Arthur Franklin Fuller Famous Poems

Frankel was born in 1880 in America. He was a writer and poet. He wrote most of the poems for Christianity and encouragement. Reading his poems inspires one to move forward in life and do something good. They were written a long time ago, but even today they are very useful and will continue to be beneficial to the world.

Do All You Can

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Arthur Franklin Fuller Famous Poems

Do all you can for those you ought to love –
‘Tis thoughtfulness and service that best prove –
Awaken! realize each circled dial –
The worth of what ’tis yours to own a while;
Bring now your flowers, the praise so fitly said –
‘Twill bless the living – cannot cheer the dead;
Let men deride your sentimental spell –
Stay calm and know that you are doing well.

Do all you can for her whom you should love –
Each fleeting opportunity improve –
Be gentle, kind and tender while you may
Regrets cannot bring back this passing day;
And if she craves for admiration’s balm,
Deny her not, but lie without a qualm
If need be – such sin will God condone –
Her happiness will for that blot atone.

Do all you can for those you ought to love –
O rather be dumb than in haste to reprove –
About those blunders which you now deplore.
You’ll some day cry, “Come back and make some more!”
No harshness, just or unjust is forgiven
By self when death these ties for aye has riven
O cherish those who love you – crave your love –
And God will smile a blessing from above.


What Is Man

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

I sat me down by the wayside
To watch the passing throng
And guess at the varied interests
That moved each one along.
I saw the young and simple
Who flirt in wanton glee –
The hurrying man of business
As serious as could be.

I sat me down by the wayside
To note the crowd and din,
Where haste keeps ever silent
The still, small voice within;
For minds that brim with conquest
Forget what is right and wrong –
And hearts that seethe with lustings.
Unreasoning, drift along.

Behold th’ approaching master!
With pompous ways supreme –
Perhaps he’s just created
A Universe, I ween!
Now, what is God beside him
Who struts so proud and chill –
Omnipotence is nothing
When one has Power to Will!

O vaunting, crumbling castle,
O sod that stalks so fine –
Where didst thou get thy power,
Thy intellect sublime?
Well friend, just let me tell thee
A Truth that thou shouldst know –
Thou mayst be wise and mighty,
But such had e’en to grow.

Now listen, self-fooled debtor,
And learn this lesson well –
There’s nothing so important
As keeping out of hell;
Too late thou mayst discover
Some laws must honored be –
No man has e’er escaped them
To this thou must agree.

No thing was e’er created
By man, and man alone –
The very thought thou thinkest,
God gives thee now to own;
Conception is receiving
And fostering, law on law,
The thought which God created
And full fruition saw.

All Power that was, or is, sir,
Or may seem given birth,
Comes straight from God Almighty,
Be it in heav’n or earth;
Then be not quite so haughty.
But choose a lowly place –
Humility becomes us
Who live but by His grace.


What Are We Living For?

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

“Is life worth living?” the workers ask,
As they go about their irksome task;
Each generation comes and goes,
And sees increase in Problem’s woes;
Within the factories, shops and mines,
Are faces seamed by Dearth’s sure lines;
These toilers’ homes boast comforts few,
In vain their bairns for culture sue:
What are they living for?

Look in upon the wealthy class,
Within their homes or as they pass
On boulevards, ‘mid pomp and show,
Where poorer folk can never go;
How hard they seek for some new thrill —
Some way to pass the time until
Tomorrow works its way around —
Relief from boredom is transient found:
What are they living for?

But turn unto the happiest folk —
The middle class — they’ll hardly croak!
They have their share of joy and grief,
Success and failure — all are brief;
They earn enough for present needs —
More than enough, but worry breeds;
Yet looking back o’er years and days,
The woe, they say, their weal out- weighs:
What are they living for?

Well — we were given life to learn
Great lessons, and the same to turn
To good account; the privilege ours,
To view and praise Jehovah’s powers;
To rise above environment —
In virtue always to augment;
When we shall gain perfection grand,
We’ll then be fit to understand:
What are we living for?

Til then, ’tis good for us with might
To hold the Truth — so much of light,
As comes to us from day to day —
To help somebody on his way,
By precept and example too,
Our humble part with conscience do;
And pilot others from the reef
Of Error; oft we’ve said with grief,
What are we living for?

