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For Each Day
- Syracuse University Press
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174 | Uncollected and Other Poems The human spirit dwells Not only in the tongue that tells Of love, the eye we look through, or the hand; We’ve more than flesh at our command; The ax alone Is nearer human than our flesh and bone. The spade, the plow, the knife—slow social laws Evolved us there—our human teeth and claws Where speaks the organ or the violin—we dwell therein. Huge engines toll for us in silent ease—we are in these. The human body, grown from hand and brain— In it we grow again. (Woman’s Journal, 4 June 1904, 178) Pushing into the Days Pushing into the days— The little dark days that crowd so fast; Pushing the small days steadily on— This and that, with a careful hand, Quiet, unhurried, all of it counts. Stopping to drink at the evening’s end,— Beginning the day with a long, deep draught, Of the whole great purpose slow The whole—which we may not hope to see While we take hold of the present part— Yet part by part must the whole be won. (Woman’s Journal, 11 June 1904, 186) For Each Day For each day To pray New hold, new touch, to feel The swift broad current of the world’s great life; And so, Letting power out, to grow Ever the stronger. Smooth the living That feels the endless income smoothly flow, And pours as smoothly—giving, giving, giving. (Woman’s Journal, 18 June 1904, 194) Strange Lands Of all strange lands whose luring charms we own, Full of new knowledge and wind wonder sweet, ...