For Memorizing

For we have a land all sunny with gold,
A land by a summer sea;

Gold in the earth for our hands to hold,
Gold in blossom and tree.

Comfort and plenty and beauty and peace

From the mountains down to the sea!
They thanked their God for a year's increase-
How much the more should we!

-Mrs. Stetson.

THE DAY IS DONE.

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village

Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing
That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles the rain.

For Memorizing

Come, read to me some poems,

Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And tonight I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,

Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction

That follows after prayer.

For Memorizing

Then read from the treasured volume
The poems of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,

And as silently steal away.

-Longfellow.

THE LAST LEAF,

I saw him once before,

As he passed by the door,
And again

The pavement stones resound,

As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,

Not a better man was found

By the crier on his round

Through the town.

For Memorizing

But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,

And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone."

The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has prest

In their bloom,

And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many year
On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said

Poor old lady, she is dead

Long ago

That he had a Roman nose,

And his cheek was like a rose

In the snow;

But now his nose is thin,

And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,

And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack

Is in his laugh.

For Memorizing

I know it is a sin

For me to sit and grin

At him here;

But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!

And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree

In the spring,

Let them smile, as I do now,

At the old forsaken bough

Where I cling.

-Oliver Wendell Holmes.

RING OUT, WILD BELLS.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying clouds, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die!

Ring out the Old, ring in the New;
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going-let him go;

Ring out the False, ring in the True!