#IrishWriters
NOR War nor Peace, forever, old… But Strength my theme, whose song… The People’s Strength, the deep a… Of truths that seethe below the tr… The buried ruins of dead empires s…
Trapper died—our hero—and we griev… In every heart in camp the sorrow… “His soul was red!” the Indian cr… “A white man, he!” the grim old Y… So, brief and strong, each mourner…
THE world was made when a man was… He must taste for himself the forb… He can never take warning from old… He must fight as a boy, he must dr… Of the friend of his soul; he must…
ONLY a fallen horse, stretched o… Stretched in the broken shafts, an… Only a fallen horse, and a circle… Watching the 'frighted teamster go… Hold! for his toil is over—no more…
THEY came in the early spring-da… With the first refreshing showers And I watched the growing beauty Of the little drooping flowers. They had no bright hues to charm m…
A MAN will trust another man, an… His secret thought and act, as if… A woman—does she tell her sins? A… She never knew a woman she could t…
BLESSED are Pain, the smiter, And Sorrow, the uniter! For one afflicted lies— A symboled sacrifice— And all our rancor dies!
HE is coming! he is coming! in my… There is music in my blood, and it… That my love unknown comes toward… For I cannot hide the secret that… O the sweet bursting flowers! how…
IN the old days, while yet the Ch… And men believed that praise of G… In curbing self as well as singing… There lived a monk, Macarius by n… A holy man, to whom the faithful c…
LONG time ago, from Amsterdam a… As fair a ship as ever flung aside… Upon the shore were tearful eyes,… As to her, o’er the Zuyder Zee, w… And brave hearts, yearning shorewa…
A CITY of Palaces! Yes, that’s… Look down this street—what a splen… Just glance at the wealth of a sin… The carving and cornice in gaudy s… And think of the acres of inner fl…
THE day of Joseph’s marriage unt… In thoughful mood he said unto his… Behold, I go into a far-off count… To labor for thee, and to make thy… And home all sweet and peaceful.'…
A MAN is not the slave of circum… Or need not be, but builder and di… He makes his own events, not time… Their logic his: not creature, but…
To toil all day and lie worn-out a… To rise for all the years to slave… And breed new broods to do no othe… In toiling, bearing, breeding—life… To myriad men, too base for man or…
DEAD, with his harness on him: Rigid and cold and white, Marking the place of the vanguard Still in the ancient fight. The climber dead on the hill-side,