Though wealth, position, fame be won.
They’re but a sham — when life is done,
The past goes by in swift review.
And gazing, one sees much to rue;
He who is useful — knows the Lord,
Renounces self, and loves His Word,
Who is loved of friends — who shirks no task,
Succeeds in life; and ne’er will ask:
What are we living for?



Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

They said that years would bring me joy —
And years indeed have quickly flown;
But where’s the bliss without alloy —
The treasures I should call mine own?
And where’s the silver to the clouds —
The harvest for the labor wrought?
And where’s the comfort that I deemed
Would sure be mine if bravely sought?

I’m hungry for a little love —
I thirst for that I deem my right;
My grief-worn heart its sigh exhales,
And yeameth for you day and night.
The ocean in majestic turn
Sends foam-capp’d waves from shore to shore —
As ceaseless in my lonely heart
Arise Hope’s ghosts forevermore.
Ah, sad the smile that hides the wrecks —
The clinging clasp would fain retain —
For God in heaven only knows
If even dreams may come again!



Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

How oft we hear the stubborn say,
In everything, “I’ll have my way”;
How blind are some to simple Truth —
Experience must teach these youth.

As little children we should be,
None but the meek his God will see;
Toward least resistance have respect.
For then has force compound effect.

The happiest folk are self-possessed;
They say, “I want the way that’s best!’
Thus restful calm replaces strife.
From a better attitude toward life.

There’s nothing quite so easy, friend,
As to be mistaken — don’t contend
Too fiercely for your present view —
The horizon soon may change for you.

‘Tis base in him who thus requires
Defeat of another’s fair desires;
But he who triumphs o’er self, indeed,
Achieves man’s first and greatest need.


A Heart’s Request

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

O turn me not away,
The quest has been so long —
Life’s way has been so hard.
The tempest strong.

Receive my aching heart,
And let my spirit rest;
Of all earth’s roses fair
Thou art the dearest, best.

Take thou my loving hand,
Hear my despairing cry;
Life’s bitter turn to sweet.
And be thou ever nigh.

O do thou understand,
My humble, ardent call;
Open thy heart, thine arms,
And love me “Best of all.


Dear Little Hand

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Dear little hand and wise little heart,
Words cannot measure the sweet you impart;
Blessed am I since you understand,
And I know that you love me by this little hand.

Dear little hand — it is a cold world —
Into a wreck are one’s hopes sometimes hurled;
There stands no soul so brave or so grand,
But needs such a comfort as this little hand.

Dear little hand, I ever will prize
Your gentle touch and the news it implies;
Care flies away when this magic wand,
Creeps softly to me — Oh, this dear little hand.

Dear little hand — why, what would I do,
Without my heavenly Father and you?
Mercy He showed toward me when He planned.
Unselfish devotion from this little hand.


Gray Ballad

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Still hold thy lamp dear friend,
Before mine eyes —
A wealth of comfort
In its glimmer lies;
How soon the selfish friendship
Fades and dies!
Would I might ever keep
These holier ties —
Still hold thy lamp.

In youth and prime, both road
And sky are clear —
No dearth to hinder —
Plenty far and near;
When all is changed and age stands
Stark and sere,
One gropes about and counts
A welcome dear.
Still hold thy lamp.

The light of friendship cheers
The darkest way —
When constantly it sheds
Its blessed ray;
The noblest acts are those
Not done for pay —
I’ve nought to give but yet
I humbly pray:
Still hold thy lamp!


The Gospel Train

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Where are you going, trav’ler?
The night is wild and dark –
The road has many pitfalls,
And woe each step will mark;
O Stranger, go no farther
Without a trusty Guide,
Calamities await you,
Without Him by your side.

“All aboard — all aboard!”
The warning words sound clear,
“All aboard — all aboard!”
The leaving time is here;
No more trains — this the last!
Get your ticket, quick decide —
Arguing time now is past,
In heav’n or hell abide!

There is one name under heaven
Whereby you can be saved,
‘Tis certain Transportation
To where streets with gold are paved:
Its owner gives you solace
For every earthly woe,
With trust and peace surrounds you,
Wherever you may go.

Then come and know the Savior
Before it is too late,
Come now and claim Salvation
While there’s an open gate;
Come quick! the bell is ringing,
The Gospel train may go,
O do not wait, my brother,
Eternal death to know.

