| When the lessons and tasks are all ended, |
| And the school for the day is dismissed, |
| And the little ones gather around me, |
| To bid me good-night and be kissed,— |
| Oh, the little white arms that encircle |
| My neck in a tender embrace! |
| Oh, the smiles that are halos of Heaven, |
| Shedding sunshine and love on my face! |
| |
| And when they, are gone, I sit dreaming |
| Of my childhood, too lovely to last; |
| Of love that my heart will remember |
| When it wakes to the pulse of the past; |
| Ere the world and its wickedness made me |
| A partner of sorrow and sin; |
| When the glory of God was about me, |
| And the glory of gladness within. |
| |
| Oh, my heart grows as weak as a woman's |
| And the fountains of feeling will flow, |
| When I think of the paths, steep and stony |
| Where the feet of the dear ones must go. |
| Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, |
| Of the tempests of fate blowing wild— |
| Oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy |
| As the innocent heart of a child! |
| |
| They are idols of hearts and of households, |
| They are angels of God in disguise. |
| His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, |
| His glory still beams in their eyes: |
| Oh, those truants from earth and from heaven, |
| They have made me more manly and mild! |
| And I know how Jesus could liken |
| The Kingdom of God to a child. |
| |
| Seek not a life for the dear ones |
| All radiant, as others have done. |
| But that life may have just enough shadow |
| To temper the glare of the sun; |
| I would pray God to guard them from evil, |
| But my prayer would bound back to myself. |
| Ah! A seraph may pray for a sinner, |
| But the sinner must pray for himself. |
| |
| The twig is so easily bended, |
| I have banished the rule of the rod; |
| I have taught them the goodness of Knowledge, |
| They have taught me the goodness of God. |
| My heart is a dungeon of darkness, |
| Where I shut them from breaking a rule; |
| My frown is sufficient correction, |
| My love is the law of the school. |
| |
| I shall leave the old house in the autumn |
| To traverse the threshold no more, |
| Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones |
| That meet me each morn at the door. |
| I shall miss the good-nights and the kisses, |
| And the gush of their innocent glee; |
| The group on the green and the flowers |
| That are brought every morning to me. |
| |
| I shall miss them at morn and at evening. |
| Their song in the school and the street, |
| I shall miss the low hum of their voices |
| And the tramp of their delicate feet. |
| When the lessons and tasks are all ended, |
| And death says the school is dismissed, |
| May the little ones gather around me |
| To bid me good-night and be kissed. |
| |
| Charles M. Dickinson. |
| The sunlight shone on walls of stone, |
| And towers sublime and tall, |
| King Alfred sat upon his throne |
| Within his council hall. |
| |
| And glancing o'er the splendid throng, |
| With grave and solemn face, |
| To where his noble vassals stood, |
| He saw a vacant place. |
| |
| "Where is the Earl of Holderness?" |
| With anxious look, he said. |
| "Alas, O King!" a courtier cried, |
| "The noble Earl is dead!" |
| |
| Before the monarch could express |
| The sorrow that he felt, |
| A soldier, with a war-worn face, |
| Approached the throne, and knelt. |
| |
| "My sword," he said, "has ever been, |
| O King, at thy command, |
| And many a proud and haughty Dane |
| Has fallen by my hand. |
| |
| "I've fought beside thee in the field, |
| And 'neath the greenwood tree; |
| It is but fair for thee to give |
| Yon vacant place to me." |
| |
| "It is not just," a statesman cried, |
| "This soldier's prayer to hear, |
| My wisdom has done more for thee |
| Than either sword or spear. |
| |
| "The victories of thy council hall |
| Have made thee more renown |
| Than all the triumphs of the field |
| Have given to thy crown. |
| |
| "My name is known in every land, |
| My talents have been thine, |
| Bestow this Earldom, then, on me, |
| For it is justly mine." |
| |
| Yet, while before the monarch's throne |
| These men contending stood, |
| A woman crossed the floor, who wore |
| The weeds of widowhood. |
| |
| And slowly to King Alfred's feet |
| A fair-haired boy she led— |
| "O King, this is the rightful heir |
| Of Holderness," she said. |
| |
| "Helpless, he comes to claim his own, |
| Let no man do him wrong, |
| For he is weak and fatherless, |
| And thou art just and strong." |
| |
| "What strength or power," the statesman cried, |
| "Could such a judgement bring? |
| Can such a feeble child as this |
| Do aught for thee, O King? |
| |
| "When thou hast need of brawny arms |
| To draw thy deadly bows, |
| When thou art wanting crafty men |
| To crush thy mortal foes." |
| |
| With earnest voice the fair young boy |
| Replied: "I cannot fight, |
| But I can pray to God, O King, |
| And God can give thee might!" |
| |
| The King bent down and kissed the child, |
| The courtiers turned away, |
| "The heritage is thine," he said, |
| "Let none thy right gainsay. |
| |
| "Our swords may cleave the casques of men, |
| Our blood may stain the sod, |
| But what are human strength and power |
| Without the help of God?" |
| |
| Eugene J. Hall. |
| 'Tis a lesson you should heed, |
| Try, try again; |
| If at first you don't succeed, |
| Try, try again; |
| Then your courage shall appear, |
| For if you will persevere, |
| You will conquer, never fear, |
| Try, try again. |
| |
| Once or twice though you should fail, |
| Try, try again; |
| If at last you would prevail, |
| Try, try again; |
| If we strive 'tis no disgrace |
| Tho' we may not win the race, |
| What should you do in that case? |
| Try, try again. |
| |
| If you find your task is hard, |
| Try, try again; |
| Time will bring you your reward, |
| Try, try again; |
| All that other folks can do, |
| Why, with patience, may not you? |
| Only keep this rule in view, |
| Try, try again. |