Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand, Between their loved homes and foul war's desolation; Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserved us nation! Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, CHORUS And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. Francis Scott Key. THE LITTLE COAT Here's his ragged "roundabout," Here, with marbles, top and string, But betrays some waywardness- For the Bible-verses said Such as this his memory kept- " Here's a fishing hook-and-line, Here a soiled yet dainty note, That some little sweetheart wrote; Here's the little coat, but oh! Don't you hear us calling, dear? Now no more, but, absent thus, Beckon us. James Whitcomb Riley. THEODORE ROOSEVELT And Theodore Roosevelt! Future history will carve his name in the niche of eternal fame. He is the very embodiment of all that is best and noblest in American manhood. A true knight, a man without fear and without reproach. He is the apostle of deeds, of strenuous life, of life full of duties to be performed, tasks to be executed, wrongs to be rectified. The joy of life pulsates in his manly veins, the triumph of the righteous battling with the numerous octopi that threaten to undermine our industrial existence glistens in his eyes; a better helmsman, a steadier steersman to guide the vessel of this republic does not exist. His is the voice of justice, of fairness, of absolute equality among all classes. Happy is the land that can boast of such a man, that can appreciate his virtues. Dr. Elias Copeland, Portland, Me., Jan. 4. 1904. IF I SHOULD DIE TONIGHT If I should die tonight, My friends would look upon my quiet face And deem that death had left it almost fair; Poor hands, so empty and so cold tonight! If I should die tonight, My friend would call to mind with loving thought, Some gentle word the frozen lips had said; And so I should be loved and mourned tonight. If I should die tonight E'en hearts estranged would turn once more to me. The eyes that chill me with averted glance For who could war with dumb unconscious clay? Oh, friends, I pray tonight, Keep not your kisses for my dead cold brow My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn. Ascribed to Rev. A. J. Ryan, 1862; also to Alice Cary, Ben King, and others. TO A WATER-FOWL Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day. Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight, to do thee wrong, Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast- Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, Thou'rt gone; the abyss of Heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart He, who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. William Cullen Bryant. |