MEMORY GEMS

GOOD SPEECH *

Think not, because thine inmost heart means well,
Thou hast the freedom of rude speech: sweet words
Are like the voices of returning birds

Filling the soul with summer, or a bell

That calls the weary and the sick to prayer.

Even as thy thought, so let thy speech be fair.

Archibald Lampman.

For this is Love's nobility,

Not to scatter bread and gold,
Goods and raiment bought and sold;
But to hold fast his simple sense,
And speak the speech of innocence,
For he that feeds men serveth few;

He serves all who dares be true.

From "The Celestial Love," by Ralph Waldo
Emerson.t

A thing of beauty is a joy forever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams and health, and quiet breathing.

From " Endymion," by John Keats.

* Reprinted from "Alcyone," by permission of the publishers, George N. Morang & Company, Limited, Toronto.

+ Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company, authorized publishers of Emerson's works.

"Stronger than steel,

Is the sword of the spirit;
Swifter than arrows

The light of the truth is,
Greater than anger

Is love, and subdueth!

"The dawn is not distant,

Nor is the night starless:

Love is eternal!

God is still God, and

His faith shall not fail us;

Christ is eternal!"'

O lift

From The Saga of King Olaf," by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.*

your natures up:

Embrace our aims; work out your freedom. Girls,
Knowledge is now no more a fountain seal'd:

Drink deep, until the habits of the slave,
The sins of emptiness, gossip and spite
And slander die. Better not be at all

Than not be noble.

From The Princess," by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn.

From" Ode to a Nightingale," by John Keats.

* Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company, authorized publishers of Longfellow's works.

SANTA TERESA'S BOOK-MARK
(From the Spanish)

Let nothing disturb thee,
Nothing affright thee:
All things are passing;
God never changeth;
Patient endurance
Attaineth to all things;
Who God possesseth
In nothing is wanting;
Alone God sufficeth.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.*

"Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud;
Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.

66

Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown;
With that wild wheel we go not up or down ;
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.

"Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands;
For man is man and master of his fate.

"Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd;
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.”

From "Enid," by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,”—that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

From Ode on a Grecian Urn," by John Keats.

Reprinted by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company, authorized publishers of Longfellow's works.

Take joy home,

And make a place in thy great heart for her,
And give her time to grow, and cherish her;
Then will she come and oft will sing to thee,
When thou art working in the furrows; ay,
Or weeding in the sacred hour of dawn.

It is a comely fashion to be glad :
Joy is the grace we say to God.

Jean Ingelow.

By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod
I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God:
Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within
The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn.
Sidney Lanier.*

THE OAK

Live thy life,

Young and old,

Like yon oak,
Bright in spring,

Living gold;

Summer-rich

Then; and then
Autumn-changed,
Soberer-hued

Gold again.

All his leaves

Fall'n at length,

Look, he stands,

Trunk and bough,

Naked strength.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

* Reprinted by permission of the publishers, Charles Scribner's Sons.

THE THROSTLE

"Summer is coming, summer is coming,

I know it, I know it, I know it.

Light again, leaf again, life again, love again,”
Yes, my wild little Poet.

Sing the new year in under the blue.

Last year you sang it as gladly.

“New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new

That you should carol so madly?

"Love again, song again, nest again, young again,"
Never a prophet so crazy!

And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend,
See, there is hardly a daisy.

"Here again, here, here, here, happy year!
O warble unchidden, unbidden!

Summer is coming, is coming, my dear,

And all the winters are hidden.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

What bird so sings, yet so does wayle?
O'tis the ravished nightingale.
"Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu" shee cryes;
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! who is 't now we heare?
None but the lark so shrill and cleare.
Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings!
Hearke, hearke, with what a pretty throate
Poore Robin red-breast tunes his note !
Hearke how the jolly cuckoos sing
"Cuckoo," to welcome in the spring,—
"Cuckoo," to welcome in the spring.

From "Campaspe," by John Lyly.