God, what a world, if men in street and mart,
Felt that same kinship of the human heart,
Which makes them, in the face of fire and flood,
Rise to the meaning of True Brotherhood.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Your Brother Has A Falcon

Your brother has a falcon,
Your sister has a flower;
But what is left for mannikin,
Born within a hour?
I'll nurse you on my knee, my knee,
My own little son;
I'll rock you, rock you, in my arms,
My least little one.

by Christina Georgina Rossetti.

His Brother’s Keeper

By his paths through the parched desolation,
Hot rides and the terrible tramps;
By the hunger, the thirst, the privation
Of his work in the further most camps.

By his worth in the light that shall search men
And prove – ay! And justify each –
I place him in front of all churchmen
Who feel not, who know not – but preach!

by Henry Lawson.

Catullus At His Brother’s Grave

Through many lands and over many seas
I come, my Brother, to thine obsequies,
To pay thee the last honours that remain,
And call upon thy voiceless dust, in vain.
Since cruel fate has robbed me even of thee,
Unhappy Brother, snatched away from me,
Now none the less the gifts our fathers gave,
The melancholy honours of the grave,
Wet with my tears I bring to thee, and say
Farewell! farewell! for ever and a day.

by Robert Fuller Murray.

Hey Brother, Why Do You Want Me To Talk?

Hey brother, why do you want me to talk?
Talk and talk and the real things get lost.

Talk and talk and things get out of hand.
Why not stop talking and think?

If you meet someone good, listen a little, speak;
If you meet someone bad, clench up like a fist.

Talking with a wise man is a great reward.
Talking with a fool? A waste.

Kabir says: A pot makes noise if it's half full,
But fill it to the brim - no sound.

by Kabir.

Song From The Second Brother

STREW not earth with empty stars,
Strew it not with roses,
Nor feathers from the crest of Mars,
Nor summer's idle posies.
'Tis not the primrose-sandalled moon,
Nor cold and silent morn,
Nor he that climbs the dusty noon,
Nor mower war with scythe that drops,
Stuck with helmed and turbaned tops
Of enemies new shorn.

Ye cups, ye lyres, ye trumpets know,
Pour your music, let it flow,
'Tis Bacchus' son who walks below.

by Thomas Lovell Beddoes.

On The Burial Of His Brother

BY ways remote and distant waters sped,
Brother, to thy sad graveside am I come,
That I may give the last gifts to the dead,
And vainly parley with thine ashes dumb;
Since She who now bestows and denies
Hath ta'en thee, hapless brother from mine eyes.
But lo! these gifts, the heirlooms of past years,
Are made sad things to grace thy coffin-shell;
Take them, all drenchèd with a brother's tears,
And, brother, for all time, hail and farewell.

by Gaius Valerius Catullus.

Tell Me Brother

Tell me, Brother, how can I renounce Maya?
When I gave up the tying of ribbons, still I tied my garment about me:
When I gave up tying my garment, still I covered my body in its folds.
So, when I give up passion, I see that anger remains;
And when I renounce anger, greed is with me still;
And when greed is vanquished, pride and vainglory remain;
When the mind is detached and casts Maya away, still it clings to the letter.
Kabîr says, 'Listen to me, dear Sadhu! the true path is rarely found.'

by Kabir.

The crest and crowning of all good,
Life's final star, is brotherhood;
For it will bring again to Earth
Her long-lost Poesy and Mirth;
Will send new light on every face,
A kingly power upon the race.
And till it come, we men are slaves,
And travel downward to the dust of graves.
Come, clear the way, then, clear the way;
Blind creeds and kings have had their day;
Break the dead branches from the path;
Our Hope is in the aftermath-
Our hope is in heroic men
Star-led to build the world again.
Make way for brotherhood- make way for Man!

by Edwin Markham.

Brother, I'Ve Seen Some

Brother, I've seen some
Astonishing sights:
A lion keeping watch
Over pasturing cows;
A mother delivered
After her son was;
A guru prostrated
Before his disciple;
Fish spawning
On treetops;
A cat carrying away
A dog;
A gunny-sack
Driving a bullock-cart;
A buffalo going out to graze,
Sitting on a horse;
A tree with its branches in the earth,
Its roots in the sky;
A tree with flowering roots.

This verse, says Kabir,
Is your key to the universe.
If you can figure it out.

by Kabir.

Tell Me, Brother, What Happens After Death?

Tell me, brother, what happens after death?
The whole world is arguing about it --
Some say you become a ghost,
Others that you go to heaven,
And some that you get close to God,
And the Vedas insist you're a bit of sky
Reflected in a jar fated to shatter.

When you look for sin and virtue in nothing,
You end up with nothing.
The elements live in the body together
But go their own ways at death.

Prasad says: you end, brother,
Where you began, a reflection
Rising in water, mixing with water,
Finally one with water.

[Translated by Leonard Nathan and Clinton Seely]

by Ramprasad Sen.

O My Brother, You Must Not Die

O my young brother, I cry for you
Don't you understand you must not die!
You who were born the last of all
Command a special store of parents' love
Would parents place a blade in children's hands
Teaching them to murder other men
Teaching them to kill and then to die?
Have you so learned and grown to twenty-four?

O my brother, you must not die!
Could it be the Emperor His Grace
Exposeth not to jeopardy of war
But urgeth men to spilling human blood
And dying in the way of wild beasts,
Calling such death the path to glory?
If His Grace possesseth noble heart
What must be the thoughts that linger there?

by Akiko Yosano.

To My Brother, Basil E. Kendall

TO-NIGHT the sea sends up a gulf-like sound,
And ancient rhymes are ringing in my head,
The many lilts of song we sang and said,
My friend and brother, when we journeyed round
Our haunts at Wollongong, that classic ground
For me at least, a lingerer deeply read
And steeped in beauty. Oft in trance I tread
Those shining shores, and hear your talk of Fame
With thought-flushed face and heart so well assured
(Beholding through the woodland’s bright distress
The Moon half pillaged of her loveliness)
Of this wild dreamer: Had you but endured
A dubious dark, you might have won a name
With brighter bays than I can ever claim.

by Henry Kendall.

Sonnet I. To My Brother George

Many the wonders I this day have seen:
The sun, when first he kissed away the tears
That filled the eyes of Morn;—the laurelled peers
Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;—
The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears
Must think on what will be, and what has been.
E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
And she her half-discovered revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

by John Keats.

To My Brother George

Many the wonders I this day have seen:
The sun, when first he kissed away the tears
That filled the eyes of Morn;—the laurelled peers
Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;—
The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears
Must think on what will be, and what has been.
E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
And she her half-discovered revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

by John Keats.

Sonnet 83: Good, Brother Philip

Good, brother Philip, I have borne you long.
I was content you should in favor creep,
While craftily you seem'd your cut to keep,
As though that fair soft hand did you great wrong.

I bare (with envy) yet I bare your song,
When in her neck you did love ditties peep;
Nay, more fool I, oft suffer'd you to sleep
In lilies' nest, where Love's self lies along.

What, doth high place ambitious thoughts augment?
Is sauciness reward of courtesy?
Cannot such grace your silly self content,

But you must needs with those lips billing be?
And through those lips drink nectar from that tongue?
Leave that, Sir Phip, lest off your neck be wrung.

by Sir Philip Sidney.

Death And His Brother Sleep (‘morphine’)

There’s a mirror likeness between those two
shining, youthfully-fledged figures, though
one seems paler than the other and more austere,
I might even say more perfect, more distinguished,
than he, who would take me confidingly in his arms –
how soft then and loving his smile, how blessed his glance!
Then, it might well have been that his wreath
of white poppies gently touched my forehead, at times,
and drove the pain from my mind with its strange scent.
But that is transient. I can only, now, be well,
when the other one, so serious and pale,
the older brother, lowers his dark torch. –
Sleep is so good, Death is better, yet
surely never to have been born is best.

by Heinrich Heine.

Krishna Complains About His Older Brother

O mother mine, Dau (Balram)forever teases me.
you never gave birth to me,
and I was bought in the market.
this is what he tells me
o mother mihne, Dau forever teases me.
fed up of his teasing ways,
I don't go out to play.
who is your mother?
and who is your father?
again and again he says.
Yasoda's fair, so also Nanda,
how come you're so dark?
Dau provokes, the gopas laugh,
and all have such a lark.
me, mother, you want to beat,
but Dau you never even scold,
seeing the anger on Mohan's face
Yasoda's joy was untold,
listen Kanha, Balbhadra is naughty,
wicked from his birth,
you're my son, and I your mother,
I swear by mother cows worth!

by Sant Surdas.

Poem To Luminous Brother

To birds and to poets the Lord all their sustenance gives:
I dont reap or sow, but for a second year I exist.
And for kind song-poems the people whore also kind
Will forgive your errors and sins, too, if any they find.
Who needs the art now? Who needs it - I do not know,
But to me its air, and I keep singing so.
And radiant someone - not Russian, Estonian - stranger -
An angel of God? Follows me and protects me from danger.
In art he believes, and to me he is brimming with love:
'Be yourself, poet: Sing all your songs, stay alive!'
And like a poor bird, poet is glad of alms in his plight...
O luminous brother, I sing you with song of delight!

by Igor Severyanin.

To My Brother Miguel In Memoriam

Brother, today I sit on the brick bench of the house,
where you make a bottomless emptiness.
I remember we used to play at this hour, and mama
caressed us: "But, sons..."

Now I go hide
as before, from all evening
lectures, and I trust you not to give me away.
Through the parlor, the vestibule, the corridors.
Later, you hide, and I do not give you away.
I remember we made ourselves cry,
brother, from so much laughing.

Miguel, you went into hiding
one night in August, toward dawn,
but, instead of chuckling, you were sad.
And the twin heart of those dead evenings
grew annoyed at not finding you. And now
a shadow falls on my soul.

Listen, brother, don't be late
coming out. All right? Mama might worry.

by Cesar Vallejo.

Paris's Second Judgement, Upon The Three Daughters Of My Dear Brother Mr. R. Caesar.

Behold! three sister-wonders, in whom met,
Distinct and chast, the splendrous counterfeit
Of Juno, Venus and the warlike Maid,
Each in their three divinities array'd;
The majesty and state of Heav'ns great Queen,
And when she treats the gods, her noble meen;
The sweet victorious beauties and desires
O' th' sea-born princess, empresse too of fires;
The sacred arts and glorious lawrels torn
From the fair brow o' th' goddesse father-born;
All these were quarter'd in each snowy coat,
With canton'd honours of their own, to boot.
Paris, by fate new-wak'd from his dead cell,
Is charg'd to give his doom impossible.
He views in each the brav'ry of all Ide;
Whilst one, as once three, doth his soul divide.
Then sighs so equally they're glorious all:
WHAT PITY THE WHOLE WORLD IS BUT ONE BALL!

by Richard Lovelace.

The Little Brother

O brother, brother, come down to the crags by the bay,
Come down to the caves where I play;
For oh! I saw on the rocks, asleep,
A fair mermaid, and the slow waves creep
To bear her away, away.
O brother, brother, come quick, till you laugh with me,
For no mermaid so fair is she,
But the little lass that I saw last night,
(I hid in the shade, you stood in the light),
And she weeping most bitterly.
O brother, brother, I watched her the live-long day,
Saw her hair grow jewelled with spray;
Once her cheek was brushed by a gull's wet wing,
And a finch flew down on her hand to sing,
And was not afraid to stay.
O brother, brother, will she soon awakened be?
I would she might laugh now with me.
She sleeps, and the world so full of sound—
She's so deaf, like the dead that are under the ground,
That I laugh and laugh to see.

by Dora Sigerson Shorter.

It's difficult to live, my brother,
among such thick-skulled blunderheads;
the fires of my youth are smothered,
my heart is torn to bitter shreds.
I love the land where I was born
and I protect its ancient wealth,
yet when I show these oafs my scorn
I bring destruction to myself.
Dreams of darkness, thoughts of storm,
have nailed my young soul to the cross.
O, who will place a friendly hand
upon my heart in its distress?
No one, no one. Freedom, joy
neither does it recognize;
yet it passionately joins
its answer to a people's cries.
Brother, I shed tears in secret
where anguished people are interred;
but, tell me, what should I respect
upon this dead, insidious earth?
Nothing, nothing. To a frank
and upright voice there's no reply,
and your soul, too, does not react
to the voice of God - a people's cry.

by Hristo Botev.

To His Deare Brother Colonel F. L. Immoderately Mourning My Brothers Untimely Death At Carmarthen

I.
If teares could wash the ill away,
A pearle for each wet bead I'd pay;
But as dew'd corne the fuller growes,
So water'd eyes but swell our woes.

II.
One drop another cals, which still
(Griefe adding fuell) doth distill;
Too fruitfull of her selfe is anguish,
We need no cherishing to languish.

III.
Coward fate degen'rate man
Like little children uses, when
He whips us first, untill we weepe,
Then, 'cause we still a weeping keepe.

IV.
Then from thy firme selfe never swerve;
Teares fat the griefe that they should sterve;
Iron decrees of destinie
Are ner'e wipe't out with a wet eye.

V.
But this way you may gaine the field,
Oppose but sorrow, and 'twill yield;
One gallant thorough-made resolve
Doth starry influence dissolve.

by Richard Lovelace.

To His Dying Brother, Master William Herrick

Life of my life, take not so soon thy flight,
But stay the time till we have bade good-night.
Thou hast both wind and tide with thee; thy way
As soon dispatch'd is by the night as day.
Let us not then so rudely henceforth go
Till we have wept, kiss'd, sigh'd, shook hands, or so.
There's pain in parting, and a kind of hell
When once true lovers take their last farewell.
What? shall we two our endless leaves take here
Without a sad look, or a solemn tear?
He knows not love that hath not this truth proved,
Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved.
Pay we our vows and go; yet when we part,
Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart
Into thy loving hands; for I'll keep none
To warm my breast, when thou, my pulse, art gone,
No, here I'll last, and walk, a harmless shade,
About this urn, wherein thy dust is laid,
To guard it so, as nothing here shall be
Heavy, to hurt those sacred seeds of thee.

by Robert Herrick.

Brother And Sister

"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
Thus the prudent brother said.

"Do you want a battered hide,
Or scratches to your face applied?"
Thus his sister calm replied.

"Sister, do not raise my wrath.
I'd make you into mutton broth
As easily as kill a moth"

The sister raised her beaming eye
And looked on him indignantly
And sternly answered, "Only try!"

Off to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To me as quickly as you can."

And wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I wish to make an Irish stew."

"What meat is in that stew to go?"
"My sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"

Moral: Never stew your sister.

by Lewis Carroll.

My Friend, My Brother

NOT as it seems, friend, brother, is my life,
For I have coveted my neighbour's wife,
His ox, his ass. And you the woman know
Whom I do covet in my soul's shadow.

Sometimes I wish that God would trouble send
To cross the even tenor of your days.
I curse myself for this, but, brother, friend,
Your generous heart knows not my evil ways.

And you have often succoured my distress,
And warded from my head fate's hardest hits.
But, brother, friend, the heart that ought to bless
Chafes at the burden of your benefits.

Yet if misfortune came, some day or other,
My heart, my vicious heart, content at length,
Would draw, it may be, from its depths the strength
To make your sorrow mine, my friend, my brother.

