O'er lawns, the lily sheds perfume,
The violet in the vale.
But this bold flow'ret climbs the hill,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,
Peeps round the fox's den.
Within the garden's cultured round
It shares the sweet carnation's bed,
And blooms in consecrated ground
In honour of the dead.
The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild-bee murmurs on its breast;
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem,
Light o'er the sky-lark's nest.
'Tis Flora's page; in every place,
In every season fresh and fair,
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms every where.
RUB OR RUST.
IDLER, why lie down to die?
Better rub than rust.
Hark! the lark sings in the sky,
Die when die thou must!
Day is waking, leaves are shaking,
Better rub than rust.
In the grave there's sleep enough-
Better rub than rust:
Death perhaps is hunger proof,
Die when die thou must;
Men are mowing, breezes blowing,
Better rub than rust.
He who will not work, shall want;
Nought for nought is just,
Won't do, must do, when he can't :
Better rub than rust.
Bees are flying, sloth is dying,
Better rub than rust.
RICH AND POOR.
THE rich man's son inherits lands,
And piles of brick, and stone, and gold,
And he inherits soft white hands,
And tender flesh that fears the cold,
Nor dares to wear a garment old :
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.
The rich man's son inherits cares,-
The bank may break, the factory burn,
A breath may burst his bubble shares ;
And soft white hands could hardly earn
A living that would serve his turn :
A heritage, it seems to me,
One scarce would wish to hold in fee.
What doth the poor man's son inherit?
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart,
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ;
King of two hands, he does his part
In every useful toil and art:
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.
What doth the poor man's son inherit? A patience learn'd of being poor,
Courage, if sorrow comes, to bear it,
A fellow-feeling that is sure
To make the outcast bless his door :
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.
Oh, rich man's son! there is a toil
That with all others level stands,
Large charity doth never soil,
But only whiten soft white hands;
This is the best crop from thy lands:
A heritage, it seems to me,
Worth being rich to hold in fee.
Oh, poor man's son ! scorn not thy state,
There is worse weariness than thine
In merely being rich and great ;
Toil only gives the soul to shine,
And makes rest fragrant and benign:
A heritage, it seems to me,
Worth being poor to hold in fee.
Both, heirs to some six feet of sod,
Are equal in the earth at last,
Both, children of the same dear God,
Prove title to your heirship vast,
By records of a well-filled past :
A heritage, it seems to me,
Well worth a life to hold in fee.
CLEON AND I.
CLEON hath a million acres :
Ne'er a one have I :
Cleon dwelleth in a palace;
In a cottage I.
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes;
Not a penny I:
But the poorer of the twain,
Cleon, and not I.
Cleon true possesseth acres,
But the landscape I;
Half the charms to me it yieldeth
Money cannot buy.
Cleon harbours sloth and dulness,
Freshening vigour I;
He in velvet, I in fustian,
Richer man am I.
Cleon is a slave to grandeur,
Free as thought am I ;
Cleon fees a score of doctors,
Need of none have I.
Wealth-surrounded, care-environ'd,
Cleon fears to die;
Death may come, he'll find me ready, Happier man am I.
Cleon sees no charm in nature,
Cleon hears no anthem singing
In the sea and sky.
Nature sings to me for ever,
Earnest listener I :
State for state, with all attendants,
Who would change? Not I.
THE DAFFODILS,
I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way; They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
În such a jocund company:
I gazed-and gazed-but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought :
For oft, when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye,
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.
ANGRY looks can do no good,
And blows are dealt in blindness;
Words are better understood
If spoken but in kindness.
Simple love far more hath wrought,
Although by childhood muttered,
Than all the battles ever fought,
Or oaths that men have uttered.
Friendship oft would longer last,
And quarrels be prevented,
If angry words were let go past,
Forgiven, not resented.
Foolish things are frowns and sneers,
For angry thoughts reveal them;
Rather drown them all in tears,
Than let another feel them.
LITTLE BY LITTLE.
"LITTLE by little," an acorn said, As it slowly sank on its mossy bed, "I am improving every day, Hidden deep in the earth away." Little by little each day it grew : Little by little it sipped the dew;
Downward it sent out a thread-like root;
Upward it sent a tiny shoot.
Day after day, and year after year,
Little by little the leaves appear ;
And the slender branches spread far and wide, Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride.
Far down in the depths of the dark blue sea
An insect-train work ceaselessly;
Grain by grain, they are building well,
Each one alone in it's little cell.
Movement by movement, and day by day,
Never stopping to rest or play,
Rocks upon rocks they are rearing high,
Till the top looks out on the sunny sky :
The gentle wind and the balmy air,
Little by little, bring verdure there,
Till the summer sunbeams gaily smile
On the buds and flowers of the coral isle.
"Little by little," said a thoughtful boy,
"Moment by moment, I'll well employ,
Learning a little every day,
And not spending all my time in play.
And still this rule in my mind shall dwell :-
'Whatever I do, I will do it well.'
Little by little, I'll learn to know
The treasured wisdom of long ago;
And one of these days perhaps we'll see
That the world will be the better for me.
And do not you think that this simple plan
Made him a wise and a useful man?
THE GOOD TIME COMING,
THERE'S a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming :
We may not live to see the day,
But earth shall glisten in the ray
Of the good time coming.
Cannon balls may aid the truth,
But thought 's a weapon stronger,
We'll win our battles by its aid;
Wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming:
The pen shall supersede the sword,
And right, not might, shall be the lord.
In the good time coming.
Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind,
And be acknowledged stronger;
The proper impulse has been given ;-
Wait a little longer.
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