38. The Moss Rose.

The angel of the flowers, one day,
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay,—
That spirit to whose charge 'tis given
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven,
Awaking from his light repose,

The angel whispered to the rose:
"O fondest object of my care,

Still fairest found, where all are fair;
For the sweet shade thou giv'st me,
Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee."
"Then," said the rose, with deepened glow,
"On me another grace bestow."

The spirit paused, in silent thought,—
What grace was there the flower had not?
'Twas but a moment,-o'er the rose
A veil of moss the angel throws,
And robed in nature's simplest weed,
Could there a flower that rose exceed?

F. A. Krummacher, Germany, 1768-1845.

39. Neglected Opportunity. There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows, and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat:

And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.

W. Shakespeare, England, 1564-1616.

40. Disaster.

Never stoops the soaring vulture
On his quarry in the desert,
On the sick or wounded bison,
But another vulture, watching
From his high aërial lookout,

Sees the downward plunge, and follows;
And a third pursues the second,
Coming from the invisible ether,
First a speck, and then a vulture,
Till the air is dark with. pinions.
So disaster comes not singly;
But as if they watched and waited,
Scanning one another's motions,
When the first descends, the others
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise
Round their victim, sick and wounded,
First a shadow, then a sorrow,

Till the air is dark with anguish.

H. W. Longfellow, Maine, 1807—.

41.

Some feelings are to mortals given,

With less of earth in them than heaven;

And if there be a human tear

From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek
It would not stain an angel's cheek,—
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head.

W. Scott, Scotland, 1771-1832.

42. Ignorance May be Bliss.

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate
All but the page prescribed, their present state;
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know,
Or who could suffer being here below?

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,

Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food,
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
O blindness to the future! kindly given,

That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven;
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,

A hero perish or a sparrow fall;

Atoms or systems into ruin hurled,

And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Hope humbly, then, with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher, Death; and God adore.
What future bliss, He gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blest;
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

A. Pope, England, 1688-1744.

43. How to Rise.

Heaven is not gained at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true,
That a noble deed is a step toward God,
Lifting the soul from the common sod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by things that are 'neath our feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.
J. G. Holland, Mass., 1819-.

44. An Alpine Storm.

The sky is changed!-and such a change! Oh night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night:-most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight-
A portion of the tempest and of thee!
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And now again 'tis black-and now, the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth,

As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
Lord Byron, England, 1788-1824.

43. Seek Only the Good.
The honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter store,
Humming in calm content his quiet song,
Seeks not alone the rose's glowing breast,

The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips;
But from all rank and noisome weeds he sips
The single drop of sweetness ever pressed
Within the poison chalice. Thus, if we

Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet
In all the varied human flowers we meet
In the wide garden of humanity,

And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear,
Hived in our hearts, it turns to nectar there.
Anne C. Lynch (Botta), Vermont,

46. All may Attain Essential Knowledge. The primal duties shine aloft, like stars;

The charities that soothe and heal and bless,
Are scattered at the feet of man like flowers;

The generous inclination, the just rule,

Kind wishes, and good actions, and pure thoughts,-
No mystery is here; no special boon

For high and not for low, for proudly-grand
And not for meek of heart. The smoke ascends
To heaven as lightly from the cottage hearth
As from the haughty palace. He whose soul
Ponders this true equality may walk

The fields of earth with gratitude and hope.
Wm. Wordsworth, England, 1770-1850.