Revised October 18, 2021
A Psalm of Christmas
What the heart of the young activist said to the psalmist
by Evan Mantyk
Tell me not in boring numbers
___About today’s economy,
For our consciences grow numb-er
___And then become our enemy.
Money’s fake! Just an idea!
___It’s a value agreed to give;
It’s a home, clothes, and a meal
___It’s a means, not an end, to live!
Not an end after won elections,
___Nor university degrees!
But to awaken populations!
___Whose thirst for Truth will never cease!
Money’s built on more ideas
___Like on what is “living well”;
Does it involve clean air and trees?
___Or does it make someone’s life hell?
Do we care our Christmas lights
___Are made by prisoners of conscience
Tortured and deprived of rights
___That we value—or is this nonsense?
What about discrimination
___That occurs outside our borders
In a trading “partner” nation
___From which our shelves are all mail ordered?
The Falun Gong practitioner
___Is the silent elephant
Crucified with modern horror
___We all knowingly permit.
We can’t not buy “Made in China”
___But we can speak loud our minds
Letting ring a hopeful change
___That makes our lives a bit sublime.
Let us then speak loud and strong
___Words that echo truth and cheer:
“Merry Christmas, free Falun Gong,
___And have a prosperous New Year!”
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Evan Mantyk is an English teacher and poet living in New York.
Featured Image: “Shock” by Xiaoping Chen portrays the scene in a modern Chinese jail house, where a practitioner of the spiritual practice Falun Gong had been beaten because of the Chinese regime’s campaign to eradicate the faith. (Falunart.org)
A Psalm of Life
What the heart of the young man said to the Psalmist
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;—
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) is regarded as the greatest American poet. At the time he wrote, before movies, television, and radio, he was extremely popular and his poetry was a source of national interest and entertainment. He used European styles but often wrote on uniquely American subjects. In past generations, students were required to study his poems in school and children often grew up listening to his rhymes.
