ページの画像
PDF
ePub

"Not to myself alone,"

The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum, —
"Not to myself alone from flower to flower
I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower,
And to the hive at evening weary come;

For man, for man the luscious food I pile
With busy care,

Content if he repay my ceaseless toil
With scanty share."

"Not to myself alone,"

The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings,-
"Not to myself alone I raise my song;
I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue,
And bear the mourner on my viewless wings;

I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn,
And God adore;

I call the worldling from his dross to turn,
And sing and soar."

"Not to myself alone,"

The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way,-
"Not to myself alone I sparkling glide;
I scatter health and life on every side,
And strew the fields with herb and flow'ret gay;
I sing unto the common, bleak and bare,
My gladsome tune;

I sweeten and refresh the languid air
In droughty June."

"Not to thyself alone!"

O! man, forget not thou, earth's honored priest, Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart.

In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part.

Chiefest of guests at Love's ungrudging feast,
Play not the niggard; spurn thy native clod,
And self disown;

Live to thy neighbor, live unto thy God,-
Not to thyself alone!

BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF CÆSAR.

ROMANS, Countrymen, and lovers! Hear me for my cause; and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses that you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly, — any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Cæsar was not less than his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer: Not that I loved Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than that Cæsar were dead, to live all freemen? As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambitious, I slew him! There are tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honor for his valor; and death for his ambition!

SHAKSPEARE.

THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.

A HERMIT there was, who lived in a grot,
And the way to be happy they said he had got.
As I wanted to learn it, I went to his cell;

And this answer he gave, when I asked him to tell:
“'Tis being, and doing, and having, that make
All the pleasures and pains of which mortals partake:
To be what God pleases, to do a man's best,
And to have a good heart, is the way to be blest.”

PERILS OF THE SEA.

THE brave ship lay at anchor in the harbor. Her yards were unbraced, and her sails hung loosely against the mast, for the day was calm and lovely. Her port-holes were unclosed, and her guns showed their dark mouths in a fearful row. That was the last time I saw the good ship Terrible. She sailed the next day for China, and was never heard of more.

What was the fate of that noble vessel and her gallant crew? Alas! we can only guess. Overtaken by some dreadful storm, did she founder and sink? Or, was she borne against some iceberg that toppled and fell upon her deck, carrying ruin and dismay? Or, did she take fire, and burn to the water's edge? It is conjecture all !

Many are the perils of the poor sailor. Do we ever think how much we owe him? Live comfortably we can not, live at all, perhaps, we can not, without seamen will expose themselves for us, risk themselves for us, and, alas! often, very often, drown— drown in our service drown and leave widows and orphans destitute.

To beg with me, to plead with me, for these destitute ones,

there comes from many a place where seamen have died a call, a prayer, a beseeching voice; a cry from the coast of Guinea, where there is fever evermore; a cry from Arctic seas, where icebergs are death; a cry from coral reefs, that ships are wrecked on horribly; a cry from mid ocean, where many a sailor drops into a sudden grave! They ask your help, your charity for the widows and orphans of those who have gone down to the sea have gone down to the sea in ships.

THE MISER AND THE MOUSE.

A MISER, traversing his house,
Espied, unusual there, a mouse,
And thus his uninvited guest,
Briskly inquisitive, addressed :
"Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it
I owe this unexpected visit ? ”
The mouse her host obliquely eyed,
And, smiling, pleasantly replied,
"Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard!
I come to lodge, and not to board!

[ocr errors]

TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK BY COWPER.

LOVE OF COUNTRY.

BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own my native land ?

Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well:
For him no minstrel raptures swell.

High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ·
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

THE CALL OF SAMUEL.

1 Sam. 3: 1-10.

IN Israel's fane, by silent night,
The lamp of God was burning bright;
And there, by viewless angels kept,
Samuel, the child, securely slept.

A voice unknown the stillness broke:
"Samuel!" it called, and thrice it spoke.
He rose; he asked whence came the word;
From Eli? No; it was the Lord.

Thus early called to serve his God,
In paths of righteousness he trod;
Prophetic visions fired his breast,

And all the chosen tribes were blessed.

Speak, Lord! and, from our earliest days,
Incline our hearts to love thy ways.

Thy wakening voice hath reached our ear;
Speak, Lord, to us; thy servants hear.

CAWOOD.

« 前へ次へ »