you can be a friend and hold no grudges,
A girl whom all will love because they must;
If sometime you should meet and love another
And make a home with faith and peace enshrined,
And you its soul—a loyal wife and mother—
You'll work out pretty nearly to my mind
The plan that's been developed through the ages,
And win the best that life can have in store,
You'll be, my girl, the model for the sages—
A woman whom the world will bow before.
Elizabeth Lincoln Otis.
Boy and Girl of Plymouth
Little lass of Plymouth,—gentle, shy, and sweet;
Primly, trimly tripping down the queer old street;
Homespun frock and apron, clumsy buckled shoe;
Skirts that reach your ankles, just as Mother's do;
Bonnet closely clinging over braid and curl;
Modest little maiden,—Plymouth's Pilgrim girl!
Little lad of Plymouth, stanchly trudging by;
Strong your frame, and sturdy; kind and keen your eye;
Clad in belted doublet, buckles at your knee;
Every garment fashioned as a man's might be;
Shoulder-cloak and breeches, hat with bell-shaped crown;
Manly little Pilgrim,—boy of Plymouth town!
Boy and girl of Plymouth, brave and blithe, and true;
Finer task than yours was, children never knew;
Sharing toil and hardship in the strange, new land;
Hope, and help, and promise of the weary band;
Grave the life around you, scant its meed of joy;
Yours to make it brighter,—Pilgrim girl and boy!
Helen L. Smith.
Work: A Song of Triumph
Work!
Thank God for the might of it,
The ardor, the urge, the delight of it,
Work that springs from the heart's desire,
Setting the brain and the soul on fire—
Oh, what is so good as the heat of it,
And what is so glad as the beat of it,
And what is so kind as the stern command,
Challenging brain and heart and hand?
Work!
Thank God for the pride of it,
For the beautiful, conquering tide of it,
Sweeping the life in its furious flood,
Thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood,
Mastering stupor and dull despair,
Moving the dreamer to do and dare—
Oh, what is so good as the urge of it,
And what is so glad as the surge of it,
And what is so strong as the summons deep,
Rousing the torpid soul from sleep?
Work!
Thank God for the pace of it,
For the terrible, swift, keen race of it,
Fiery steeds in full control,
Nostrils a-quiver to reach the goal.
Work, the power that drives behind,
Guiding the purposes, taming the mind,
Holding the runaway wishes back,
Reining the will to one steady track,
Speeding the energies, faster, faster,
Triumphing ever over disaster;
Oh, what is so good as the pain of it,
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Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее