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Master - Not Man
Poet: Ardeen Foster
Set no task for me! nor shall I do it
Set no task for me! lest you may rue it.
'Twere born of me to have my own good way,
No master will I serve at this late day.
No master rules me, nor will I be ruled,
So set no task - to tasks I've not been schooled.
Work out this little problem, if you can -
'Tis very simple - master serves no man:
Unless my heart might serve a worthy friend -
For his sweet sake, I'll go to earth's far end. -
Faith
Poet: Ardeen Foster
Never on Calvary the rose so red.
As on the morn the Master's speared side bled:
The One who rules to-day, in Might as meek
As in the hour the thorn-crown bruised His head.
It were the Ever-Life — His Triune sheen.
And on His brother-arm I gladly lean,
Clinging with all my shame-brawn - brawn so weak!
And cast my shattered self on Heaven's Dean.
Sweet Jesus! give me of Thy balm to heal.
Probe deep my coward-soul, till I shall feel
Thy lancet. And to-morrow? I may seek
My Paradise and drink Salvation's weal. -
Ambition
Poet: Ardeen Foster
From red sunrise, till dark-time, knout in hand.
Ambition calls on me to make
The leap upon the road that I shall take:
Points out the men that built upon the sand,
And beckons me to shun the worthless band.
Arid climb the Phocis heights, for one whose sake
I'd lease my heart to Hell, if but to wake
Within the arbour of the Poet-Land.
Rot all frail drones! Nor waste an hour to spurn
The littleness that bribes great men to quail.
Hail! soul's ambition: nor from thee I turn.
Nor halt to hear the whining pessimist rail:
But pass with scorn the sneering dolts that burn
With spite and prophesy that I shall fail. -
Nature
Poet: Ardeen Foster
I court the braes and meadow-lands serene;
My lady-slipper, cock's-comb, phlox and dill;
And with my dogs I scale the sweet-breathed hill -
Breath sweet as of a maid of sweet sixteen.
Good-morrow, fields! I loathe the town's demesne.
I love the hissing locust, whippoorwill.
The sneaking cat-bird's mew, the skylark's trill;
The fragrance of my tansy, evergreen.
Nor would surrender my sweet poppy beds.
My hen-and-chickens, china-aster bine,
My prince's feathers with their lilac heads.
For all your town-bred roses! Give me mine -
My dew-wet marigold, the flower that weds
The incense of my honey-suckle vine. -
Prayer-Time
Poet: Ardeen Foster
The time to pray.
Is in the crimson morn,
While dew is on the com.
At break of day.
The time to pray.
Is in the Passion-Noon,
When sun has chased the moon.
And sin's at bay.
The time to pray,
Is when the sun goes down.
And sets his saffron crown
Upon the day.
The time to pray,
Is in the soul of night.
When sin hath taken flight,
Ashamed to stay. -
The Word That Rules The World
Poet: Ardeen Foster
The sweetest story ever told,
Was given when the world was young,
And hearts were made to have and hold.
And songs of chivalry were sung.
It rules the maid, it rules the man.
It is the tyrant of the heart.
The King of hearts of tribe and clan.
And finds the way through Cupid's dart.
And though it is a little word.
And soft as cooing of the dove,
It is the sweetest message heard:
The word that rules the world is Love. -
If
Poet: Ardeen Foster
If this old world were a truthful bird,
And candid and generous, too
If this old world would but keep its word.
In all that it pledges to do:
This dear, old wabbly world would shine.
For Truth would come out as a sun;
And the nook named Hell would wither and pine,
For Heaven and Hell were one. -
Longing
Poet: Ardeen Foster
Dost ever think of me,
You there, I here,
On lips of budding day,
When Night hath flown her way,
And wish me near?
Dost ever think of me,
You there, I here.
Within the Passion-Noon,
And pray I may come soon,
And wish me near?
Dost ever think of me,
You there, I here.
When weary sun lies down.
And dons his golden crown,
And wish me near?
Dost ever think of me,
You there, I here.
Within the soul of Night,
Revealed in Love's keen light,
And wish me near? -
My Easter -Lily
Poet: Ardeen Foster
As far ago, as on the Easter Morn,
When two sad Marys hailed the dancing sun,
And wept beside the sepulchre of One -
The One who sank beneath the traitors' scorn.
And died, that all men might again be born -
The lily was proclaimed the queen that day,
Having soft petals, nor a cruel thorn.
But fragrance like the breath of Maiden May.
The maiden in the blush of Easter morn,
Awakes to stroke her lily's pearly head:
"O, soothing harbinger of love that sleeps!
Were he but come, my heart would cease to ache.
A message! And from him! We are to wed.
My lily is in tears; for joy she weeps." -
Good-Bye, Old Year
Poet: Ardeen Foster
I mourn you as you die!
Good-bye, Old Year, good-bye!
'Twere wise of you to go.
So let your mantle Iie,
You've worn it with sweet grace,
And borne a gracious face -
My privilege to know -
'Tis hard to fill your place.
Ah! good you've been to me.
God wills - it was to be:
The present for the past -
Perchance a meagre fee?
The past we know and well!
The future? Who may tell?
The New Year's come at last:
No tolling! Chime the bell.
Chime it with main and might.
Let mourning-garbs be white.
Nor sack-cloth nor a bier,
Nor tears to scald the sight.
The Yule-ode shall be sung,
The old shall suckle young.
Hail! for the suckling's here
In swaddling-clothes — New
Proclaim him, every tongue! -
Dear Ireland
Poet: Ardeen Foster
Loved Ireland! I kiss your lids, tear-red,
And your Gethsemane - your blood-drenched sod.
Blest Ireland! condemned to kiss the rod.
And wear the thorn-crown on your fevered head.
God save this land of green! and liberate
This Island sobbing in the sea of blue.
Sing, colleen! 'twere the solemn bliss for you.
Bruised Ireland! nor balm to satiate.
Crushed Ireland! I tread your ravished grounds;
I'd give my heart, if but to right your wrongs.
And who but would strike off your vassal-thongs.
And kneel him down and lave your open wounds? -
Tribute To My Sister
Poet: Ardeen Foster
Soul of my soul!
Heart of my heart!
Mind of my mind!
Blood of my blood!
Bloom of my bloom!
Bliss of my bliss!
Your life for me,
My life for you:
Sweet of the sweet.
My sweet sister.
Through life, till death :
And after death, -
And lips-to-lips -
Eternity! -
To-morrow
Poet: Ardeen Foster
Who loiter on the brink of witching-time,
Have reached the cordon of To-morrow's zone.
Where stands a wench with stiff, defiant mien -
To-morrow, gowned in Dawn's majestic rays.
Nor pledge bestows, nor yields the coveted race,
Though coddling us to dangle in her train:
And, playing on us, mocks and chaffs and sneers,
As we, blind fools, press forward in the course -
The course for blind fools bent to have the prize.
To-morrow? Pah! a siren, winged to lure
And draw men to the verge of lustfulness.
At midnight, nude, with tempter's pursing lips,
She signals us to bate her with a kiss.
Nor sooner does her spiced breath smite our soul,
And we have stroked her luscious, carnal breast,
Behold! her aging-wing has charred our brow.
Nor turns to us the false, untasted cheek:
But jilts us, fleeing off for other dupes,
And leaves us face-to-face with bleak To-day.
More Friendship Poems
More Christian Poems
More Poems of Encouragement
More Nature Poems
More Short Prayers
More Short Love Poems
More If Poems
More Thinking Of You Poems
More Easter Poems
More New Year Poems
More St. Patrick's Day Poems
More Sister Poems
More Poems About The Future
