Build thee more stately mansions, oh, my soul, Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! Oliver Wendell Holmes ANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert gloom Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea, And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam; There were men with hoary hair There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow, serenely high, What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? Ay, call it holy ground, The spot where first they trod; They have left unstained what there they found— Freedom to worship God. Felicia D. Hemans. BREAST FORWARD One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake. Robert Browning. BEAUTIFUL HANDS Such beautiful beautiful hands, And you, I know, would scarcely think I've looked on hands whose form and hue Yet are these aged wrinkled hands Such beautiful, beautiful hands! Though heart were weary and sad I think how these hands rested not Such beautiful, beautiful hands! Alas! alas! the nearing time- When 'neath the daisies, out of sight, But, oh! beyond the shadowy lands, I know full well these dear old hands When crystal streams, through endless years, Flow over golden sands, And where the old are young again, I'll clasp my mother's hands. Mrs. Ellen M. H. Gates. ABOU BEN ADHEM The favorite poem of Admiral Dewey, and by him suggested as his contribution. Also sent in by many contestants. Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) And saw within the moonlight in his room, Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 'What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." 'And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light. Leigh Hunt. CONSEQUENCES A traveler on a dusty road Strewed acorns on the lea; And one took root and sprouted up, Love sought its shade at evening time, And age was pleased, in heats of noon The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, A little spring had lost its way He thought not of the deed he did, Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues A dreamer dropped a random thought; 'Twas old, and yet 'twas new; A simple fancy of the brain, But strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind, |