Joaquin Miller Quotes

Is it worthwhile that we jostle a brother, Bearing his load on the rough road of life? Is it worthwhile that we jeer at each other, In blackness of heart — that we war to the knife? God pity us all in our pitiful strife.

Behold this sea, that sapphire sky! Where nature does so much for man, Shall man not set his standard high, And hold some higher, holier plan? Some loftier plan than ever planned By outworn book of outworn land? Where God has done so much for man, Shall man for God do aught at all? The soul that feeds on books alone — I count that soul exceeding small That lives alone by book and creed,— A soul that has not learned to read.

In men whom men condemn as ill I find so much of goodness still. In men whom men pronounce divine I find so much of sin and blot I hesitate to draw a line Between the two, where God has not.

I count the columned waves at war With Titan elements; and they, In martial splendor, storm the bar And shake the world, these bits of spray.

Where storm-born shadows hide and hunt I knew thee, in thy glorious youth, And loved thy vast face, white as truth; I stood where thunderbolts were wont To smite thy Titan-fashioned front, And heard dark mountains rock and roll; I saw the lightning's gleaming rod Reach forth and write on heaven's scroll The awful autograph of God!

A thousand miles of mighty wood Where thunder-storms stride fire-shod; A thousand flowers every rod, A stately tree on every rood; Ten thousand leaves on every tree, And each a miracle to me; And yet there be men who question God!

These stony altars they have hurled Oppression back, have kept the boon Of liberty. Behold, how free The mountains stand, and eternally.

A face that lifted up; sweet face That was so like a life begun, That rose for me a rising sun Above the bended seven hills Of dead and risen old new Rome. Not that I deem'd she loved me. Nay, I dared not even dream of that. I only say I knew her; say She ever sat before me, sat All still and voiceless as love is, And ever look'd so fair, divine, Her hush'd, vehement soul fill'd mine, And overflowed with Runic bliss, And made itself a part of this.

We plant this stone as some small seed Is sown at springtime, warm with earth; We sow this seed as some good deed Is sown, to grow until its worth Shall grow, through rugged steeps of time, To touch the God-built stars sublime.

This creature comes from out the dim Far centuries, beyond the rim Of time's remotest reach or stir.

Lo! all things moving must go by. The sea lies dead. Behold, this land Sits desolate in dust beside His snow-white, seamless shroud of sand; The very clouds have wept and died, And only God is in the sky.

Rugged! Rugged as Parnassus! Rude, as all roads I have trod — Yet are steeps and stone-strown passes Smooth o'er head, and nearest God. Here black thunders of my canyon Shake its walls in Titan wars! Here white sea-born clouds companion With such peaks as know the stars!

O you had loved her sitting there, Half hidden in her loosen'd hair: Why, you had loved her for her eyes, Their large and melancholy look Of tenderness, and well mistook Their love for light of Paradise.

The mountains from that fearful first Named day were God's own house. Behold, 'Twas here dread Sinai's thunders burst And showed His face. 'Twas here of old His prophets dwelt. Lo, it was here The Christ did come when death drew near.

O star-built bridge, broad milky way! O star-lit, stately, splendid span! If but one star should cease to stay And prop its shoulders to God's plan — The man who lives for self, I say, He lives for neither God nor man.