But you were born under a star that bids
No evil chance or sorrow you betide.
And, friend and brother, always I shall hide
My eyes' cold flashing under drooped eye-lids.

translated by Jethro Bithell

by Alfred Mortier.

Oddfellowship In Ingersoll

We look in vain for our past grands,
Now scattered over many lands ;
For some o'er the wide world doth rove,
And some have joined Grand Lodge above.
But ever since Father Adam's fall
We are dependent creatures all.
Though man is weak yet he may join
With others, strength for to combine-
A single rod is easily broken,
Bundle is of strength the token.

The illustration, it was grand
Which was given by Reverend Bland,
Five Oddfellows all in one hand
And yet they all united stand,
Each finger hath a different length
Each finger varies in its strength.
Each one is weak, but a firm fist
You can scarcely break or twist.
Tis same with members of a Lodge,
United, them you cannot budge.

Then let us, linked with friendly chain,
Friendship, love and truth maintain,
And aid our brothers in distress,
The widows and the orphans bless ;
Then let each Lodge strive all it can,
Both Oxford and Samaritan,
To aid distressed brother man ;
Extending influence for good
And universal brotherhood.

by James McIntyre.

“I thank my god for brother wind,”
So prayed St. Francis long ago
In words of simple, joyous praise,
That fill my heart with sudden glow
As-braced by winter’s icy draught-
With singing soul, and strengthened mind,
I humbly join the good Saint’s prayer
Thank my God for “Brother Wind.”

For Brother Wind, who, whispering soft
Brings subtlest perfume on his wings,
The violet scent of childhood days,
The lost delight in simple things;
For Brother wind, who whistling keen
O’er open plain and storm-scarred hill,
Cleanses from mind, and heart, and brain,
All thoughts of wrong, and ancient ill.

Who wafts from scarce-stirred lily beds
Incense of early purity,
Or wakes to life our laggard souls
With stinging fragrance of the sea.

Echoes of Heaven, far-off and faint
For weary heart and tired mind,
Sweet long-lost memories, old and quaint-
These are the gifts of Brother Wind.

Ah! Dear St. Francis, let me kneel
Before thy shrine with joyous mind
Joining my humble, grateful prayer,
Thanking our God for Brother Wind.

by Alice Guerin Crist.

Fine men have walked this way before,
Whatever Lodge your Lodge may be;
Whoever stands before the door,
The sacred arch of Masonry,
Stands where the wise, the great, the good,
In their own time and place have stood.

You are not Brother just with these,
Your friends and neighbors; you are kin
With Masons down the centuries;
This room that now you enter in
Has felt the tread of many feet,
For here all Masonry you meet.

You walk the path the great have trod,
The great in heart, the great in mind,
Who looked through Masonry to God,
And looked through God to all mankind
Learned more than word or sign or grip,
Learned Man's and God's relationship.

To him who sees, who understands,
How mighty Masonry appears!
A Brotherhood of many lands,
A fellowship of many years,
A Brotherhood so great, so vast,
Of all the Craft of all the past.

And so I say a sacred trust
Is yours to share, is yours to keep;
I hear the voice of men of dust,
I hear the step of men asleep;
And down the endless future, too,
Your own shall echo after you.

by Douglas Malloch.

What Says The Sea, Little Shell

"What says the sea, little shell?
What says the sea?
Long has our brother been silent to us,
Kept his message for the ships,
Awkward ships, stupid ships."

"The sea bids you mourn, O Pines,
Sing low in the moonlight.
He sends tale of the land of doom,
Of place where endless falls
A rain of women's tears,
And men in grey robes --
Men in grey robes --
Chant the unknown pain."

"What says the sea, little shell?
What says the sea?
Long has our brother been silent to us,
Kept his message for the ships,
Puny ships, silly ships."

"The sea bids you teach, O Pines,
Sing low in the moonlight;
Teach the gold of patience,
Cry gospel of gentle hands,
Cry a brotherhood of hearts.
The sea bids you teach, O Pines."

