Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two
Try Again 'Tis a lesson you should heed
_Eugene J. Hall._
Try, Try Again
'Tis a lesson you should heed, Try, try again; If at first you don't succeed, Try, try again; Then your courage shall appear, For if you will persevere, You will conquer, never fear, Try, try again.
Once or twice though you should fail, Try, try again; If at last you would prevail, Try, try again; If we strive 'tis no disgrace Tho' we may not win the race, What should you do in that case? Try, try again.
If you find your task is hard, Try, try again; Time will bring you your reward, Try, try again; All that other folks can do, Why, with patience, may not you? Only keep this rule in view, Try, try again.
Ye say they all have passed away--that noble race and brave, That their light canoes have vanished from off the crested wave; That,'mid the forests where they roamed, there rings no hunter's shout, But their name is on your waters--ye may not wash it out.
'Tis where Ontario's billow like ocean's surge is curled, Where strong Niagara's
Ye say their cone-like cabins, that clustered o'er the vale, Have fled away like withered leaves, before the autumn's gale; But their memory liveth on your hills, their baptism on your shore, Your everlasting rivers speak their dialect of yore.
Old Massachusetts wears it upon her lordly crown, And broad Ohio bears it amid his young renown; Connecticut hath wreathed it where her quiet foliage waves, And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse through all her ancient caves.
Wachusett hides its lingering voice within his rocky heart, And Alleghany graves its tone throughout his lofty chart; Monadnock on his forehead hoar doth seal the sacred trust; Your mountains build their monument, though ye destroy their dust.
Ye call those red-browed brethren the insects of an hour, Crushed like the noteless worm amid the regions of their power; Ye drive them from their fathers' lands, ye break of faith the seal, But can ye from the court of heaven exclude their last appeal?
Ye see their unresisting tribes, with toilsome steps and slow, On through the trackless desert pass, a caravan of woe. Think ye the Eternal Ear is deaf? His sleepless vision dim? Think ye the soul's blood may not cry from that far land to Him?