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Poems About Anxiety

Table of Contents

  1. Worry by Anonymous
  2. Unrest by Jessie Belle Rittenhouse
  3. The Day is Done by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
  4. When My Ship Comes In by Robert Jones Burdette
  5. Don't Worry by William Henry Dawson
  6. Don't by Anonymous
  7. They Say by Anonymous
  8. The Frog by William Henry Dawson
  9. It Doesn't Pay to Fret by William Henry Dawson
  10. Brown's Vacation by Anonymous
  11. The Little Dog Barked at the Buggy by Anonymous
  12. Morning by Mary Bartol

  1. Worry

    by Anonymous

    Worry—a petty madness, weak and crude;
    A treason to the universal love;
    A passion for the nethermost; a rude,
    Sullen defiance of the God above!

    A torturing woe that is not worth a name;
    A bitter grief that never wins a tear;
    A misery that hides behind a shame;
    A blasphemy that calls itself a fear!

    A passion more intense than all but hate;
    A sin uncensured in our clumsy creeds;
    A dread disease forlorn and desolate
    That sorely some benign physician needs.

    How shall we conquer thee, thou empty shape?
    With what austerest weapon on thee full
    And pierce thy filmy folds of horrid crape,
    And find thy life, that hast no heart at all?

    Father of Love and Light, to Thee we turn!
    Beset by powers of gloom, we turn to Thee!
    With souls that faint, with souls that weakly yearn,
    With souls that drag their chains and would be free!

    Yea, Father, we are like a frightened child
    Waked in the night and groping for a hand;
    So lay Thy touch upon our terrors wild,
    And, in all darkness, we shall understand.

    6Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, 7casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.

    – 1 Peter 5:6-7
    The Bible, ESV
  2. Unrest

    by Jessie Belle Rittenhouse

    Now I shall know unrest again,
    And all my heart that was so still
    Will beat in me like troubled tides
    And urge me to its will.

    Now joy, like an ecstatic flame,
    Will light the dark about my bed—
    But with the morning I shall know
    That it was pain instead.

  3. The Day is Done

    by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    The day is done, and the darkness
    Falls from the wings of Night,
    As a feather is wafted downward
    From an eagle in his flight.

    I see the lights of the village
    Gleam through the rain and the mist,
    And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
    That my soul cannot resist:

    A feeling of sadness and longing,
    That is not akin to pain,
    And resembles sorrow only
    As the mist resembles the rain.

    Come, read to me some poem,
    Some simple and heartfelt lay,
    That shall soothe this restless feeling,
    And banish the thoughts of day.

    Not from the grand old masters,
    Not from the bards sublime,
    Whose distant footsteps echo
    Through the corridors of Time.

    For, like strains of martial music,
    Their mighty thoughts suggest
    Life's endless toil and endeavor;
    And to-night I long for rest.

    Read from some humbler poet,
    Whose songs gushed from his heart,
    As showers from the clouds of summer,
    Or tears from the eyelids start;

    Who, through long days of labor,
    And nights devoid of ease,
    Still heard in his soul the music
    Of wonderful melodies.

    Such songs have power to quiet
    The restless pulse of care,
    And come like the benediction
    That follows after prayer.

    Then read from the treasured volume
    The poem of thy choice,
    And lend to the rhyme of the poet
    The beauty of thy voice.

    And the night shall be filled with music,
    And the cares, that infest the day,
    Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
    And as silently steal away.

  4. When My Ship Comes In

    by Robert Jones Burdette

    Somewhere, out on the blue sea sailing,
    Where the winds dance and spin;
    Beyond the reach of my eager hailing,
    Over the breakers' din;
    Out where the dark storm-clouds are lifting,
    Out where the blinding fog is drifting,
    Out where the treacherous sand is shifting,
    My ship is coming in.

    O, I have watched till my eyes were aching,
    Day after weary day;
    O, I have hoped till my heart was breaking
    While the long nights ebbed away;
    Could I but know where the waves had tossed her,
    Could I but know what storms had crossed her,
    Could I but know where the winds had lost her,
    Out in the twilight gray!

    But though the storms her course have altered,
    Surely the port she'll win,
    Never my faith in my ship has faltered,
    I know she is coming in.
    For through the restless ways of her roaming,
    Through the mad rush of the wild waves foaming,
    Through the white crest of the billows combing,
    My ship is coming in.

    Beating the tides where the gulls are flying,
    Swiftly she's coming in:
    Shallows and deeps and rocks defying,
    Bravely she's coming in.
    Precious the love she will bring to bless me,
    Snowy the arms she will bring to caress me,
    In the proud purple of kings she will dress me—
    My ship that is coming in.

    White in the sunshine her sails will be gleaming,
    See, where my ship comes in;
    At masthead and peak her colors streaming,
    Proudly she's sailing in;
    Love, hope and joy on her decks are cheering,
    Music will welcome her glad appearing,
    And my heart will sing at her stately nearing,
    When my ship comes in.