“All aboard — all aboard!”
The warning words sound clear,
“All aboard — all aboard!”
The leaving time is here;
No more trains — this the last!
Get your ticket, quick decide —
Arguing time now is past,
In heav’n or hell abide!


A Neglected Garden

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Alone am I — all joy is gone!
Yet who can ease this bitter pain?
Since he no more my flowers can take,
They die as if for lack of rain.

O why has Fate thus treated me –
What have I done to merit this?
No price would I refuse to pay
Could I once more receive his kiss.

O ring no more your solemn bells,
Nor leave me idle and alone,
A soul can live a thousand hells
Through viewing loss of love just known!

Roll back the curtains of the day,
And let the sun shine warm and clear;
Tell me that he for aye is safe,
And that his soul is hovering near:

Or, if perchance he liveth yet.
He will come back o’er stream and field,
Care for his garden as of old –
For him alone ’twill sweetness yield.



Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

O what is life but labor’d breath,
And ceaseless strife from birth ’til death?
And what am I, that I should dare
Expect to find a welcome there?

Yet dark indeed would be the way.
Did Hope not whisper every day:
“Strive on — and you shall surely find
Your Counterpart among mankind!”

O what is life? A tear, a sigh,
A swift caress, and then — “Good-bye”.
Deny me not — our time is short —
Earth’s joys are of a sorry sort;

And only Love is worth the while
Of care-worn mortals, pure or vile;
All know their pain in every day,
And need Love’s sun to bright the way.


The Joys Of Summer

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

The season Queen of all the year,
When all things at their best appear,
When airs are soft and skies are clear,
O the joys of summer!

Then sports and pastimes multiply,
Then leisure hours go hastening by,
Then work is tackled with a sigh,
O the joys of summer!

The fishing seems all-fired good.
The birds are calling from the wood,
You’d hasten out there if you could,
O the joys of summer!

But since you’re bound to stay at home,
While those more lucky shirk and roam,
You’ll get the hose and soak the loam,
O the joys of summer!

The purse, indulgence still denies –
Since action always mollifies,
You’ll vent your spite by swatting flies;
O the joys of summer!

That fellow had his trunk all packed,
And ticket bought – no speed he lacked,
But left, just as he was attacked –
O the joys of summer!

A fly is sure a mighty pest —
He’s there to tease when you would rest-
He thinks your pawing but a jest:
O the joys of summer!

Some epidemic we should start,
To give Sir Fly a failing heart,
Or Meningitis’ mighty dart —
Augment the joys of summer!

Whoever read of “Flies Sun-struck!”
“Appendicitis has ’em stuck!”
What human had that much good luck?
O the joys of summer!

Now one of summer’s greatest joys,
Is getting up a crowd of boys,
And camping — far from city noise;
O the joys of summer!


A Rose

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

She gave me a rose — she gave me a smile —
The heart of me glowed with pleasure the while;
A symbol of thought — how shall I express
The blessing that came from her pure caress?

She gave me a rose — her womanly hands
Just lingered a while — the mem’ry still stands;
A smile born of God was that flower’s grace —
A beam of His love shone in her sweet face.



Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

At last the tedious day is at an end
The long cool shadows hush the world to calm;
The grateful quietude of twilight hours,
Distills o’er tired earth its restful balm.

From out the clovered meadows’ misty depths,
The lowing kine come slowly into sight;
The circling swallows chirp their vesper hymn,
And hoof and feather seem to welcome night.

Anon the frogs in lusty chorus make
Response to creeky solos from the trees;
The risen moon his calm approval smiles
To star-lamps all in place, and earth at ease.


Dark Hours

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Each soul through unknown mazes goes —
Must take his stripes and share of woes;
Deep wisdom moves God’s plans along —
Our problems met but make us strong.

Stand fast — unmoved whate’er the view —
Jehovah-God will see you through;
He changeth not — so rest secure —
His Word the seeker will assure.

Dark hours must come — who can escape?
Yet tears the future oft mis-shape;
For every woe there stands a pledge —
God’s grace is all our present hedge.

Dark hours will come when none can see,
Yet God knows our extremity;
The souls that gain the mountain’s crest.
Look back and see, God’s way is best!


