For Memorizing

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.

THE AMERICAN FLAG.

When Freedom, from her mountain height,
Unfurled her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,

And set the stars of glory there.

She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure, celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land.

Majestic monarch of the cloud!
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,

To hear the tempest trumpings loud
And see the lightning lances driven,
When strive the warriors of the storm,

1.

For Memorizing

A SONG.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear; There is ever a something sings always:

There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear, And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.

The sunshine 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 hearThere is a song somewhere, my dear—

There is ever a song somewhere!

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,

In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue: The robin pipes when the sun is here,

And the cricket chirrups 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.

Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking, or asleep,

Thou of death must deem

Things more true and deep

Than we mortals dream,

Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,

And pine for what is not;

Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought,

Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride and fear,

If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

For Memorizing

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures

That in books are found.

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow,

The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley.

SAIL ON, O SHIP OF STATE!

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!

We know what Master laid thy keel,
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!

For Memorizing

Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
'Tis of the wave and not the rock;
'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!

In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee;

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,

Are all with thee- are all with thee!

-Longfellow.

WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE?

What constitutes a state?

Not high-raised battlement or labored mound,
Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned;
Not bays and broad-arm ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;

Not starred and spangled courts,

Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.

No:- men, high-minded men,

With powers as far above dull brutes endued

In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude,—