"And where is the reward, little shell?
What says the sea?
Long has our brother been silent to us,
Kept his message for the ships,
Puny ships, silly ships."

"No word says the sea, O Pines,
No word says the sea.
Long will your brother be silent to you,
Keep his message for the ships,
O puny pines, silly pines."

by Stephen Crane.

The Lame Brother

My parents sleep both in one grave;
My only friend's a brother.
The dearest things upon the earth
We are to one another.


A fine stout boy I knew him once,
With active form and limb;
Whene'er he leaped, or jumped, or ran,
O I was proud of him!


He leaped too far, he got a hurt,
He now does limping go.-
When I think on his active days,
My heart is full of woe.


He leans on me, when we to school
Do every morning walk;
I cheer him on his weary way,
He loves to hear my talk:


The theme of which is mostly this,
What things he once could do.
He listens pleased-then sadly says,
'Sister, I lean on you.'


Then I reply, 'Indeed you're not
Scarce any weight at all.-
And let us now still younger years
To memory recall.


'Led by your little elder hand,
I learned to walk alone;
Careful you used to be of me,
My little brother John.


'How often, when my young feet tired,
You've carried me a mile!-
And still together we can sit,
And rest a little while.


'For our kind master never minds,
If we're the very last;
He bids us never tire ourselves
With walking on too fast.'

by Charles Lamb.

A Friend That Sticketh Closer Than A Brother

One there is, above all others,
Well deserves the name of friend;
His is love beyond a brother's,
Costly, free, and knows no end:
They who once his kindness prove,
Find it everlasting love!

Which of all our friends to save us,
Could or would have shed their blood?
But our Jesus died to have us
Reconciled, in him to God:
This was boundless love indeed!
Jesus is a friend in need.

Men, when raised to lofty stations,
Often know their friends no more;
Slight and scorn their poor relations
Though they valued them before.
But our Saviour always owns
Those whom he redeemed with groans.

When he lived on earth abased,
Friend of sinners was his name;
Now, above all glory raised,
He rejoices in the same:
Still he calls them brethren, friends,
And to all their wants attends.

Could we bear from one another,
What he daily bears from us?
Yet this glorious Friend and Brother,
Loves us though we treat him thus:
Though for good we render ill,
He accounts us brethren still.

O for grace our hearts to soften!
Teach us, Lord, at length to love;
We, alas! forget too often,
What a Friend we have above:
But when home our souls are brought,
We will love thee as we ought.

by John Newton.

The Sermon Of St. Francis. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth)

Up soared the lark into the air,
A shaft of song, a wingéd prayer,
As if a soul released from pain
Were flying back to heaven again.

St. Francis heard: it was to him
An emblem of the Seraphim;
The upward motion of the fire,
The light, the heat, the heart's desire.

Around Assisi's convent gate
The birds, God's poor who cannot wait,
From moor and mere and darksome wood
Come flocking for their dole of food.

'O brother birds,' St. Francis said,
'Ye come to me and ask for bread,
But not with bread alone to-day
Shall ye be fed and sent away.

'Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds,
With manna of celestial words;
Not mine, though mine they seem to be,
Not mine, though they be spoken through me.

'Oh, doubly are ye bound to praise
The great Creator in your lays;
He giveth you your plumes of down,
Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown.

'He giveth you your wings to fly
And breathe a purer air on high,
And careth for you everywhere,
Who for yourselves so little care!'

With flutter of swift wings and songs
Together rose the feathered throngs,
And singing scattered far apart;
Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart.