Cradle Song

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

The deepening twilight bids thee hush,
The stars light up the milky- way,
Lie still and listen to the thrush
As he thrills this soothing lay:
Hush, sweet baby, hush!
The oriole’s babes are sleeping now.
No fears distress them in their nest,
Cozily swinging from the bough
Close to their mother’s breast:
Hush, sweet baby, hush!

As close, dear babe, I am holding thee.
Trust like the birds — to trust is well,
For thou art dear to God — and me;
And this the Saviour came to tell:
Hush, sweet baby, hush!



Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Truth, precious and eternal treasure,
O let me see;
Life, love and all enduring pleasure
Spring forth from Thee.

Let me unfold through apprehension
Of boundless Good;
Let nothing else hold my attention,
Since naught else should.

No failure comes to him in concord
With his true Source;
This comfort now I firmly hold. Lord,
And love Thy course.

My God, my All — my loving Father —
Thy Truth makes free!
O let that mind which dwells in Jesus
Abound in me.


By The Fire-place

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

When the days are getting shorter,
When the nights are long and chill,
With my cares and work forgotten,
And the whole world hushed and still-
Then I love to make a fire.
Watch the flamelets dance and race.
For things are mighty cozy,
By the fire-place.

I love to have a friend or two
To make the deal complete —
Shoes off, cocked on an extry chair.
We toast our weary feet;
A bowl of pop-corn sittin’ near,
While time slips by apace,
Why folks, it’s awful cozy,
By the fire-place.

Pretty soon some nice quotation,
Comes a-singin’ through his head-
A clean and sweet quotation,
Whose charm is quickly spread;
I’ll bound I’ll give an answer,
A match for his in grace —
Dad Time’s a grand romancer.
By the fire-place.

Then my friend may tell a story,
Course I’ll try to do as well —
We’ll both be in our glory,
Just a-weavin’ fiction’s spell;
I’ll read some book of poems —
Prose animates his face —
A man gets stout but younger,
By the fire-place.

We may tell the joys and sorrows
That have figured in the past,
Speculate on our Tomorrows —
But tears may start at last —
In those glowing, ruddy embers,
Fancy paints an absent face —
There’s a comfort one remembers,
By the fire-place.

Bye ‘n’ bye it comes to bed-time.
And I wind the clock and say,
“Nine more hours an’ we’ll be facin’
Another little day;
But b’gosh, ’twill soon be over.
Back again our steps we’ll trace —
Spend another pleasant evenin’ —
By the fire-place.”


I Will

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Brother, life’s day is short —
Eternity has no end;
You should claim salvation now,
Judgment day you’ll need a Friend;
Jesus gave his blood for you,
Jesus is a friend who’s true
Brother, how can you stay?
Renounce the world and say:

I will heed the Savior’s knock,
And become one of his flock;
Since he now forgives the past.
With the Cross my lot I’ll cast;
I will take the manly stand,
Turn from sin, do God’s command;
I will answer while I may —
I will yield my soul today.

Jesus is at the door —
O fail not to let him in;
You should take him for your guide,
It is death to live in sin;
You cannot be saved by tears,
Give no mind to mortal fears;
Trust Him and strive and pray,
Come up, dear soul, and say:

I will heed the Savior’s knock,
And become one of his flock;
Since he now forgives the past.
With the Cross my lot I’ll cast;
I will take the manly stand,
Turn from sin, do God’s command;
I will answer while I may —
I will yield my soul today.

Satan will strive to hold —
His triumph is now at stake;
Every day his fetters grow,
Break them while you’ve power to break;
Say not, you are free from sin —
Mortal man has never been:
Vaunt not your pride today.
Take sides with Christ, and say:

I will heed the Savior’s knock,
And become one of his flock;
Since he now forgives the past.
With the Cross my lot I’ll cast;
I will take the manly stand,
Turn from sin, do God’s command;
I will answer while I may —
I will yield my soul today.


Where Is Heaven

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Sure, Heaven is a state of consciousness:
Existing therefore wholly in degree;
Where God is, there is lasting happiness,
For all who love both right and equity;
E’en in this transient little world of ours,
There are so many deep and wondrous things —
So much to learn that’s quite beyond our powers,
Who dares fore-judge thy Heaven, thou
King of kings!

In this short life, rejoicing, we have used,
Each added power; with Him as we unfold,
With joy we’ll see God’s gracious gifts infused.
Eternal progress in ourselves behold;
For then as now, He’ll give to every one.
More than he can in full appreciate;
We’ll own the friendships dear, on earth begun —
Renew old ties, no more to separate.

