The Congregation

The ghost of night's long hours depart
In congregation dreary,
And leave my sorrow-trampled heart
Intolerably weary.

But Chirpings bright in dewy woods
Foretell divine tomorrows,
And little birds are very good
To dissipate great sorrows.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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The Best of All

Sleep and turn and sleep again,
Spite of the morning birds.
I am weary of strife with men,
Weary of fruitless words.

Once I traveled in blossomed ways,
Ere I had learned to weep.
Sleep is better than loveless days.
Death is better than sleep.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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Disorder

My life is governed by the clock,
All duly mapped and plotted;
And only with a nervous shock
I miss the time allotted.

My course without has always been
Set straight to hedge and border;
But I confess that all within
Is vast and vague disorder.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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The Idle Wind

The idle wind blows all the day.
I wish it blew my care away.
The idle wind blows all day long
And weaves a burden to my song
Upon the melancholy flight
Of youth and beauty and delight.
The idle wind blows all the day.
I wish it blew my care away.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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The Pursuit

I had visited her often,
Long had sought, with vain endeavor,
Her obdurate heart to soften;
But she answered, 'never, never.'

Then it softened and ran widely,
Like an ink-dropp on a blotter.
I ceased labor, tasted idly,
Found it bitter, and forgot her.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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The Curtain

Others may seem gay and certain,
Steering one unbroken line.
But lift up the heart's dim curtain,
It might prove as frail as mine.

Full of shift and light vagary,
Thirsting, shrinking from the cup.
Truly, we had best be wary
And not lift the curtain up.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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A Thousand Years

Just to utter a word,
That is all I desire;
That may still be heard,
When I expire;
That still may glow,
Like a soft, sweet flame,
When others go,
As they lightly came;
That may still be sung
With hopes and fears,
By a careless tongue
In a thousand years.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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Ardor

Others make verses of grace.
Mine are all muscle and sinew.
Others can picture your face.
But I all the tumult within you.

Others can give you delight,
And delight I confess is worth giving.
But my songs must tickle and bite
And burn with the ardor of living

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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Hope

When I was a little boy,
I followed hope and slighted joy.
Now my wit has larger scope,
I clutch at joy and heed not hope.

At least that doctrine I profess,
For there I know lies happiness;
But hope, for all the shifts I try,
Will be my sovereign till I die.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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God

I think about God.
Yet I talk of small matters.
Now isn't it odd
How my idle tongue chatters!
Of quarrelsome neighbors,
Fine weather and rain,
Indifferent labors,
Indifferent pain,
Some trivial style
Fashion shifts with a nod.
And yet all the while
I am thinking of God.

poem by Gamaliel Bradford
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