At last he finds "with love-we all are well," Once more the busy, anxious man of town. But whenever in his duties, as the rushing moments fly, To his amanuensis at his side The curt and stern demand, and business lies,- 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. TRIBUTE TO THE FLAG 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. Here comes The Flag! Fathers shall bless it, No one shall stain it. Cheers for the sailors that fought on the wave for it, Arthur Macy, in Youths Companion. THE DEPARTURE And on her lover's arm she leant, Beyond their utmost purple rim, The happy princess followed him. "I'd sleep another hundred years. And many a merry wind was borne, "O eyes long laid in happy sleep!" "O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!" Of vapor buoyed the crescent bark, Beyond their utmost purple rim, Thro' all the world she followed him! Aifred Tennyson, in "The Daydream." LITTLE BY LITTLE 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; Into a beautiful yield will grow. Little by little the world grows strong, Little by little the good in men Lifts the world nearer the pleading call. Did HOW DID YOU DIE? 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? |