“But where is Heaven?” some doubting one inquires;
Shun idle talk — thy first concern should be
To know the Lord; to live as He requires,
Accept His Christ and strive the Truth to see;
“Believe and ye shall never die!” ‘Tis writ —
Then know, the righteous merely taste of death —
The wicked suffer it. Sown in the pit
The seed must die, to heed Life’s quickening breath.

“But where is Heaven?” some doubter still may ask;
‘Tis that fair place where mansions are prepared;
Man enters in the outer courts to bask
In glory’s light when he no pains has spared
To get in harmony with Deity.
The overcomers leave this plane at once to go
To Life and Service — wholesome piety —
While others sleep a thousand years or so.



Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

The doctor sez my stummick,
Has got plumb out o’fix,
My liver has done wasted —
Seeds jam my ap-pen-dix.

My skin keeps on a yallerin,
My lease is hastenin by,
In short, I’m totely founderin,
From too much berry pie.

I wish that my Creator
Had made old Adam keep
Right in the straight and narrow,
An’ let his senses sleep.

But since he chose the habit
Of cravin’ things too high,
I feel I’ve got excuses
For wantin’ berry pie.

Now when life’s day is over —
All done with hopes and fears —
The fashion is to tender
Sweet flowers and salty tears.

I wish my friends would do this,
The day before I die,
And let their fond affections
Be ‘spressed in juicy pie.

I’ll then climb in the coffin,
Without a qualm or sigh,
And take the plunge full-stummicked,
With ’nuff of berry pie.



Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

No letter comes from you my dear —
So soon have you forgot?
In these sad eyes there shines a tear —
Sweet friend, forget-me-not!

Oh! would that I within your heart,
Had gained so warm a spot,
To treat me so, such pain would start,
You would forget-me-not.

May Time twine roses in your hair,
A thornless path allot —
Of all that’s good a bounteous share,
And Faith — forget-me-not!

Thy “fare-thee-well” was sweet and kind,
With hope these lines I jot —
Again to come before your mind
And say — “Forget-me-not!”


Spirit of Friendship

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

Thou wert ever good and kind —
Therefore have I called thee Friend;
Thou hadst me often in thy mind —
No wound thy gentle tongue did send;
No selfish purpose taught thy ways —
No subtle greed e’er bribed thy heart;
In looking back I bless those days
And sore regret that friends must part.

Kinship is no guarantee,
Those whom birth hath placed close by
Will hold their interest pure and free
And seek thy good with single eye;
But thou wert faithful, noble soul,
And kindly just from year to year;
Thou heldst thine aims to higher goal
Than victories over Friendship’s bier.

Sorrow came — thy comfort too;
Shame accused — yet thou didst trust;
My early efforts, crude, you knew,
Yet strengthened me with upward thrust;
No matter hid I from thy gaze —
A guide wert thou of firmest mien;
In every way thou’st earned fair praise —
A truer friend hath man ne’er seen.

Father mine, and mother dear —
Brother, sister, neighbor, wife —
In whomsoe’er these traits appear,
I see the sprite that sweetens life;
What though this trusting heart may break
From faithlessness of one loved friend,
Yet I will know and solace take
That time another sure will send.

Thou hast e’er been good and kind —
Therefore have I called thee Friend;
No fears or doubts assail my mind —
No loss or change I apprehend;
But though one friend should fickle be,
Or flail the heart with coldness new-
Thanks be to God I plainly see,
The Spirit of Friendship aye is true.


The Vacation Problem

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

The summer days again are here,
And make one glad vacation’s near;
Where best to spend it who can know?
The list of places seems to grow;

Attractions varied, promise charms.
At seashore points, and inland farms;
Now better not in haste decide —
Regrets might then the spirit chide.

Resorts along the sea’s cool shore
Claim sports peculiar by the score;
The white-brimmed waves’ majestic roll
Makes music for a pleasant stroll;

The salt-breeze proves a tonic fine,
And fish respond to hook and line;
Again returns the appetite,
And life seems bursting with delight.

At night the band makes music sweet,
And those who dance find joy complete;
The drift-wood bonfire’s ruddy glow
Makes ghostly shadows come and go;

The “clam-bake” parties laugh and sing
‘Til sea and earth and welkin ring —
No grinding cares their minds infest,
And mirth swells every heaving breast.

