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Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two
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"Is there no hope, no chance of life?"
A hundred lips implore;
"But one," the captain made reply,
"To run the ship on shore."
A sailor, whose heroic soul
That hour should yet reveal,
By name John Maynard, eastern-born,
Stood calmly at the wheel.
"Head her southeast!" the captain shouts,
Above the smothered roar,
"Head her southeast without delay!
Make for the nearest shore!"
No terror pales the helmsman's cheek,
Or clouds his dauntless eye,
As, in a sailor's measured tone,
His voice responds, "Ay! ay!"
Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight,
Crowd forward wild with fear,
While at the stern the dreaded flames
Above the deck appear.
John Maynard watched the nearing flames,
But still with steady hand
He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly
He steered the ship to land.
"John Maynard, can you still hold out?"
He heard the captain cry;
A voice from out the stifling smoke
Faintly responds, "Ay! ay!"
But half a mile! a hundred hands
Stretch eagerly to shore.
But half a mile! That distance sped
Peril shall all be o'er.
But half a mile! Yet stay, the flames
No longer slowly creep,
But gather round that helmsman bold,
With fierce, impetuous sweep.
"John Maynard!" with an anxious voice
The captain cries once more,
"Stand by the wheel five minutes yet,
And we shall reach the shore."
Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart
Responded firmly still,
Unawed, though face to face with death,
"With God's good help I will!"
The flames approach with giant strides,
They scorch his hand and brow;
One arm, disabled, seeks his side,
Ah! he is conquered now.
But no, his teeth are firmly set,
He crushes down his pain,
His knee upon the stanchion pressed,
He guides the ship again.
One moment yet! one moment yet!
Brave heart, thy task is o'er,
The pebbles grate beneath the keel,
The steamer touches shore.
Three hundred grateful voices rise
In praise to God that He
Hath saved them from the fearful fire,
And from the engulfing sea.
But where is he, that helmsman bold?
The captain saw him reel,
His nerveless hands released their task,
He sank beside the wheel.
The wave received his lifeless corse,
Blackened with smoke and fire.
God rest him! Never hero had
A nobler funeral pyre!
Horatio Alger, Jr.
Piller Fights
Piller fights is fun, I tell you;
There isn't anything I'd rather do
Than get a big piller and hold it tight,
Stand up in bed and then just fight.
Us boys allers have our piller fights
And the best night of all is Pa's lodge night.
Soon as ever he goes, we say "Good night,"
Then go right upstairs for a piller fight.
Sometimes maybe Ma comes to the stairs
And hollers up, "Boys, have you said your prayers?"
And then George will holler "Yes, Mamma," for he always has;
Good deal of preacher about George, Pa says.
Ma says "Pleasant dreams," and shuts the door;
If she's a-listenin' both of us snore,
But as soon as ever she goes we light a light
And pitch right into our piller fight.
A hundred lips implore;
"But one," the captain made reply,
"To run the ship on shore."
A sailor, whose heroic soul
That hour should yet reveal,
By name John Maynard, eastern-born,
Stood calmly at the wheel.
"Head her southeast!" the captain shouts,
Above the smothered roar,
"Head her southeast without delay!
Make for the nearest shore!"
No terror pales the helmsman's cheek,
Or clouds his dauntless eye,
As, in a sailor's measured tone,
His voice responds, "Ay! ay!"
Three hundred souls, the steamer's freight,
Crowd forward wild with fear,
While at the stern the dreaded flames
Above the deck appear.
John Maynard watched the nearing flames,
But still with steady hand
He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly
He steered the ship to land.
"John Maynard, can you still hold out?"
He heard the captain cry;
A voice from out the stifling smoke
Faintly responds, "Ay! ay!"
But half a mile! a hundred hands
Stretch eagerly to shore.
But half a mile! That distance sped
Peril shall all be o'er.
But half a mile! Yet stay, the flames
No longer slowly creep,
But gather round that helmsman bold,
With fierce, impetuous sweep.
"John Maynard!" with an anxious voice
The captain cries once more,
"Stand by the wheel five minutes yet,
And we shall reach the shore."
Through flame and smoke that dauntless heart
Responded firmly still,
Unawed, though face to face with death,
"With God's good help I will!"
The flames approach with giant strides,
They scorch his hand and brow;
One arm, disabled, seeks his side,
Ah! he is conquered now.
But no, his teeth are firmly set,
He crushes down his pain,
His knee upon the stanchion pressed,
He guides the ship again.
One moment yet! one moment yet!
Brave heart, thy task is o'er,
The pebbles grate beneath the keel,
The steamer touches shore.
Three hundred grateful voices rise
In praise to God that He
Hath saved them from the fearful fire,
And from the engulfing sea.
But where is he, that helmsman bold?
The captain saw him reel,
His nerveless hands released their task,
He sank beside the wheel.
The wave received his lifeless corse,
Blackened with smoke and fire.
God rest him! Never hero had
A nobler funeral pyre!
Horatio Alger, Jr.
Piller Fights
Piller fights is fun, I tell you;
There isn't anything I'd rather do
Than get a big piller and hold it tight,
Stand up in bed and then just fight.
Us boys allers have our piller fights
And the best night of all is Pa's lodge night.
Soon as ever he goes, we say "Good night,"
Then go right upstairs for a piller fight.
Sometimes maybe Ma comes to the stairs
And hollers up, "Boys, have you said your prayers?"
And then George will holler "Yes, Mamma," for he always has;
Good deal of preacher about George, Pa says.
Ma says "Pleasant dreams," and shuts the door;
If she's a-listenin' both of us snore,
But as soon as ever she goes we light a light
And pitch right into our piller fight.
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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