THE DAISY. It caught the breath of morns and eves, By rains and dews and sunshine fed, Upon that solitary place Its verdure threw adorning grace; Wouldst know the moral of the rhyme? CHARLES MACKAY. THE DAISY. NoT worlds on worlds, in masses deep, For who but He who arched the skies, Could raise the daisy's purple bud, Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, And fling it, unrestrained and free, DR. GOOD, 1764-1827. 41 THE KING AND THE SPIDER.* King Bruce of Scotland flung himself down "Tis true he was monarch and wore a crown, For he had been trying to do a great deed He had tried and tried, but couldn't succeed : He flung himself down in low despair, And after a while, as he pondered there, Now just at the moment a spider dropped, With its silken cobweb clue; And the king in the midst of his thinking stopped "Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome, It soon began to cling and crawl Straight up with strong endeavour; Up, up it ran, not a second it stayed Till it fell still lower, and there it laid, Its head grew steady—again it went, And a road where its feet would tire. *Inserted, together with "The Old Arm-chair," p. 69, and "Home for the Holidays," by permission of Miss Eliza Cook. THE KING AND THE SPIDER. 43 Again it fell and swung below, But again it quickly mounted; "Sure," cried the king," that foolish thing When it toils so hard to reach and cling, But up the insect went once more. Steadily, steadily, inch by inch, And a bold little run at the very last pinch, "Bravo! bravo!" the king cried out, "All honour to those who try! The spider up there defied despair; He conquered, and why shouldn't I?" And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind, That he tried once more as he tried before, Pay goodly heed, all ye who read, Whenever you find your heart despair ELIZA COOK. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a spreading chestnut tree His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His brow is wet with honest sweat, And looks the whole world in the face, Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, And children coming home from school They love to see the flaming forge, He goes on Sunday to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach, 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 THE DAWNING DAY. Toiling-rejoicing-sorrowing, Each morning sees some task begun, Something attempted, something done, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, H. W. LONGFELLOW. THE DAWNING DAY. So here hath been dawning Out of Eternity This new day is born; At night doth return. Behold it aforetime No eyes ever did : Here hath been dawning Another blue day: Slip useless away? THOMAS CARLYLE. 45 |