FAIREST AND DEAREST. WHо shall be fairest ? Who shall be rarest? Who shall be first in the songs that we sing? When fortune is blindest, Bearing through winter the blooms of the spring. Charm of our gladness, Angel of life when its pleasures take wing! She shall be rarest, She shall be first in the songs that we sing Who shall be nearest, Noblest and dearest, Named but with honour and pride evermore ? Whose banner is planted On glory's high ramparts and battlements hoar. Fearless of danger, To falsehood a stranger, Looking not back while there's duty before He shall be nearest, He shall be dearest, He shall be first in our hearts evermore. CHARLES MACKAY. THE RAINBOW. My heart leaps up when I behold So was it when my life began; So shall it be when I grow old, Or let me die! The child is father of the man; WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850 THE PHILOSOPHER AND HER FATHER.* "Papa, you know it very well That sound-it was Saint Pancras Bell." "My own Louise, put down the cat, And come and stand by me; That sound-attend to what I tell- Of which that blow's the germ. The following brief analysis “The blow which, when the clapper slips, (A word you'd better spell). In like elastic fashion there, Creating waves on waves; These press each other onward, dear, "And then, papa, I hear the sound,- You're only talking round and round, * Inserted by permission of the Author. THE PHILOSOPHER AND DAUGHTER. All that you say about the bell My uncle George would call a 'sell.'' "Not so, my child, my child, not so, A long way farther we must go This wond'rous wandering wave, or tide, "Within that ear the surgeons find But those not proud of Latin Grammar, "The wave's vibrations this transmits To the small os orbiculare, The tiniest bone that people carry. "The stapes next-the name recalls A stirrup's form, my daughterJoins three half-circular canals, Each filled with limpid water; Their curious lining, you'll observe, Made of the auditory nerve. "This vibrates next-and then we find For then my daughter's gentle Mind See what a host of causes swell To make up what you call 'the Bell."" Awhile she paused-my bright Louise- Then, settling that he meant to tease, SHIRLEY BROOKS. 113 THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land. The deer across their greensward bound And the swan glides past them with the sound The merry homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love There woman's voice flows forth in song, That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds, in that still time, The cottage Homes of England! They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, Through glowing orchards forth they peep, The free, fair homes of England! Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God! MRS, HEMANS, 1793-1835. THE MERRY HEART. I WOULD not from the wise require A single counter of their store. And more than wisdom, more than wealth,- I've struggled for dame Fortune's favour, With merry heart, that laughed at care. I make the good I may not find; And shift my sail with every wind. Can still with pliant heart prepare, CHARLES LAMB, 1775–1834. |