  5. Don't Worry

    by William Henry Dawson

    Don't worry, Bill, for what's the use
    Of worrying? There's no excuse
    For doing that which brings no aid,
    And you know worry never made
    The load you've had to bear seem light,
    Nor helped to make your pathway bright:
    It never helped to ease the pain
    Of aching heart or throbbing brain,
    Nor helped to chase away the blues—
    Don't worry, Bill, for what's the use?

  6. Don't

    by Anonymous

    Don’t worry nor fret
    About what people think
    Of your ways or your means,
    Of your food or your drink.
    If you know you’re doing
    Your best every day,
    With the right on your side,
    Never mind what “they” say.

  7. They Say

    by Anonymous

    The subject of my speech is one
    We hear of every day—
    ’Tis simply all about the fear
    We have of what “they say!

    How happy all of us could be,
    If—as we go our way—
    We did not stop to think and care
    So much for what “they say!

  8. The Frog

    by William Henry Dawson

    Have you ever wished when fretting
    'Bout the chilly air of spring,
    When the days are longer getting
    And the frogs begin to sing,
    Have you ever wished that you could
    Just change places with the frog—
    Let him shoulder all your trouble
    And then leave you on the log,
    In the middle of the mill-pond,
    Nothing in the world to do?
    Have you wished you could change places,
    You be frog and frog be you?
    He don't fret 'bout rainy weather;
    If the sun shines he don't cry;
    He just takes it all together;
    Happy wet and happy dry.

  9. It Doesn't Pay to Fret

    by William Henry Dawson

    My Dear ——
    When you go out to take a skate
    Upon the slippery ice,
    Remember, dear old running mate,
    And heed a friend's advice.
    Don't skate too far without a breath;
    Don't try too great a speed;
    Or you may skate yourself to death,
    Of which there is no need.
    Just strike out with an easy stroke;
    Just take a moderate gait;
    Don't go too fast, yet do not poke;
    Don't hurry, neither wait.
    Just try to take things as they are.
    Don't fret about the weather.
    You'll live as long—please don't forget—
    By cutting out the worry.
    It's useless, quite, to fume and fret,
    And just as bad to hurry.

  10. Brown's Vacation

    by Amos Russel Wells

    "I've had a vacation," said Timothy Brown;
    "A fine one, although I have not left the town.
    I merely vacated my worries and fears,
    And at once became younger by fairly five years.
    I vacated my ruts, and began to enjoy
    My regular, humdrum, but useful employ.
    I changed my whole outlook and vision of life,
    And made it a pastime instead of a strife.
    I've had a vacation, not vacant, a bore,
    But fuller and freer than ever before;
    The best of vacations for fat purse or lean,—
    A change of the seeing instead of the scene."

  11. The Little Dog Barked at the Buggy

    by Anonymous

    Mr. Downey O'Gloom, with pardonable pride
    In his horse and his buggy, went out for a ride.
    The road was all level, his horse it was gay,
    Great arches of greenness o'ershadowed the way,
    There was joy in his heart and a light in his eye,
    And he gave a brisk nod to the folks he flew by,
    And his lips were just framing themselves to a song,
    So merrily, cheerily howled he along,
    When—a little dog barked at the buggy; O dear!
    A terrier barked at the buggy!

    The horse did not mind it, but Downey got mad,
    And he—thought—an expression decidedly bad;
    And he whipped at the dog, but he missed him, of course;
    And he scowled at the sidewalks, and jerked at the horse,
    While the terrier, plainly quite dogged in mind,
    With barking obstreperous, followed behind,
    And Downey O'Gloom, in a mood far from sweet,
    Went whirling along the sedate village street,
    While the little dog barked at the buggy; O dear!
    The terrier barked at the buggy.

    And Downey no more had a song in his throat,
    For his heart was attuned to the terrier's note;
    And Downey no more had a light in his eye,
    For that one little cur overshadowed the sky;
    And the road grew uneven with many a jolt,
    And the new buggy rattled in linchpin and bolt,
    And the trees gave no shade, and the friends he passed by
    All flung him a bantering cast of the eye,
    For—the little dog barked at the buggy; O dear!
    The terrier barked at the buggy.

    Fellow drivers that speed on life's road to death's doom,
    Let us see our own image in Downey O'Gloom!
    How often we travel with laughter and song,
    Till some cross little worry comes barking along,
    And then, like a flash, all the sunshine is dead,
    And bare are the boughs of the trees overhead,
    And the road is all ruts, and the birds fly away,
    And the peace is all gone from the heart of the day.
    While the little dog barks at our buggy; O dear!
    The terrier barks at our buggy.

  12. Morning

    by Mary Bartol

    Above the hills a saffron glow—
    The heavenly azure deepens higher—
    While through dark pines, gleams long and low
    A floating lake of fire!

    Within the grove fresh winds awake,
    A little gush of song is heard,
    And every plumy leaf of brake
    By breezy sighs is stirred.

    One moment's chant—a hush profound—
    Soft songs and ferny dances cease;
    To silence dies the murmuring sound,
    And motion glides to peace.

    The dawn has come with ecstasy,
    And I, a part of her and clay,
    Breathe in the joy she giveth me,
    And put my care away.