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“Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
At break of day, as heavenward
A traveler, by the faithful hound,
There in the twilight cold and gray,
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH
UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
With large and sinewy hands;
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
He earns whate'er he can,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
With measured beat and slow,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
And hear the bellows roar,
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears his daughter's voice,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
How in the grave she lies;
A tear out of his eyes.
Onward through life he goes;
Each evening sees it close;
Has earned a night's repose.
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882]
FOUR things a man must learn to do
Henry Van Dyke (1852–
LABOR AND LOVE
LABOR and love! there are no other laws
To rule the liberal action of that soul
Which fate hath set beneath thy brief control, Or lull the empty fear that racks and gnaws; Labor! then like a rising moon,
the cause Of life shall light thine hour from pole to pole,
Thou shalt taste health of purpose, and the roll Of simple joys unwind without a pause. Love! and thy heart shall cease to question why
Its beating pulse was set to rock and rave;
Find but another heart this side the grave To soothe and cling to,—thou hast life's reply. Labor and love! then fade without a sigh, Submerged beneath the inexorable wave.
Edmund Gosse (1849–
WHAT IS GOOD
“WHAT is the real good?"
Order, said the law court;
Freedom, said the dreamer;
Spake my heart full sadly,
Then within my bosom
John Boyle O'Reilly (1844-1890)
BETTER trust all and be deceived,
Oh, in this mocking world, too fast
Frances Anne Kemble (1809-1893)
If thou hast squandered years to grave a gem
Dismiss them to the street!
Should'st thou at last discover Beauty's grove,
But in the track,
Turn, at her bidding, back.
When round thy ship in tempest Hell appears,
To snatch control
Then to the helm, 0 Soul!
Last, if upon the cold, green-mantling sea,
Herbert Trench (1865
So here hath been dawning
Another blue Day:
Slip useless away?
Out of Eternity
This new Day is born;
At night, will return.
Behold it aforetime
No eye ever did:
From all eyes is hid.
Another blue Day:
Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881]
“MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD ARE PASSED”
My days among the Dead are passed,
Around me I behold,
The mighty minds of old: