| In the hush and the lonely silence |
| Of the chill October night, |
| Some wizard has worked his magic |
| With fairy fingers light. |
| |
| The leaves of the sturdy oak trees |
| Are splendid with crimson and red. |
| And the golden flags of the maple |
| Are fluttering overhead. |
| |
|
| Through the tangle of faded grasses |
| There are trailing vines ablaze, |
| And the glory of warmth and color |
| Gleams through the autumn haze. |
| |
| Like banners of marching armies |
| That farther and farther go; |
| Down the winding roads and valleys |
| The boughs of the sumacs glow. |
| |
| So open your eyes, little children, |
| And open your hearts as well, |
| Till the charm of the bright October |
| Shall fold you in its spell. |
| |
| Angelina Wray. |
| Not who you are, but what you are, |
| That's what the world demands to know; |
| Just what you are, what you can do |
| To help mankind to live and grow. |
| Your lineage matters not at all, |
| Nor counts one whit your gold or gear, |
| What can you do to show the world |
| The reason for your being here? |
| |
| For just what space you occupy |
| The world requires you pay the rent; |
| It does not shower its gifts galore, |
| Its benefits are only lent; |
| And it has need of workers true, |
| Willing of hand, alert of brain; |
| Go forth and prove what you can do, |
| Nor wait to count o'er loss or gain. |
| |
| Give of your best to help and cheer, |
| The more you give the more you grow; |
| This message evermore rings true, |
| In time you reap whate'er you sow. |
| No failure you have need to fear, |
| Except to fail to do your best— |
| What have you done, what can you do? |
| That is the question, that the test. |
| |
| Elizabeth Clarke Hardy. |
| Out of the hills of Habersham, |
| Down the valleys of Hall, |
| I hurry amain to reach the plain, |
| Run the rapid and leap the fall, |
| Split at the rock and together again, |
| Accept my bed, or narrow or wide, |
| And flee from folly on every side |
| With a lover's pain to attain the plain |
| Far from the hills of Habersham, |
| Far from the valleys of Hall. |
| |
| All down the hills of Habersham, |
| All through the valleys of Hall, |
| The rushes cried "Abide, abide," |
| The wilful waterweeds held me thrall, |
| The laving laurel turned my tide, |
| The ferns and the fondling grass said "Stay," |
| The dewberry dipped for to work delay, |
| And the little reeds sighed "Abide, abide |
| Here in the hills of Habersham, |
| Here in the valleys of Hall." |
| |
| High o'er the hills of Habersham, |
| Veiling the valleys of Hall, |
| The hickory told me manifold |
| Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall |
| Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, |
| The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, |
| O'erleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, |
| Said, "Pass not, so cold, these manifold |
| Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, |
| These glades in the valleys of Hall." |
| |
| And oft in the hills of Habersham, |
| And oft in the valleys of Hall, |
| The white quartz shone, and the smooth brookstone |
| Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, |
| And many a luminous jewel lone |
| —Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, |
| Ruby, garnet, and amethyst— |
| Made lures with the lights of streaming stone, |
| In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, |
| In the beds of the valleys of Hall. |
| |
| But oh, not the hills of Habersham, |
| And oh, not the valleys of Hall |
| Avail: I am fain for to water the plain. |
| Downward the voices of Duty call— |
| Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main. |
| The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, |
| And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, |
| And the lordly main from beyond the plain |
| Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, |
| Calls through the valleys of Hall. |
| |
| Sidney Lanier. |