Christ is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!

Noli me tangere  (Touch me Not), from the Ressurection  Giotto di Bondone

The Hope of the Resurrection

by Vachel Lindsay

Though I have watched so many mourners weep
O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep—
Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days
That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays.
Now though you go on smiling in the sun
Our love is slain, and love and you were one.
You are the first, you I have known so long,
Whose death was deadly, a tremendous wrong.
Therefore I seek the faith that sets it right
Amid the lilies and the candle-light.
I think on Heaven, for in that air so dear
We two may meet, confused and parted here.
Ah, when man's dearest dies,'tis then he goes
To that old balm that heals the centuries' woes.
Then Christ's wild cry in all the streets is rife:—
"I am the Resurrection and the Life."

Though I have watched so many mourners weep O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep— Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays. Now though you go on smiling in the sun Our love is slain, and love and you were one. You are the first, you I have known so long, Whose death was deadly, a tremendous wrong. Therefore I seek the faith that sets it right Amid the lilies and the candle-light. I think on Heaven, for in that air so dear We two may meet, confused and parted here. Ah, when man's dearest dies,'tis then he goes To that old balm that heals the centuries' woes. Then Christ's wild cry in all the streets is rife:— "I am the Resurrection and the Life. "

Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/6347/the_hope_of_the_resurrection

Though I have watched so many mourners weep O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep— Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays. Now though you go on smiling in the sun Our love is slain, and love and you were one. You are the first, you I have known so long, Whose death was deadly, a tremendous wrong. Therefore I seek the faith that sets it right Amid the lilies and the candle-light. I think on Heaven, for in that air so dear We two may meet, confused and parted here. Ah, when man's dearest dies,'tis then he goes To that old balm that heals the centuries' woes. Then Christ's wild cry in all the streets is rife:— "I am the Resurrection and the Life. "

Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/6347/the_hope_of_the_resurrection

Though I have watched so many mourners weep O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep— Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays. Now though you go on smiling in the sun Our love is slain, and love and you were one. You are the first, you I have known so long, Whose death was deadly, a tremendous wrong. Therefore I seek the faith that sets it right Amid the lilies and the candle-light. I think on Heaven, for in that air so dear We two may meet, confused and parted here. Ah, when man's dearest dies,'tis then he goes To that old balm that heals the centuries' woes. Then Christ's wild cry in all the streets is rife:— "I am the Resurrection and the Life. "

Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/6347/the_hope_of_the_resurrection

Though I have watched so many mourners weep O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep— Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays. Now though you go on smiling in the sun Our love is slain, and love and you were one. You are the first, you I have known so long, Whose death was deadly, a tremendous wrong. Therefore I seek the faith that sets it right Amid the lilies and the candle-light. I think on Heaven, for in that air so dear We two may meet, confused and parted here. Ah, when man's dearest dies,'tis then he goes To that old balm that heals the centuries' woes. Then Christ's wild cry in all the streets is rife:— "I am the Resurrection and the Life.

Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous/poem/6347/the_hope_of_the_resurrection

Independence Day

Writing the Declaration of Independence, 1776  Jean Leon Gerome Ferris

Excerpt from a letter to Abigail 

by John Adams

The second day of July, 1776, 

will be the most memorable epocha in the history of America. 

I am apt to believe it will be celebrated 

by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival. 

It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, 

by solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. 

It ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, 

with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, 

from one end of this continent to the other, 

from this time forward forevermore.

     

You will think me transported with enthusiasm, but I am not. 

I am well aware of the toil and blood and treasure 

that it will cost us to maintain this Declaration 

and support and defend these states. 

Yet, through all the gloom, 

I can see the rays of ravishing light and glory. 

I can see that the end is more than worth all the means. 

And that posterity will triumph in that day’s transaction, 

even although we should rue it, 

which I trust in God we shall not…

     

It may be the will of Heaven 

that America will suffer calamities still more wasting, 

and distress yet more dreadful. 

If this is to be the case, it will have this good effect at least. 

It will inspire us with many virtues which we have not, 

and correct many errors, follies and vices 

which threaten to disturb, dishonor and destroy us. 

