Part 1 (1/2)
Our Profession and Other Poems.
by Jared Barhite.
PREFACE.
During the past quarter of a century, it has been a pleasant pastime for me to obey the dictates of my feelings and inscribe them upon paper.
The present volume is a collection of these vagrant pastimes, some of which have wandered far, while others have never before appeared to any eye save the writer's.
To call them home, introduce them to each other, and properly house them, seems a parental duty.
If in them there is a thought that shall inspire others of my profession to feel the dignity and responsibility of the calling, their publication will not have been in vain.
The intent being good, the fruit cannot be evil.
The Author.
INVOCATION TO THE MUSE.
Didactic muse Calliope, Expand thy soothing silent wings, Touch chords of measured harmony Wherein the soul ecstatic sings, Let language fraught with living truth Find such expression by thy art, As shall a.s.sist the guides of youth To fire the soul and win the heart.
Remove the barriers which so long Have held in thraldom many a mind, Sing to the deaf a ransom-song, Be eyes to those whose souls are blind; Teach those who mould the plastic mind To know that G.o.d hath never given A mission weightier, more refined, To angels round the courts of heaven, Than that of training human minds Committed unto human hands, In which the spirit e'er survives And through eternity expands.
Paint truthfully the living dead Whose sensibilities were slain By tyros, oft unskilled, unread, In all the workings of the brain; Whose concepts of the avenues That reach the mind of tender youth, Are labyrinths of tangled views Devoid of art, science, and truth; Touch but that chord of magic power Which gives the soul augmented bliss, And lifts it for the present hour Above the world's base selfishness; Then let the search-light of the soul Illumine every page that's read, Until an animated whole Shall supersede the living dead.
Then, then shall dawn the golden day When Ignorance shall shamed-faced fly Before the potent living ray Of mind, touched by effulgency That pours its light in vital force, Upon the mind of plastic youth, And leads it gently to the source Of light and scientific truth.
OUR PROFESSION.
There's an art in our profession, Which cannot be wholly learned From all books in our possession, Though their leaves be deftly turned Till the mind shall grasp the meaning Of each truth they may contain, Yet there remains a gleaning Not a product of the brain.
One may know the truths of science Till his mind may have full store, Or may place some great reliance On ancient and modern lore; He may count the stars in heaven, He may trace them in their course, And from data that is given He may prove creation's source; He may use the best of diction To portray his studied thought; He may draw from truth and fiction All the charm with which they're fraught; He may be a friend of Nature And may understand her laws; He may prove embryo creature Has within itself a ”cause”; He may fathom all creation And dwell among the stars, Visit every land and nation And return with honor's scars; Yet he may lack a power,-- Occult to scientific truth-- Which is Heaven's richest dower To the guides of ardent youth.
Though all these may give a polish To the gem that lights the soul, They are weak, useless, and foolish, When they're taken for the whole Of all the powers required To entrance the youthful mind, With a spirit so inspired As to touch the eyes of blind With a bright illumination That shall prove itself to be More than a corruscation Of a short-lived ecstasy.
By intuition, children know A heart that cares for them; They recognize a friend or foe, At instantaneous ken.
No mask can s.h.i.+eld a fraud or fool, E'en from a puerile mind; It knows by rules not learned at school The way true hearts to find.
An earnest love, unbounded, firm,-- A G.o.d-gift from our birth-- By far outweighs the n.o.blest charm Can be acquired on earth.
Who has not drunk deep at the well Of childhood's innocence, Or thinks that he should ever dwell At such an eminence, That he can never bend to raise And cheer a longing heart, Will waste his precious hours and days, And finally depart Without such fruitage or reward As ever should be given To him, who serves master or Lord, And hopes for bliss in heaven.
Who sees no soul-buds here expand To blossom by and by, Hath fathomed not the great command For which we live and die.
The State demands that every son And daughter shall be free From ignorance and vice which run Toward crime and misery.