Spirit of the Everlasting Boy

[WordWolf]

[Here's a poem by Henry Van Dyke, called

"Spirit of the Everlasting Boy."

You might find part of it familiar.]

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ODE FOR THE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF LAWRENCEVILLE SCHOOL

June 11, 1910

I

The British bard who looked on Eton's walls,

Endeared by distance in the pearly gray

And soft aerial blue that ever falls

On English landscape with the dying day,

Beheld in thought his boyhood far away,

Its random raptures and its festivals

Of noisy mirth,

The brief illusion of its idle joys,

And mourned that none of these can stay

With men, whom life inexorably calls

To face the grim realities of earth.

His pensive fancy pictured there at play

From year to year the careless bands of boys,

Unconscious victims kept in golden state,

While haply they await

The dark approach of disenchanting Fate,

To hale them to the sacrifice

Of Pain and Penury and Grief and Care,

Slow-withering Age, or Failure's swift despair.

Half-pity and half-envy dimmed the eyes

Of that old poet, gazing on the scene

Where long ago his youth had flowed serene,

And all the burden of his ode was this:

"Where ignorance is bliss,

'Tis folly to be wise."

II

But not for us, O plaintive elegist,

Thine epicedial tone of sad farewell

To joy in wisdom and to thought in youth!

Our western Muse would keep her tryst

With sunrise, not with sunset, and foretell

In boyhood's bliss the dawn of manhood's truth.

III

O spirit of the everlasting boy,

Alert, elate,

And confident that life is good,

Thou knockest boldly at the gate,

In hopeful hardihood,

Eager to enter and enjoy

Thy new estate.

Through the old house thou runnest everywhere,

Bringing a breath of folly and fresh air.

Ready to make a treasure of each toy,

Or break them all in discontented mood;

Fearless of Fate,

Yet strangely fearful of a comrade's laugh;

Reckless and timid, hard and sensitive;

In talk a rebel, full of mocking chaff,

At heart devout conservative;

In love with love, yet hating to be kissed;

Inveterate optimist,

And judge severe,

In reason cloudy but in feeling clear;

Keen critic, ardent hero-worshipper,

Impatient of restraint in little ways,

Yet ever ready to confer

On chosen leaders boundless power and praise;

Adventurous spirit burning to explore

Untrodden paths where hidden danger lies,

And homesick heart looking with wistful eyes

Through every twilight to a mother's door;

Thou daring, darling, inconsistent boy,

How dull the world would be

Without thy presence, dear barbarian,

And happy lord of high futurity!

Be what thou art, our trouble and our joy,

Our hardest problem and our brightest hope!

And while thine elders lead thee up the slope

Of knowledge, let them learn from teaching thee

That vital joy is part of nature's plan,

And he who keeps the spirit of the boy

Shall gladly grow to be a happy man.

IV

What constitutes a school?

Not ancient halls and ivy-mantled towers,

Where dull traditions rule

With heavy hand youth's lightly springing powers;

Not spacious pleasure courts,

And lofty temples of athletic fame,

Where devotees of sports

Mistake a pastime for life's highest aim;

Not fashion, nor renown

Of wealthy patronage and rich estate;

No, none of these can crown

A school with light and make it truly great.

But masters, strong and wise,

Who teach because they love the teacher's task,

And find their richest prize

In eyes that open and in minds that ask;

And boys, with heart aglow

To try their youthful vigour on their work,

Eager to learn and grow,

And quick to hate a coward or a shirk:

These constitute a school,--

A vital forge of weapons keen and bright,

Where living sword and tool

Are tempered for true toil or noble fight!

But let not wisdom scorn

The hours of pleasure in the playing fields:

There also strength is born,

And every manly game a virtue yields.

Fairness and self-control,

Good-humour, pluck, and patience in the race,

Will make a lad heart-whole

To win with honour, lose without disgrace.

Ah, well for him who gains

In such a school apprenticeship to life:

With him the joy of youth remains

In later lessons and in larger strife!

V

On Jersey's rolling plain, where Washington,

In midnight marching at the head

Of ragged regiments, his army led

To Princeton's victory of the rising sun;

Here in this liberal land, by battle won

For Freedom and the rule

Of equal rights for every child of man,

Arose a democratic school,

To train a virile race of sons to bear

With thoughtful joy the name American,

And serve the God who heard their father's prayer.

No cloister, dreaming in a world remote

From that real world wherein alone we live;

No mimic court, where titled names denote

A dignity that only worth can give;

But here a friendly house of learning stood,

With open door beside the broad highway,

And welcomed lads to study and to play

In generous rivalry of brotherhood.

A hundred years have passed, and Lawrenceville,

In beauty and in strength renewed,

Stands with her open portal still,

And neither time nor fortune brings

To her deep spirit any change of mood,

Or faltering from the faith she held of old.

Still to the democratic creed she clings:

That manhood needs nor rank nor gold

To make it noble in our eyes;

That every boy is born with royal right,

From blissful ignorance to rise

To joy more lasting and more bright,

In mastery of body and of mind,

King of himself and servant of mankind.

VI

Old Lawrenceville,

Thy happy bell

Shall ring to-day,

O'er vale and hill,

O'er mead and dell,

While far away,

With silent thrill,

The echoes roll

Through many a soul,

That knew thee well,

In boyhood's day,

And loves thee still.

Ah, who can tell

How far away,

Some sentinel

Of God's good will,

In forest cool,

Or desert gray,

By lonely pool,

Or barren hill,

Shall faintly hear,

With inward ear,

The chiming bell,

Of his old school,

Through darkness pealing;

And lowly kneeling,

Shall feel the spell

Of grateful tears

His eyelids fill;

And softly pray

To Him who hears:

God bless old Lawrenceville!

[The end]

Henry Van Dyke's poem: Spirit Of The Everlasting Boy

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That was written for "Lawrenceville School" in 1910 for its 100th anniversary.

That means the school of that name was founded in 1810.

Which makes it this school, which is in the same state the writer

of the poem is from.....

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lawrenceville_School

[Kit Sober]

Thanks. How cool is that. Thanks so much. (Wondered where the master plagerist got it from). Thanks, again.