For only one short hour

To feel as I used to feel,

Before I knew the woes of want,
And the walk that costs a meal!

"Oh! but for one short hour!
A respite, however brief!

No blessed leisure for Love or Hope,
But only time for grief!

A little weeping would ease my heart,
But in their briny bed

My tears must stop, for every drop
Hinders needle and thread ! "

With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread

Stitch stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch-
Would that its tone could reach the rich!
She sang this "Song of the Shirt."

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember

The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.

GETTYSBURG ADDRESS

ABRAHAM LINCOLN

NOTE TO THE PUPIL. - Abraham Lincoln was born in Hardin County, Ky., in 1809. He was killed April 15, 1865. Lincoln was the son of very poor parents, and had no early advantages whatever. He went to school so little as to amount almost to not going at all. He was not only poor, and the child of ignorant parents, but the country in which he lived offered, at that time, almost no opportunity for acquiring an education; yet, as the result of persistent effort, he became well informed, a close reasoner, and skillful debater. Everything considered, it may be questioned if this country has ever produced an abler public man. The following address would be highly creditable to the best-trained man; coming from one whose education was wholly self-acquired, and acquired while his time was fully taken up in earning a livelihood, it is very remarkable. Mr. Lincoln was the sixteenth President of the United States. You should read his inaugural addresses.

FOURSCORE and seven years ago,

our fathers

We

brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far above our power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they did

here. It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us,— that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion, that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain,—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom,- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

MR. BRYANT was born at Cummington, Mass., in 1794. He was a precocious child, and began to write verse at the age of eight, at ten made contributions to the press, wrote a finished metrical essay at thirteen, and "Thanatopsis" at seventeen. He produced no poem later in life that excelled this. In his old age he wrote "The Flood of Years," which somewhat resembles it. He went to Williams College, but remained only seven months. He read law and for eight years practiced in Plainfield and Great Barrington.

In 1821 he published a volume containing "Thanatopsis,” “The Age," and other poems. From a literary point of view that year was a remarkable one. Cooper's "Spy," Irving's "Sketch Book" and Bracebridge Hall," Channing's early essays, and Webster's Plymouth oration were all published that year.

66

Bryant wrote many poems and published translations of the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey." For many years he edited the New York Evening Post, and largely influenced the public mind on literary and moral matters. He was in many ways greatly honored in his old age. In 1878 he died at Roslyn, L. I., where he had lived for many years.

MER

ROBERT OF LINCOLN

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

ERRILY swinging on brier and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,

Over the mountain side or mead,

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:

Bob-o-link, bob-o-link;

Spink, spank, spink;

Snug and safe is that nest of ours,

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,

Wearing a bright black wedding coat;

White are his shoulders and white his crest.

Hear him call in his

note: merry

Bob-o-link, bob-o-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Look what a nice new coat is mine,

Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,

Passing at home a patient life,

Broods in the grass while her husband sings:·

Bob-o-link, bob-o-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Brood, kind creature; you need not fear

Thieves and robbers while I am here.

Chee, chee, chee.