Imagens das páginas

At last he finds "with love-we all are well,"

And softly lays the homely letter down,
And dashes at his headlong tasks pellmell,

Once more the busy, anxious man of town.
But whenever in his duties, as the rushing moments fly,
That faded little envelope smiles up to meet his eye,
He turns again to labor with a stronger, truer brain,
From thinking on what mother wrote from up in Maine.

Through all the day he dictates brisk replies

To his amanuensis at his side-
The curt and stern demand, and business lies, —

The doubting man cajoled, and threat defied.

And then at dusk when all are gone, he drops his worldly

mask And takes his pen and lovingly performs a welcome task; For never shall the clicking type or shortened scrawl profane The message to the dear old home up there in Maine.

Holman F. Day, in Lewiston Journal.


I have seen the glories of art and architecture and of river and mountain. I have seen the sunset on the Jungfrau and the moon rise over Mont Blanc. But the fairest vision on which these eyes ever rested was the flag of my country in a foreign port. Beautiful as a flower to those who love it, terrible as a meteor to those who hate, it is the symbol of the power and the glory and the honor of fifty millions of Americans.

Senator George F. Hoar.

[ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

Here comes The Flag!

Cheer it!
Valley and crag

Shall hear it.
Fathers shall bless it,
Children caress it.
All shall maintain it,

No one shall stain it.
Cheers for the sailors that fought on the wave for it,
Cheers for the soldiers that always were brave for it,
Tears for the men that went down to the grave for it.

Here comes The Flag!

Arthur Macy, in Youths Companion.


And on her lover's arm she leant,

And round her waist she felt it fold,
And far across the hills they went

In that new world which is the old;
Across the hills and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim,
And deep into the dying day

The happy princess followed him.

“I'd sleep another hundred years,

O love, for such another kiss;"
"O wake forever, love," she hears,

"O love, 'twas such as this and this.
And o'er them many a sliding star

And many a merry wind was borne,
And, streamed thro' many a golden bar,

The twilight melted into morn.

"O eyes long laid in happy sleep!"

"O happy sleep that lightly fled!"
"O happy kiss that woke thy sleep!"

"O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!"
And o'er them many a flowing range

Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark,
And, rapt thro' many a rosy change,

The twilight died into the dark.
"A hundred summers! Can it be?

And whither goest thou, tell me where?"
“O seek my father's court with me,

For there are greater wonders there."
And o'er the hills, and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the day,
Thro' all the world she followed him!

Aifred Tennyson, in The Daydream."


Little by little the time goes by-
Short, if you sing through it, long, if you sigh.
Little by little—an hour a day,
Gone with the years that have vanished away
Little by little the race is run;
Trouble and waiting and toil are done!
Little by little the skies grow clear;
Little by little the sun comes near;
Little by little the days smile out,
Gladder and brighter on pain and doubt;
Little by little the seed we sow
Into a beautiful yield will grow.

Little by little the world grows strong,
Fighting the battle of Right and Wrong;
Little by little the Wrong gives way-
Little by little the Right has sway.
Little by little all longing souls
Struggle up nearer the shining goals.
Little by little the good in men
Blossoms to beauty, for human ken;
Little by little the angels see
Prophecies better of good to be;
Little by little the God of all
Lifts the world nearer the pleading call.

Did you tackle the trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day

With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,

Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,

But only how did you take it?
You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?

Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,

But to lie there-that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why, the higher you bounce;

Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;

It's how did you fight-and why?

« AnteriorContinuar »