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It makes a man feel curious, it makes the teardrops start,
When his hand is on your shoulder in a friendly sort o' way.
Oh, the world's a curious compound, with its honey and its
gall, With its cares and bitter crosses, but a good world, after all. An' a good God must have made it-leastways, that is
what I say, When a hand is on my shoulder in a friendly sort o' way.
James Whitcomb Riley.
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR
Along the village streets, where maples lean
Together like old friends about the way,
He and his nag, both growing old and gray:
Of mother-love, of throb of pains and ills.
Receptacle of powders and of pills.
Grew moist with love unspeakable to find
Within her soul and bosom were entwined.
Pulsations of the feebly-fluttering heart,
Essayed to calm the mourner's pain and smart.
He was to all a father, brother, friend;
Their joys were his, their sorrows were his own. He sleeps in peace where yonder willows bend Above the violets that kiss the stone.
Horace S. Keller, in N. Y. Sun.
And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grasses and flowers; The Aush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings: He sings to the wide world, and she to her nestIn the nice ear of nature, which song is the best ? James Russell Lowell, in “Vision of Sir Launfal."
LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT
Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead thou me on!
Lead thou me on!
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou
Shouldst lead me on.
Lead thou me on!
So long thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on,
The night is gone;
Cardinal (John Henry)Newman.
LAST WORDS OF WILLIAM McKINLEY
"Goodby, all. It is God's way. His will be done."
The late President McKinley's physician, Dr. Rixey, tells us that after his distinguished patient could no longer speak an audible word, he could distinguish his lips uttering in whispers the words of the hymn, “Nearer, My God, to Thee." C. H. Grosvenor in "William McKinley, His Life and Work.' THE BIBLE MY MOTHER GAVE ME
Give me that grand old Volume, the gift of a mother's love, Tho' the spirit that first taught me has winged its flight
above. Yet, with no legacy but this, she has left me wealth untold, Yea, mightier than earth's riches, or the wealth of Ophir's
When a child, I've kneeled beside her, in our dear old cottage
home, And listened to her reading from that prized and cherished
tome. As with low and gentle cadence, and a meek and reverent
mien, God's word fell from her trembling lips like a presence felt
Solemn and sweet the counsels that spring from its open page,
Men who in mind were God-like, and have left on its blazoned
scroll Food for all coming ages in its manna of the soul; "Who through long days of anguish, and nights devoid of
ease, Still wrote with the burning pen of faith its higher mysteries.
I can list that good man yonder, in the gray church by the
brook, Take up that marvelous tale of love, of the story and the
How through the twilight glimmer, from the earliest dawn
of time, It was handed down as an heirloom in almost every clime. How through strong persecution and the struggle of evil days, The precious light of the truth ne'er died, but was fanned to
a beacon blaze. How in far-off lands, where the cypress bends o'er the laurel
bough, It was hid like some precious treasure, and they bled for its
truth, as now. He tells how there stood around it a phalanx none could
break, Though steel and fire and lash swept on, and the cruel wave
lapt the stake: How dungeon doors and prison bars had never damped the
flame, But raised up converts to the creed whence Christian com
forts came. That housed in caves and caverns-how it stirs our Scottish
blood! The Covenanters, sword in hand, poured forth the crimson
flood: And eloquent grows the preacher, as the Sabbath sunshine
falls Thro' cobwebbed aisle and checkered pane, a halo on the
That still 'mid sore disaster, in the heat and strife of doubt, Some bear the Gospel oriflamme, and one by one march out, Till forth from heathen kingdoms and isles beyond the sea, The glorious tidings of the Book spread Christ's salvation