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I count this thing to be grandly true,
That a noble deed is a step toward God,
Lifting the soul from the common sod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by things that are 'neath our feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

J. G. Holland, Mass., 1819-.

44. An Alpine Storm.

The sky is changed!—and such a change! Oh night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder!

Not from one lone cloud,

But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night-most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight-
A portion of the tempest and of thee!
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And now again 'tis black-and now, the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth,

As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Lord Byron, England. 1788-1824.

45. Seek Only the Good.
The honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store,
Humming in calm content his quiet song,
Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips;
But from all rank and noisome weeds he sips
The single drop of sweetness ever pressed
Within the poison chalice. Thus, if we

Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet
In all the varied human flowers we meet
In the wide garden of humanity,

And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear,
Hived in our hearts, it turns to nectar there.
Anne C. Lynch (Botta), Vermont,

46. All may Attain Essential Knowledge. The primal duties shine aloft, like stars;

The charities that soothe and heal and bless,
Are scattered at the feet of man like flowers;

The generous inclination, the just rule,

Kind wishes, and good actions, and pure thoughts,—
No mystery is here; no special boon

For high and not for low, for proudly-grand
And not for meek of heart. The smoke ascends
To heaven as lightly from the cottage hearth
As from the haughty palace. He whose soul
Ponders this true equality may walk

The fields of earth with gratitude and hope.
Wm. Wordsworth, England, 1770-1850.

47. The Passing of Time.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more; it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

W. Shakespeare, England, 1564-1616.

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Pleasant were many scenes, but most to me
The solitude of vast extent, untouched

By hand of art, where Nature showed herself,

And reaped her crops, whose garments were the clouds; Whose minstrels, brooks; whose lamps, the moon and

stars;

Whose organ-choir, the voice of many waters;

Whose banquets, morning dews; whose heroes, storms;
Whose warriors, mighty winds; whose lovers, flowers;
Whose orators, the thunderbolts of God;
Whose palaces, the everlasting hills;
Whose ceiling, heaven's unfathomable blue;
And from whose rocky turrets, battled high,
Prospect immense spread out on all sides round.
Lost now between the welkin and the main,
Now walled with hills that slept above the storm.

Robert Pollok, England, 1799-1827.

49. Time's Importance.

On all important time, through every age,

Though much, and warm, the wise have urged; the

man

Is yet unborn who duly weighs an hour.

"I've lost a day," the prince who nobly cried,
Had been an emperor without his crown;

Of Rome? say rather lord of human race!
He spoke as if deputed by mankind.
So should all speak: so reason speaks in all:
From the soft whispers of that God in man,
Why fly to folly, why to frenzy fly

For rescue from the blessings we possess?
Time, the supreme! Time is eternity;
Pregnant with all eternity can give;

Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile.
Who murders Time, he crushes in the birth
A power ethereal, only not adored.

Edw. Young, England, 1684-1765.

50. Lowly Worth.

Some love the glow of outward show,
The shine of wealth, and try to win it;
The house to me may lowly be,

If I but like the people in it.

What's all the gold that glitters cold

When linked to hard and haughty feeling?
Whate'er we're told, the noblest gold

Is truth of heart and honest feeling.

A humble roof may give us proof

That simple flowers are often fairest;
And trees whose bark is hard and dark

May yield us bloom and fruit the rarest!
There's worth as sure among the poor

As e'er adorned the highest station;
And minds as just as theirs, we trust,

Whose claim is but of rank's creation!
Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,
Mere fashion's smile and try to win it;
The house to me may lowly be,

If I but like the people in it!

Chas. Swain, England, 1803-.

31. The Grasshopper and Cricket.

The poetry of earth is never dead;

When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:
That is the grasshopper's, he takes the lead
In summer luxury,—he has never done
With his delights; for, when tired out with fun,
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never.

On a lone winter evening, when the frost

Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems, to one in drowsiness half lost,
The grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

John Keats, England, 1796-1821.

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