WHO ARE MY PEOPLE?

My people? Who are they?

I went into the church where the congregation

Worshiped my God. Were they my people?

I felt no kinship to them as they knelt there.

My people! Where are they?

I went into the land where I was born,

Where men spoke my language…

I was a stranger there.

“My people,” my soul cried. “Who are my people?’

Last night in the rain I met and old man

Who spoke a language I do not speak,

Which marked him as one who does not know my God.

With apologetic smile he offered me

The shelter of his patched umbrella.

I met his eyes… And then I knew…

–Rosa Zagnoni Marinoni

from the book: Best Loved Poems of the American People

If I Had Known

If I had known what trouble you were bearing;

What griefs were in the silence of your face;

I would have been more gentle, and more caring,

And tried to give you gladness for a space.

I would have brought more warmth into the place,

If I had known.

If I had known what throughts despairing drew you;

(Why do we never try to understand?)

I would have lent a little friendship to yoiu,

And slipped my hand within your hand,

And made your stay more pleasant in the land,

If I had known.

-Mary Carolyn Davies

from the book: Best Loved Poems of the American People

A Creed

There is a destiny that makes us brothers;

None goes his way alone:

All that we send into the lives of others

Comes back into our own.

I care not what is temples or his creeds,

One thing holds firm and fast –

That into his fateful heap of days and deeds

The soul of man is cast.

-Edwin Markham

from the book: Best Loved Poems of the American People

Find more poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay at the Poetry Foundation