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Did e'er such love and sorrows meet,

Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,

Spreads o'er His body on the tree; Then I am dead to all the globe,

And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,

That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Isaac Watts.


Closed eyes can't see the white roses,

Cold hands can't hold them, you know. Breath that is stilled cannot gather

The odors that sweet from them blow. Death, with a peace beyond dreaming,

Its children of earth doth endow; Life is the time we can help them,

So give them the flowers now!

Here are the struggles and striving,

Here are the cares and the tears; Now is the time to be smoothing

The frowns and the furrows and fears. What to closed eyes are kind sayings?

What to hushed heart is deep vow? Naught can avail after parting,

So give them the flowers now!

Just a kind word or a greeting:

Just a warm grasp or a smile-
These are the flowers that will lighten

The burdens for many a mile.
After the journey is over

What is the use of them; how
Can they carry them who must be carried?

Oh, give them the flowers now!

Blooms from the happy heart's garden

Plucked in the spirit of love;
Blooms that are earthly reflections

Of flowers that blossom above
Words cannot tell what a measure

Of blessings such gifts will allow
To dwell in the lives of many,
So give them the flowers now!

Leigh M. Hodges.


Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys ?
If there has, take him out without making a noise.
Hang the almanac's cheat and the catalogue's spite!
Old Time is a liar! We're twenty tonight.

We're twenty! we're twenty! Who says we are more?
He's tipsy-Young Jackanapes! Show him the door!
Gray temples at twenty? Yes! white if we please,
Where the snowflakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze'

Was it snowing I spoke of ? Excuse the mistake!
Look close-you will see not a sign of a flake!

We want some new garlands for those we have shed,
And these are white roses in place of the red.

We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,
Of talking in public) as if we were old!
That boy we call “Doctor" and this we call “ Judge";
It's a neat little fiction of course it's all fudge.

That fellow's the “Speaker," the one on the right;
"Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you tonight?
That's our “Member of Congress," we say when we chaff;
There's the "Reverend"-what's his name?-don't make me


That boy with the grave, mathematical look
Made believe he had written a wonderful book,
And the Royal Society thought it was true!
So they chose him right in a good joke it was, too!

There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain,
That could harness a team with a logical chain;
When he spoke of our manhood in syllabled fire
We called him “The Justice," but now he's "The Squire."

And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith;
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith!
But he shouted a song for the brave and the free
Just read on his medal, “My country ... of thee!"

You hear that boy laughing? You think he's all fun,
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done,
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call,
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all.

Yes, we're boys, always playing with tongue or with pen,
And I sometimes have asked, shall we ever be men?
Shall we always be youthful and laughing and gay,
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away?

Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May!
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys,
Dear Father, take care of Thy children, the boys.

Oliver Wendell Holmes.


The first train leaves at six P.M.

For the land where the poppy blows.
The mother is the engineer,

And the passenger laughs and crows.

The palace car is the mother's arms;

The whistle a low, sweet strain.
The passenger winks and nods and blinks

And goes to sleep on the train.

At eight P.M. the next train starts

For the poppy land afar.
The summons clear falls on the ear,

“All aboard for the sleeping car!"

But "What is the fare to poppy land?

I hope it is not too dear.'
The fare is this--a hug and a kiss,

And it's paid to the engineer.

So I ask of Him who children took

On His knee in kindness great;
"Take charge, I pray, of the trains each day

That leave at six and eight.
"Keep watch of the passengers," thus I pray,

**For to me they are very dear;
And special ward, O gracious Lord,
O'er the gentle engineer.'

St. Louis Star Sayings.


Says the narrator of this incident:

I chanced to be in Albany when Fulton arrived with his unheard of craft, the Claremont, which everybody was so anxious to see. Being ready to leave, and hearing the strange-looking boat was about to return to New York, I went on board, and, inquiring for Mr. Fulton, was directed to the cabin, where I found a plain-looking but gentlemanlyappearing man, wholly alone.

“Mr. Fulton, I presume?
"Yes, sir."
"Do you return to New York with this boat?"
"We shall try to get back, sir."
"Can I have passage down?"
"You can take your chance with us, sir."
"How much is the passage money?"*

After a moment's hesitation he named the sum of six dollars, and I laid the coins in his hand.

With his eyes fixed upon the money, he remained so long motionless that I concluded there was a miscount, and asked:

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