He knew not if the brotherhood
His homily had understood;
He only knew that to one ear
The meaning of his words was clear.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

TWILIGHT, a blossom grey in shadowy valleys dwells:
Under the radiant dark the deep blue-tinted bells
In quietness reïmage heaven within their blooms,
Sapphire and gold and mystery. What strange perfumes,
Out of what deeps arising, all the flower-bells fling,
Unknowing the enchanted odorous song they sing!
Oh, never was an eve so living yet: the wood
Stirs not but breathes enraptured quietude.
Here in these shades the ancient knows itself, the soul,
And out of slumber waking starts unto the goal.
What bright companions nod and go along with it!
Out of the teeming dark what dusky creatures flit,
That through the long leagues of the island night above
Come by me, wandering, whispering, beseeching love;
As in the twilight children gather close and press
Nigh and more nigh with shadowy tenderness,
Feeling they know not what, with noiseless footsteps glide
Seeking familiar lips or hearts to dream beside.
O voices, I would go with you, with you, away,
Facing once more the radiant gateways of the day;
With you, with you, what memories arise, and nigh
Trampling the crowded figures of the dawn go by
Dread deities, the giant powers that warred on men
Grow tender brothers and gay children once again;
Fades every hate away before the Mother’s breast
Where all the exiles of the heart return to rest.

by George William Russell.

Stay here!… The sun that shines in a foreign place,
Will never warm you like the sun in your own;
The bread has a bitter taste there
Where one has no one, not even a brother.

Who would find a better mother than one's own,
And your mother is this country;
Take a look upon the limestones and the field,
Everywhere are the graveyards of your great-grandfathers.

For this country they were noble giants,
Lights who knew how to defend it,
You, too, should stay in this country,
And give the fund of your blood for it.

As a deserted bough, when the autumn winds
Tear its leaves and slash it with ice;
Your motherland would be without you,
Like a mother crying for her child.

Do not let tears run down her face,
Return to it in the world's embrace;
Live in order to be able to die
On its battlefield where glory comes to greet you!

Everybody knows and loves you here,
And nobody will recognize you there;
Even the barren limestones are better here
Than the flowers in the fields of a foreign place.

Everybody shakes your fraternal hand here -
In the foreign land, wormwood blooms for you;
For us, amongst the limestones, everything connects:
Name, language, brotherhood, and holy blood.

Stay here!… The sun that shines in a foreign place
Will never warm you like the sun in your own -
The bread has a bitter taste there
Where one has no one, not even a brother…

by Aleksa Santic.

'Bobbie' For Brotherhood

Lang syne I penned a mickle rhyme
That muckle grief brocht to my soul;
For critics said 'twas aye a crime
Nae Scottish patriot could thole
Whit way I ca'ed their honored bard,
Wi' kind intention, 'Bobbie' Burns.
Aye, mon, they smote me fine an' hard
Wi' sic' fierce words as nae yin learns
Save native sons, those braw, stern men
O' mountain crag an' heather glen.

Misdoubtin' whit my critics said,
An' sair distressed aboot my plight,
A notion cam' intil my head
To haud a Scottish plebiscite.
Forbye I passed frae Scot to Scot
Spierin' whit way they named their bard,
An' aye the same reply I got
Wi'out dispute in sic' regard;
For ilka mon gie'd answer straight
Wi' ne'er a thocht tae heesitate.

A mon frae Glasea first I speired,
A humble an' unlettered loon,
An' then a scholar, red o' beard,
That cam' from Edinburgh toon;
A Hielan' chief, a rowan' chiel,
Men oot o' Leith an' Aberdeen,
Tae ane an' a' I made appeal,
Tae gowk an' greybeard, wife an' wean,
An' a', wi' unanimity
The selfsame answer gi'ed tae me.

An 'twas na' Robert, Rab or Rob
They ca'ed yon braw, poetic yin
That wakes in Scottish hearts a throb
Wi' words that mak' the whole world kin.
They named him 'Bobbie' wi'out shame,
As Bobbie he will ever be
To sic' as scorn to clothe his name
Wi' smug respectabeelity.
To humble hearts his songs defend
Beloved Bobbie, brither, friend.

by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis.