Convention’s rules are set aside,
Flirtations there, but few will chide;
Voluptuous sights oft meet the gaze —
Restraint seems scarce a voice to raise —

Extravagance seems quite the thing;
And hard-earned savings soon take wing;
Yet lack of means is ne’er confessed —
The home-trail is shown to such distressed.

E’en dreams of this may fascinate —
Such times are good to contemplate —
But pause a moment — thus be fair.
Let inland life its charms declare;

The curse of this, our modern way,
Is rushing through life’s passing day —
For stimulation calls for more.
And beggars Nature’s bounteous store.

Here flowers bloom in mossy dell.
And song-birds unmolested dwell,
While fruited bush and leafy tree
Make overtures so restfully;

The city’s din is now forgot —
All seem contented with their lot —
The war for gain seems useless strife,
For all Man’s needs, earth’s harvest’s rife.

One ponders on an early day;
When man lived in an easier way —
When there was much less to be done
‘Twixt early morn and setting sun;

These hardy men — their hearts were true,
But books and luxuries were few —
That out-door life full vigor lent —
In simple rounds their days they spent.

Their guns unwritten laws enforced,
For honor in their blood-veins coursed —
Their wives were loyal helpmates, too,
And kept the vows their whole lives through;

The landlord knows some thrilling tales,
And thus his guest he oft regales —
And twilight hours too soon are past,
And sleep must claim its own at last.

‘Tis hard to make a choice,
Since both their claims have given voice —
The inland mountains, rivers, farms,
Are quite as great as seashore charms;

Just toss up a coin, and then abide
By its chance fall — and thus decide!
But it’s very expensive far to roam,
So better be wise and stay at home.


A Reckoning

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

I’m thinking now of you, dear friend,
Because ’tis Christmas Day;
Through Retrospection’s paths I went.
And yield to Fancy’s sway.

Each soul is a ship upon Life’s sea –
Must bear both calms and gales;
A reckoning there oft must be,
To note how now she sails.

Each starts, attended – when all is fair.
But braves alone the deep;
So, few and precious are those who care
A friendly port to keep.

The times and things we two have shared –
Which formed our common ground,
Have woven bonds which Love has spared,
Since Faith our friendship crowned.

I’ll think of you throughout the year.
At rest, at work and mart;
There’ll always be,’ your place, my dear –
A shrine within my heart.



Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

He that knocks and runs away
May live to knock some more next day —
But he who slanders in the open
May live to wish he had not spoken.
Some take vengeance through the law,
While others use a mighty paw —
But the meanest bully takes a crack
At helpless folk who can’t fight back.

He that gluts his soul with “fun”
Can squander money by the ton.
None mourn nor worry where it went to,
What use the seller’s funds are bent to —
Neither feels accountable
To his neighbor, friend or foe —
But the street-man’s ways must keep in line
With saints’ and sinners’ judgment fine.

Sweet Spirit of love and tenderness —
Gentle ministrant of Mercy’s dower —
To the selfish thou must e’er remain unknown —
The ruthless crush thee down as flowers full blown;
O hapless hour when on this earth
Some foul animus gave mean birth
To thy disgraceful counterfeit
Which all mankind should scorn and hate.

Ne’er let the day dawn on my sight
That sees me shorn of sense of right —
Nor let me hold by chance, or strength, or stress,
A thing I would not have all men possess;
For envy, thoughtlessness and scorn
Make full many a life forlorn —
Distrust and selfishness remove
All thought of Charity and Love.


A Summer Morning

Poet: Arthur Franklin Fuller

First along the eastern sky
A golden glow is seen —
Clouds and shadows speed away,
Grass and trees show green;
Flowers and other vegetation,
Yester-eve forlorn,
Stand erect — a glad oration
To the dew of morn.

Roosters make exultant call —
Heralds of the day —
Birds full throated glad with all
Sing as song birds may;
Nature gives revivification —
Heaviness is gone —
Earth is glad with expectation,
With the approach of dawn.

Beautiful is this mundane sphere —
Best at early morn —
Lovelier in her virgin state,
Than aught which man can form;
Night-time hints of dissolution —
Day and hope are done —
Life and noble aspiration
Dawn with Morning’s sun.


Read More: Ardeen Foster Famous Poems

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