The furnace of affliction produces refinement, 

in States as well as individuals...

But I must submit all my hopes and fears to an overruling Providence, 

in which, unfashionable as the faith may be, I firmly believe.

Hunters in the Snow  Pieter Bruegel the Elder

A Hunting Morning
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Put the saddle on the mare,
For the wet winds blow;
There's winter in the air,
And autumn all below.
For the red leaves are flying
And the red bracken dying,
And the red fox lying
Where the oziers grow.

Put the bridle on the mare,
For my blood runs chill;
And my heart, it is there,
On the heather-tufted hill,
With the gray skies o'er us,
And the long-drawn chorus
Of a running pack before us
From the find to the kill.

Then lead round the mare,
For it's time that we began,
And away with thought and care,
Save to live and be a man,
While the keen air is blowing,
And the huntsman holloing,
And the black mare going
As the black mare can.

Song and Sport

Colonel Acland and Lord Sydney, The Archers  Sir Joshua Reynolds

The Arrow and the Song
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow  

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

The End of Summer

Rosa Gallica Eveque  Pierre Joseph Redoute

Tis the Last Rose of Summer

by Thomas Moore

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred,

No rosebud is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes,

To give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!

To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter,

Thy leaves o'er the bed,

Where thy mates of the garden

Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,

From Love's shining circle

The gems drop away.

When true hearts lie withered

And fond ones are flown,

Oh! who would inhabit,

This bleak world alone?

At the Beach

Children Playing at the Beach  Mary Cassatt

At the Sea-Side
by Robert Louis Stevenson
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up
Till it could come no more.

Searching for a Friend

Young Girl Holding a Doll  Fritz Zuber Buhler

 A Lost Doll

by Sarah O. Jewett

The sunflowers hang their heavy heads
And wish the sun would shine;
The clouds are gray, the wind is cold.
“Where is that doll of mine?
The dark is coming fast,” said she.
“I’m in a dreadful fright.
I don’t know where I left my doll,
And she’ll be out all night.

“Twice up and down the garden-walks
I looked; but she’s not there.
Oh! yes, I’ve hunted in the hay;
I’ve hunted everywhere.
I must have left her out of doors;
But she is not in sight.
No dolly in the summer-house,
And she’ll be out all night.

“The dew will wet her through and through
And spoil her dear best dress;
And she will wonder where I am
And be in such distress!
The dogs may find her in the grass,
And bark or even bite;
And all the bugs will frighten her
That fly about at night.

“I’ve not been down into the woods
Or by the brook to-day.
I’m sure I had her in my arms
When I came out to play,
Just after dinner; then, I know,
I watched Tom make his kite.
Will anybody steal my doll
If she stays out all night?

“I wonder where Papa has gone?
Why, here he comes; and see!
He’s bringing something in his hand.
That’s Dolly, certainly!
And so you found her in the chaise,
And brought her home all right?
I’ll take her to the baby-house.
I’m glad she’s home to-night.”

Growing Older, but Not Wiser?

Portrait of an Old Man  Adolph von Menzel 

Past and Present 

by Thomas Hood 

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day:
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups—
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance;
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

The Poor School Boy  Antonio Mancini

from The School Boy 

by William Blake

I love to rise in a summer morn,

When the birds sing on every tree;

The distant huntsman winds his horn,

And the sky-lark sings with me.

O! what sweet company.

But to go to school in a summer morn,

O! it drives all joy away;

Under a cruel eye outworn.

The little ones spend the day,

In sighing and dismay.

Juneteenth  G. Rose

Freedoms Plow 

by Langston Hughes

When a man starts out with nothing,

When a man starts out with his hands

Empty, but clean,

When a man starts to build a world,

He starts first with himself

And the faith that is in his heart-

The strength there,

The will there to build.

First in the heart is the dream-

Then the mind starts seeking a way.

His eyes look out on the world,

On the great wooded world,

On the rich soil of the world,

On the rivers of the world.

The eyes see there materials for building,

See the difficulties, too, and the obstacles.

The mind seeks a way to overcome these obstacles.

The hand seeks tools to cut the wood,

To till the soil, and harness the power of the waters.