To My Brother James

James, 'tis full time for me to write
Some rhymes to you in earnest quite.
I've promised long, and now I'll try
My promise to fulfill, and why?
Because you have a claim on me
Which, when paid off, will set me free,
To run awhile again in debt,
Which in its turn shall sure be met.
But this is trifling, you may say.
Perhaps it is, but trifles may
Effect some good; they often do,
And quite as often please us, too.
Who's free from trifling? I would ask.
To find out one would prove a task.
But then I candidly confess
That we should surely trifle less.
Well, let me see; can any theme
Be started? Yes, I had a dream [FOOTNOTE: Fact.]
The other night. Both you and I
Were standing on a hill so high,
And soon there came a mighty stream
Which did not leave of hope a gleam.
But suddenly a plank we found,
That brought us safely to dry ground.
Then I awoke devoid of fear,
And you the Moral true shall hear.

All mortals now are sailing down
The stream of time, as you must own;
And waters roar, and dash, and foam.
Then say-how shall we reach our home?
There is a plank, as we have seen,
And it is safe, most safe, I ween.
'Tis in the Gospel clearly shown,
'Tis by all Christians fully known.
We have its merits long since tried,
And glory in the Lamb who died.
Then let us prize it as we ought,
And serve him who our souls has bought.
For surely this our duty is
If we would reach eternal bliss.

by Thomas Cowherd.

To A Gentleman And Lady On The Death Of The Lady's Brother And Sister, And A Child Of The Name Of Avis, Aged One Year

ON Death's domain intent I fix my eyes,
Where human nature in vast ruin lies:
With pensive mind I search the drear abode,
Where the great conqu'ror has his spoils bestow'd;
There there the offspring of six thousand years
In endless numbers to my view appears:
Whole kingdoms in his gloomy den are thrust,
And nations mix with their primeval dust:
Insatiate still he gluts the ample tomb;
His is the present, his the age to come.
See here a brother, here a sister spread,
And a sweet daughter mingled with the dead.
But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,
And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd,
In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain,
Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal shore.
The glowing stars and silver queen of light
At last must perish in the gloom of night:
Resign thy friends to that Almighty hand,
Which gave them life, and bow to his command;
Thine Avis give without a murm'ring heart,
Though half thy soul be fated to depart.
To shining guards consign thine infant care
To waft triumphant through the seas of air:
Her soul enlarg'd to heav'nly pleasure springs,
She feeds on truth and uncreated things.
Methinks I hear her in the realms above,
And leaning forward with a filial love,
Invite you there to share immortal bliss
Unknown, untasted in a state like this.
With tow'ring hopes, and growing grace arise,
And seek beatitude beyond the skies.

by Phillis Wheatley.

Brother And Sister

The shorn moon trembling indistinct on her path,
Frail as a scar upon the pale blue sky,
Draws towards the downward slope: some sorrow hath
Worn her down to the quick, so she faintly fares
Along her foot-searched way without knowing why
She creeps persistent down the sky’s long stairs.

Some day they see, though I have never seen,
The dead moon heaped within the new moon’s arms;
For surely the fragile, fine young thing had been
Too heavily burdened to mount the heavens so.
But my heart stands still, as a new, strong dread alarms
Me; might a young girl be heaped with such shadow of woe?

Since Death from the mother moon has pared us down to the quick,
And cast us forth like shorn, thin moons, to travel
An uncharted way among the myriad thick
Strewn stars of silent people, and luminous litter
Of lives which sorrows like mischievous dark mice chavel
To nought, diminishing each star’s glitter,

Since Death has delivered us utterly, naked and white,
Since the month of childhood is over, and we stand alone,
Since the beloved, faded moon that set us alight
Is delivered from us and pays no heed though we moan
In sorrow, since we stand in bewilderment, strange
And fearful to sally forth down the sky’s long range.

We may not cry to her still to sustain us here,
We may not hold her shadow back from the dark.
Oh, let us here forget, let us take the sheer
Unknown that lies before us, bearing the ark
Of the covenant onwards where she cannot go.
Let us rise and leave her now, she will never know.

by David Herbert Lawrence.