Lines To My Father Poem by Countee Cullen
Lines To My Father
The many sow, but only the chosen reap;
Happy the wretched host if Day be brief,
That with the cool oblivion of sleep
A dawnless Night may soothe the smart of grief.
If from the soil our sweat enriches sprout
One meagre blossom for our hands to cull,
Accustomed indigence provokes a shout
Of praise that life becomes so bountiful.
Now ushered regally into your own,
Look where you will, as far as eye can see,
Your little seeds are to a fullness grown,
And golden fruit is ripe on every tree.
Yours is no fairy gift, no heritage
Without travail, to which weak wills aspire;
This is a merited and grief-earned wage
From One Who holds His servants worth their hire.
So has the shyest of your dreams come true,
Built not of sand, but of the solid rock,
Impregnable to all that may accrue
Of elemental rage: storm, stress, and shock.
The father's hard work in raising his son is not in vain, his dreams 'Built not of sand, but of solid rock'.
Who is also my Father. Just a gentle poetic reminder to God to not create and forget otherwise i the son will procreate abd forget and the world will be full of fatherless kids which has come to pass. The workd has tonnes of fatherless kids.
The first stanza carries a truth that is absolute and so he tells the father that what he earns or has is due to hard work and being so he very much deserves it and should be proud of what he has or has obtained through hard work and fairness but also for he to be appreciative. This is a marvelous poem that is a delight to read.
Precious poem to his father, all raising him was not in vain, but grew on solid rock. Marveous Tribute for his father!
A powerful poem of great wisdom. Wonderful message specially the closure lines. Very moving.
Profound and witty, very powerfully penned with conviction....
If from the soil our sweat enriches sprout One meagre blossom for our hands to cull, Accustomed indigence provokes a shout Of praise that life becomes so bountiful.....it's an excellent poem where delineated the hard working lives of forefathers; I enjoyed
Yours is no fairy gift, no heritage Without travail, to which weak wills aspire; This is a merited and grief-earned wage From One Who holds His servants worth their hire. a very fine poem indeed. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 6:32:07 PM # 1.0.0.1119
The message that the poem brings to us is that the hard work put in by a man never goes in vain. It will be rewarded in due course of time. Built not of sand, but of the solid rock, Impregnable to all that may accrue Of elemental rage: storm, stress, and shock.