Then the hand seeks other hands to help,

A community of hands to help-

Thus the dream becomes not one man's dream alone,

But a community dream.

Not my dream alone, but our dream.

Not my world alone,

But your world and my world,

Belonging to all the hands who build.

A long time ago, but not too long ago,

Ships came from across the sea

Bringing the Pilgrims and prayer-makers,

Adventurers and booty seekers,

Free men and indentured servants,

Slave men and slave masters, all new-

To a new world, America!

With billowing sails the galleons came

Bringing men and dreams, women and dreams.

In little bands together,

Heart reaching out to heart,

Hand reaching out to hand,

They began to build our land.

Some were free hands

Seeking a greater freedom,

Some were indentured hands

Hoping to find their freedom,

Some were slave hands

Guarding in their hearts the seed of freedom,

But the word was there always:

Freedom.

Down into the earth went the plow

In the free hands and the slave hands,

In indentured hands and adventurous hands,

Turning the rich soil went the plow in many hands

That planted and harvested the food that fed

And the cotton that clothed America.

Clang against the trees went the ax into many hands

That hewed and shaped the rooftops of America.

Splash into the rivers and the seas went the boat-hulls

That moved and transported America.

Crack went the whips that drove the horses

Across the plains of America.

Free hands and slave hands,

Indentured hands, adventurous hands,

White hands and black hands

Held the plow handles,

Ax handles, hammer handles,

Launched the boats and whipped the horses

That fed and housed and moved America.

Thus together through labor,

All these hands made America.

Labor! Out of labor came villages

And the towns that grew cities.

Labor! Out of labor came the rowboats

And the sailboats and the steamboats,

Came the wagons, and the coaches,

Covered wagons, stage coaches,

Out of labor came the factories,

Came the foundries, came the railroads.

Came the marts and markets, shops and stores,

Came the mighty products moulded, manufactured,

Sold in shops, piled in warehouses,

Shipped the wide world over:

Out of labor-white hands and black hands-

Came the dream, the strength, the will,

And the way to build America.

Now it is Me here, and You there.

Now it's Manhattan, Chicago,

Seattle, New Orleans,

Boston and El Paso-

Now it's the U.S.A.

A long time ago, but not too long ago, a man said:

ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL--

ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATOR

WITH CERTAIN UNALIENABLE RIGHTS--

AMONG THESE LIFE, LIBERTY

AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.

His name was Jefferson. There were slaves then,

But in their hearts the slaves believed him, too,

And silently too for granted

That what he said was also meant for them.

It was a long time ago,

But not so long ago at that, Lincoln said:

NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH

TO GOVERN ANOTHER MAN

WITHOUT THAT OTHER'S CONSENT.

There were slaves then, too,

But in their hearts the slaves knew

What he said must be meant for every human being-

Else it had no meaning for anyone.

Then a man said:

BETTER TO DIE FREE

THAN TO LIVE SLAVES

He was a colored man who had been a slave

But had run away to freedom.

And the slaves knew

What Frederick Douglass said was true.

With John Brown at Harper's Ferry, Negroes died.

John Brown was hung.

Before the Civil War, days were dark,

And nobody knew for sure

When freedom would triumph

"Or if it would," thought some.

But others new it had to triumph.

In those dark days of slavery,

Guarding in their hearts the seed of freedom,

The slaves made up a song:

Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!

That song meant just what it said: Hold On!

Freedom will come!

Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!

Out of war it came, bloody and terrible!

But it came!

Some there were, as always,

Who doubted that the war would end right,

That the slaves would be free,

Or that the union would stand,

But now we know how it all came out.

Out of the darkest days for people and a nation,

We know now how it came out.

There was light when the battle clouds rolled away.

There was a great wooded land,

And men united as a nation.

America is a dream.

The poet says it was promises.

The people say it is promises-that will come true.

The people do not always say things out loud,

Nor write them down on paper.

The people often hold

Great thoughts in their deepest hearts

And sometimes only blunderingly express them,

Haltingly and stumblingly say them,

And faultily put them into practice.

The people do not always understand each other.

But there is, somewhere there,

Always the trying to understand,

And the trying to say,

"You are a man. Together we are building our land."

