Successful Recitations Part 23

And to the second, "Still the same hath told That thou shalt don this robe of royalty, And"--to the third--"that thou this sceptre hold To show a king to such a man as I!"

And straightway it was done. Then Izza spake Unto the guards and said, "Go! Bring thee now From out the city wall a child to make Its first obeisance to the King. Speed thou!"

In Izza's name, Izza, the great and good, Went this strange word 'mid stir and trumpet's ring, And straightway came along and wondering stood A child within the presence of the King.

The King? Her dark eyes, flas.h.i.+ng, fearless gazed To where 'mid pomp and splendor three there sate.

One, 'neath a glittering crown, shrunk sore amazed; One cringed upon the carven throne of state,

The third, wrapped with a royal robe, hung low His head in awkward shame, and could not see Beyond the blazoned hem, that was to show How any man thus garbed a king might be!

Wondering, paused the child, then turned to where One stood apart, his arms across his breast; No crown upon the silver of his hair, Black-gowned and still, of stately mien possessed;

No 'broidered robe nor gemmed device to tell Whose was that brow, majestic with its mind; But lo, one look, and straight she prostrate fell Before great Izza, kingliest of his kind!

Around the s.h.i.+ning Well, at close of day, Beyond the desert, 'neath the palms' green ring, Three stopped to quaff a draught and paused to say "Life to great Izza! Long may he be King!"

THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDERS.

BY JOHN G. SAXE.

A famous king would build a church, A temple vast and grand; And that the praise might be his own, He gave a strict command That none should add the smallest gift To aid the work he planned.

And when the mighty dome was done, Within the n.o.ble frame, Upon a tablet broad and fair, In letters all aflame With burnished gold, the people read The royal builder's name.

Now when the king, elate with pride, That night had sought his bed, He dreamed he saw an angel come (A halo round his head), Erase the royal name and write Another in its stead.

What could it be? Three times that night That wondrous vision came; Three times he saw that angel hand Erase the royal name, And write a woman's in its stead In letters all aflame.

Whose could it be? He gave command To all about his throne To seek the owner of the name That on the tablet shone; And so it was, the courtiers found A widow poor and lone.

The king, enraged at what he heard, Cried, "Bring the culprit here!"

And to the woman trembling sore, He said, "'Tis very clear That thou hast broken my command: Now let the truth appear!"

"Your majesty," the widow said, "I can't deny the truth; I love the Lord--my Lord and yours-- And so in simple sooth, I broke your Majesty's command (I crave your royal ruth).

"And since I had no money, Sire, Why, I could only pray That G.o.d would bless your Majesty;'

And when along the way The horses drew the stones, I gave To one a wisp of hay!"

"Ah! now I see," the king exclaimed, "Self-glory was my aim: The woman gave for love of G.o.d, And not for worldly fame-- 'Tis my command the tablet bear The pious widow's name!"

THE CAPTAIN OF THE NORTHFLEET,

BY GERALD Ma.s.sEY.

So often is the proud deed done By men like this at Duty's call; So many are the honours won For us, we cannot wear them all!

They make the heroic common-place, And dying thus the natural way; And yet, our world-wide English race Feels n.o.bler, for that death, To-day!

It stirs us with a sense of wings That strive to lift the earthiest soul; It brings the thoughts that fathom things To anchor fast where billows roll.

Love was so new, and life so sweet, But at the call he left the wine, And sprang full-statured to his feet, Responsive to the touch divine.

"_ Nay, dear, I cannot see you die.

For me, I have my work to do Up here. Down to the boat. Good-bye, G.o.d bless you. I shall see it through_."

We read, until the vision dims And drowns; but, ere the pang be past, A tide of triumph overbrims And breaks with light from heaven at last.

Through all the blackness of that night A glory streams from out the gloom; His steadfast spirit lifts the light That s.h.i.+nes till Night is overcome.

The sea will do its worst, and life Be sobbed out in a bubbling breath; But firmly in the coward strife There stands a man who has conquered Death!

A soul that masters wind and wave, And towers above a sinking deck; A bridge across the gaping grave; A rainbow rising o'er the wreck.

Others he saved; he saved the name Unsullied that he gave his wife: And dying with so pure an aim, He had no need to save his life!

Lord! how they shame the life we live, These sailors of our sea-girt isle, Who cheerily take what Thou mayst give, And go down with a heavenward smile!

The men who sow their lives to yield A glorious crop in lives to be: Who turn to England's harvest-field The unfruitful furrows of the sea.

With such a breed of men so brave, The Old Land has not had her day; But long her strength, with crested wave, Shall ride the Seas, the proud old way.

THE HAPPIEST LAND.

BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

There sat one day in quiet, By an alehouse on the Rhine, Four hale and hearty fellows, And drank the precious wine.

The landlord's daughter filled their cups Around the rustic board; Then sat they all so calm and still, And spake not one rude word.

But when the maid departed, A Swabian raised his hand, And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, "Long live the Swabian land!

"The greatest kingdom upon earth Cannot with that compare; With all the stout and hardy men And the nut-brown maidens there."

"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,-- And dashed his beard with wine; "I had rather live in Lapland, Than that Swabian land of thine!