Graded Memory Selections Part 16

I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade.

Laughed the brook for my delight, Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall.

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides.

I was monarch: pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy!

--_Whittier._

[24] Copyrighted by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.

LINCOLN, THE GREAT COMMONER.[25]

When the Norn-mother saw the Whirl-wind Hour, Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, She bent the strenuous heavens and came down To make a man to meet the mortal need.

She took the tried clay of the common road, Clay warm yet with the genial heat of earth, Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy: Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff, It was a stuff to wear for centuries, A man that matched the mountains and compelled The stars to look our way and honor us.

The color of the ground was in him, the red Earth The tang and odor of the primal things-- The rect.i.tude and patience of the rocks: The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn; The courage of the bird that dares the sea; The justice of the rain that loves all leaves; The pity of the snow that hides all scars; The loving kindness of the wayside well; The tolerance and equity of light That gives as freely to the shrinking weed As to the great oak flaring to the wind-- To the grave's low hill as to the Matterhorn That shoulders out the sky.

And so he came From prairie cabin up to Capitol, One fair Ideal led our chieftain on.

Forevermore he burned to do his deed With the fine stroke and gesture of a king.

He built the rail pile as he built the State, Pouring his splendid strength through every blow, The conscience of him testing every blow, To make his deed the measure of a man.

So came the captain with the mighty heart; And when the step of earthquake shook the house, Wrenching the rafters from their ancient hold, He held the ridge-pole up and spiked again The rafters of the Home. He held his place-- Held the long purpose like a growing tree-- Held on through blame and faltered not at praise.

And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down As when a kingly cedar green with boughs Goes down with a great shout upon the hills.

--_Edwin Markham._

[25] Copyrighted by Doubleday & McClure. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.

OPPORTUNITY.[26]

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: There spread a cloud of dust along a plain And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords Shocked upon swords and s.h.i.+elds, a prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.

A craven hung along the battle's edge, And thought: "Had I a sword of keener steel-- That blue blade that the king's son bears--but this Blunt thing!" He snapped and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away and left the field.

Then came the king's son wounded, sore bestead, And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and s.n.a.t.c.hed it, and with battle shout Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down, And saved a great cause on that heroic day.

--_Edward Rowland Sill._

[26] Copyrighted by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.

A SONG.[27]

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear; There is ever a something sings alway: There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.

The suns.h.i.+ne showers across the grain, And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree; And in and out, when the eaves drip rain, The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.

Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear-- There is ever a song somewhere, my dear-- There is ever a song somewhere!

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear, In the mid-night black, or the mid-day blue; The robin pipes when the sun is here, And the cricket chirps the whole night through.

The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow, And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear; But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow, There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.

Be the skies above or dark or fair, There is ever a song that our hearts may hear-- There is ever a song somewhere, my dear-- There is ever a song somewhere!

--_James Whitcomb Riley._

[27] From "Afterwhiles," copyrighted 1887, by Bowen-Merrill Co. Must not be reprinted without permission from the publishers.

TO A FRIEND.

Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days!

None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise.

Tears fell, when thou wert dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep.

When hearts, whose truth was proven, Like thine are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth.

--_Fitz-Greene Halleck._

SEVENTH GRADE

PSALM CXXI.

1. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help.

2. My help cometh from the Lord, which made Heaven and earth.

3. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that keepeth thee will not slumber.

4. Behold, He that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.

5. The Lord is thy keeper: The Lord is thy shade on thy right hand.

6. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.

7. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: He shall preserve thy soul.

8. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.