America!

Land created in common,

Dream nourished in common,

Keep your hand on the plow! Hold on!

If the house is not yet finished,

Don't be discouraged, builder!

If the fight is not yet won,

Don't be weary, soldier!

The plan and the pattern is here,

Woven from the beginning

Into the warp and woof of America:

ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL.

NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGH

TO GOVERN ANOTHER MAN

WITHOUT HIS CONSENT.

BETTER DIE FREE,

THAN TO LIVE SLAVES.

Who said those things? Americans!

Who owns those words? America!

Who is America? You, me!

We are America!

To the enemy who would conquer us from without,

We say, NO!

To the enemy who would divide

And conquer us from within,

We say, NO!

FREEDOM!

BROTHERHOOD!

DEMOCRACY!

To all the enemies of these great words:

We say, NO!

A long time ago,

An enslaved people heading toward freedom

Made up a song:

Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!

The plow plowed a new furrow

Across the field of history.

Into that furrow the freedom seed was dropped.

From that seed a tree grew, is growing, will ever grow.

That tree is for everybody,

For all America, for all the world.

May its branches spread and shelter grow

Until all races and all peoples know its shade.

KEEP YOUR HAND ON THE PLOW! HOLD ON!

Miracles

The Birds-nest  Sophie Gengembre Anderson

For Every Bird a Nest

by Emily Dickinson

For every Bird a Nest --
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round --

Wherefore when boughs are free --
Households in every tree --
Pilgrim be found?

Perhaps a home too high --
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires --

Perhaps of twig so fine --
Of twine e'en superfine,
Her pride aspires --

The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house --

Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?

Getting Some Air

Anemones and Chinese Vase  Henri Matisse

The Table and the Chair 

by Edward Lear
Said the table to the chair,
"You can scarcely be aware
How I suffer from the heat
And from blisters on my feet!
If we took a little walk
We might have a little talk.
Pray, let us take the air!"
Said the table to the chair.

Said the chair unto the table,
"Now you know we are not able!
How foolishly you talk
When you know we cannot walk!"
Said the table with a sigh,
"It can do no harm to try.
I've as many legs as you.
Why can't we walk on two?"

So they both went slowly down,
And walked about the town,
With a cheerful bumpy sound
As they toddled all around.
And everybody cried
As they ran up to their side
"See! The table and the chair
Have come out to take the air!"

But, in going down an alley,
To the castle, in the valley,
They completely lost their way
And they wandered all the day
‘Til, to see them safely back,
They paid a ducky-quack
And a beetle and a mouse
To take them to their house.

Then they whispered to each other
"Oh delightful little brother!
What a lovely walk we've taken!
Let us dine on beans and bacon!"
So the ducky and the little
Brownie-mousey and the beetle
Dined, and danced upon their heads,
‘Til they toddled to their beds.

Gold Fever

Lewes River  Charles Edwin Fripp

Men of the High North

by Robert W. Service 

Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing; 

Islands of opal float on silver seas; 

Swift splendors kindle, barbaric, amazing; 

Pale ports of amber, golden argosies. 

Ringed all around us the proud peaks are glowing; 

Fierce chiefs in council, their wigwam the sky; 

Far, far below us the big Yukon flowing, 

Like threaded quicksilver, gleams to the eye. 

Men of the High North, you who have known it; 

You in whose hearts its splendors have abode; 

Can you renounce it, can you disown it? 

Can you forget it, its glory and its goad? 

Where is the hardship, where is the pain of it?

Lost in the limbo of things you've forgot; 

Only remain the guerdon and gain of it; 

Zest of the foray, and God, how you fought! 

You who have made good, you foreign faring; 

You money magic to far lands has whirled; 

Can you forget those days of vast daring, 

There with your soul on the Top o' the World? 

Nights when no peril could keep you awake on 

Spruce boughs you spread for your couch in the snow; 

Taste all your feasts like the beans and the bacon 

Fried at the camp-fire at forty below? 

Can you remember your huskies all going, 

Barking with joy and their brushes in air; 

You in your parka, glad-eyed and glowing, 

Monarch, your subjects the wolf and the bear? 

