THE NAME OF OLD GLORY

Who gave you the name of Old Glory and why
Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory?
Then the old banner leaped like a sail in the blast,
And fluttered an audible answer at last.

IV

And it spake, with a shake of the voice, and it said:
"By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red
Of
my bars, and the heaven of stars overhead—

By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast,
As I float from the steeple or flap at the mast,
Or drop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod,-
My name is as old as the glory of God.

So I came by the name of Old Glory."

145

JAMES W. RILEY.

JOG ON, JOG ON*

[From The Winter's Tale.]

OG on, jog on the foot-path way,

JOG

And merrily hent† the stile-a,
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Your paltry money bags of gold-
What need have we to stare for,
When little or nothing soon is told,
And we have the less to care for.

Then cast away care, let sorrow cease,
A fig for melancholy;

Let's laugh and sing, or, if you please,
We'll frolic with sweet Dolly.

* First stanza by Shakespeare. Last two stanzas by un known author in "Antidote Against Melancholy," 1661. † Hent=take.

I

A SONG OF CLOVER

WONDER what the Clover thinks,
Intimate friend of Bob-o'-links,
Lover of Daisies slim and white,
Waltzer with Buttercups at night;
Keeper of Inn for travelling Bees,
Serving to them wine-dregs and lees,
Left by the Royal Humming Birds,
Who sip and pay with fine-spun words;
Fellow with all the lowliest,

Peer of the gayest and the best;
Comrade of winds, beloved of sun,
Kissed by the Dew-drops, one by one;
Prophet of Good-Luck mystery
By sign of four which few may see;
Symbol of Nature's magic zone,
One out of three, and three in one;
Emblem of comfort in the speech
Which poor men's babies early reach;
Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills,
Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills,
Sweet in its white, sweet in its red,-
Oh, half its sweetness cannot be said;—
Sweet in its every living breath.

Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death!

Oh! who knows what the Clover thinks? No one! unless the Bob-o'-links!

"SAXE HOLM."

A SONG OF LOVE

SAY, what is the spell, when her fledglings are cheeping,

That lures the bird home to her nest?

Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping,
To cuddle and croon it to rest?

What the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms,
Till it cooes with the voice of the dove?

'Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it lowAnd the name of the secret is Love!

For I think it is Love,

For I feel it is Love,

For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!

Say, whence is the voice that when anger is burning,
Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease?

That stirs the vexed soul with an aching-a yearning
For the brotherly hand-grip of peace?

Whence the music that fills all our being-that thrills Around us, beneath, and above?

'Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, or it goesBut the name of the secret is Love!

For I think it is Love,

For I feel it is Love,

For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!

A SONG OF LOVE

Say, whose is the skill that paints valley and hill,
Like a picture so fair to the sight?

149

That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow, Till the little lambs leap with delight?

'Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold,

Though 'tis sung by the angels above,

In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear—

And the name of the secret is Love!

For I think it is Love,

For I feel it is Love,

For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!

LEWIS CARRoll.