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Poems Every Child Should Know

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<h3>Prospice.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"Prospice," by Robert Browning (1812-89), is the greatest death song ever written. It is a battle-song and a pæan of victory. <blockquote> "The journey is done, the summit attained, And the strong man must go." "I would hate that Death bandaged my eyes and forebore, And bade me creep past." "No! let me taste the whole of it" "The reward of all." </blockquote> This poem is included in this book because these lines are enough to reconcile any one to any fate. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle's to fight ere a guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more. The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears Of pain, darkness, and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end. And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest! </div> </td></tr></table> Robert Browning. <h3>Recessional.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">The "Recessional" (by Rudyard Kipling, 1865-) is one of the most popular poems of this century. It is a warning to an age and a nation drunk with power, a rebuke to materialistic tendencies and boastfulness, a protest against pride. <blockquote> "Reverence is the master-key of knowledge." </blockquote></div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> God of our fathers, known of old— Lord of our far-flung battle-line— Beneath whose awful Hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine— Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! </div> <div class="stanza"> The tumult and the shouting dies— The captains and the kings depart— Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! </div> <div class="stanza"> Far-called our navies melt away— On dune and headland sinks the fire— Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! </div> <div class="stanza"> If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe— Such boasting as the Gentiles use Or lesser breeds without the Law— Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget! </div> <div class="stanza"> For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard— All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard— For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord! Amen. </div> </td></tr></table> Rudyard Kipling. <h3>Ozymandias of Egypt.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"Ozymandias of Egypt," by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822). This sonnet is a rebuke to the insolent pride of kings and empires. It is extremely picturesque. It finds a place here because more elderly scholars of good judgment are pleased with it. I remember an old gray-haired scholar in Chicago who often recited it to his friends merely because it touched his fancy. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away;" </div> </td></tr></table> Percy Bysshe Shelley. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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