Monarch, your kingdom unravisht and gleaming; 

Mountains your throne, and a river your car; 

Crash of a bull moose to rouse you from dreaming; 

Forest your couch, and your candle a star. 

You who this faint day the High North is luring 

Unto her vastness, taintlessly sweet; 

You who are steel-braced, straight-lipped, enduring, 

Dreadless in danger and dire in defeat: 

Honor the High North ever and ever, 

Whether she crown you, or whether she slay; 

Suffer her fury, cherish and love her-- 

He who would rule he must learn to obey. 

Men of the High North, fierce mountains love you; 

Proud rivers leap when you ride on their breast. 

See, the austere sky, pensive above you, 

Dons all her jewels to smile on your rest. 

Children of Freedom, scornful of frontiers, 

We who are weaklings honor your worth. 

 Lords of the wilderness, Princes of Pioneers, 

Let's have a rouse that will ring round the earth.

Love and Roses

Bouquet of Roses in a Vase  Pierre Augusta Renior

O My Luve's Like a Red, Red Rose

by Robert Burns

O my Luve's like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Luve's like the melodie

That’s sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I:

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:

I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve

And fare thee weel, a while!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

Off You Go

A Toy Boat   Alfred Bathurst Binning

Where Go the Boats?
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Dark brown is the river.
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating—
Where will all come home?

On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.

Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.

Decoration Day

A British Spitfire Downs an Enemy Plane  T. Cowill

And Irish Airman Foresees His Death

by William Butler Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

Anyone for Croquet

Croquet  James Tissot

Croquet

by Alice Guerin Crist

In a garden where the may made the straggling fences gay
And the roses cream and scarlet shed their petals on the breeze
Your maiden aunts and I, and you, demure and shy,
Played a sober game of croquet underneath the spreading trees.

Just beyond the garden wall we could hear the merry call
Of the tennis players yonder, flitting gaily in the sun,
But we recked not of their glee, for all too content were we,
And we weren’t flushed and heated when our quiet game was done.

What a picture sweet you made! As you rested in the shade,
Listening to my eager chatter with a glance of grave surprise;
Was it nectar, love, or tea that your white hands poured for me
In the dainty Wedgewood tea-cups that were bluer than your eyes?

Love I know not; this I know, that we parted years ago –
That our paths lie far asunder in the giddy whirl of life,
And the tender vows we made, underneath the spreading shade,
Are a memory half forgotten ‘mid the city’s toil and strife.

But when wearied by its din, by its ceaseless strife and sin,
My thoughts will wander backwards at the close of some long day,
Once again I see you stand with your mallet in your hand,
‘Twixt a nodding scarlet rose-bush and a hedge of snowy may.

And the scent of mignonette comes to haunt and thrill me yet
While your blue eyes light the distance with a half reproachful smile;
Love, it is the world sad way, just to worship for a day-
And I doubt if you remember, after all this weary while.

Of Knights and Ladies

The May Jaunt, from Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry
The Limbourg Brothers

Hunting Song

by Sir Walter Scott
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear,
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily mingle they—
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray;
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay—
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth and mirth and glee
Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Staunch as hound and fleet as hawk:
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay!

Gabrielle and Jean  Pierre-Auguste Renoir

Parental Recollections
by Charles Lamb

A child's a plaything for an hour;
Its pretty tricks we try
For that or for a longer space—
Then tire, and lay it by.

But I knew one that to itself
All seasons could control;
That would have mock’d the sense of pain
Out of a grievèd soul.

Thou straggler into loving arms,
Young climber-up of knees,
When I forget thy thousand ways
Then life and all shall cease.

Keeping On

Thankful Poor  Henry Ossawa Tanner

Mother to Son 

by Langston Hughes

Well, son, I'll tell you:

Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

It's had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor--”

Bare.

But all the time

I'se been a-climbin' on,

And reachin' landin's,

And turnin' corners,

And sometimes goin' in the dark

Where there ain't been no light.

So, boy, don't you turn back.

Don't you set down on the steps.

'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.

Don't you fall now--”

For I'se still goin', honey,

I'se still climbin',

And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.