"BEAUTIFUL AS SONGS OF THE IMMORTALS, THE HOLY Melodies of Love arise."-Longfellow. 66 "FACTS ARE facts, and FLINCH NOT; STUBBORN THINGS."-R. BROWNING. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 267 Taught the birds their melodies, For thy pleasure or thy food:- [MARY HOWITT.] "TRADITIONS OF THE SAINT AND SAGE-TALES THAT HAVE THE RIME OF AGE."-LONGFELLOW. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. HERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, "Shall I have naught that is fair?" said he ; "Have nought but the bearded grain? He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, It was for the Lord of Paradise, He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," "They shall all bloom in fields of light, And saints, upon their garments white, A SPARK NEGLECTED MAKES A MIGHTY FIRE."-HERRICK. "THE SUMMER SKY, WHERE THE SAILING CLOUDS WENT BY, LIKE SHIPS UPON THE SEA."-LONGFELLOW. SWEET MERCY IS NOBILITY'S TRUE badge."-SHAKSPEARE. THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. And the mother gave, in tears and pain, In the fields of light above. Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day; And took the flowers away. [HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, the most popular of American THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. ETWEEN the dark and the daylight, I hear in the chamber above me The sound of a door that is opened, From my study I see in the lamp-light, And Edith with golden hair. TO-MORROW IS A SATIRE ON TO-DAY."-EDWARD YOUNG. "I HEARD THE TRAILING GARMENTS OF THE NIGHT SWEEP THROUGH HER MARBLE HALLS."-LONGfellow. "NOR DEEM THE IRREVOCABLE PAST AS WHOLLY WASTED, WHOLLY VAIN,"-(LONGFELLOW) CONQUER We shall, buT WE MUST FIRST CONTEND;— 'TIS NOT THE fight that CROWNS US, BUT THE END."—COWLEY. "IF, RISING ON ITS WRECKS, AT LAST TO SOMETHING NOBLER WE ATTAIN."-LONGFELLOW. "WE HAVE NOT WINGS-WE CANNOT SOAR; BUT WE HAVE FEET TO SCALE AND CLIMB," (LONGFELLOW) AND THE DAYS ARE DARK AND DREARY."-LONGFELI.OW. "BY SLOW DEGREES, BY MORE AND MORE, THE CLOUDY SUMMITS OF OUR TIME."-LONGFELLOW. "all are arCHITECTS OF FATE, WORKING IN THESE WALLS OF TIME;"-(LONGFELLOW) SOME FRETFUL TEMPERS WINCE AT EVERY TOUCH, THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, With measured beat and slow- And children coming home from school They love to see the flaming forge, And catch the burning sparks that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach- Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice He needs must think of her once more, And with his hard, rough hand he wipes Toiling-rejoicing—sorrowing— YOU ALWAYS DO TOO LITTLE OR TOO MUCH."-Cowper. 271 'SOME WITH MASSIVE DEEDS AND GREAT, SOME WITH ORNAMENTS OF RHYME."-LONGFELLOW. |