CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL Arranged by E. KATHAEINE L BEESON 1905: BURT-TERRY-WILSON COMPANY Publishers Lafayette, Indiana Copyright, 1905, by R. Katharine Beeson. ■ C « *i c * * . a o PH G) I o C4&' To The Children whose welcome of the first edition made the compilation seem a labor worth while Oyez, oyez ! Lost, stolen or strayed, a good ancient practice — the good ancient practice of learning by heart. Every finder will be hand- somely rewarded. — Vernon Lushington. WHEREFORE It is better to inspire the heart with a noble sentiment than to teach the mind a truth of science. — Edward Brooks. In the course of our reading we should lay up in our minds a store of goodly thoughts in well-wrought words, which shall be a living treasure of knowledge always with us, and from which, at various times, and amidst all the shift- ing of circumstances, we might be sure of draw- ing some comfort, guidance, and sympathy. — Sir Arthur Helps. School-taught English usually errs in the direction of pedantry; it lacks life and virility. The corrective is to be found by bringing the child early and late into contact with literature that has character and distinction. Teach him to love this, to return to it often, and his own spoken and written English will be worthy. — Nicholas Murray Butler. Our teachers of English are called upon to use our unsurpassed English literature, as it has never been used before, toward the formation of character, the enrichment of life and the re- finement of manners. — Percival Chubb. Whatever your occupation may be, and how- ever crowded your hours with affairs, do not fail to secure at least a few minutes every day for re- freshment of your inner life with a bit of poetry. Poetry is one of the most efficient means of education of the moral sentiment as well as of the intelligence. It is the source of the best cul- ture. Let a man truly possess himself of any one of the works of the great poets, and no mat- ter whatever else he may fail to know, he is not without education. * * * * To learn by heart the best poems is one of the best parts of the school education of the child. — Charles Bliot Norton. "The acquisition of good poetry," said Matthew Arnold, that practical thinker, "is a dis- cipline in the whole range of our public schools. More than any other, too, it works of itself." It works of itself! I believe that if, for one half hour a day, a teacher were to read good poetry aloud with his pupils, not fretting them with comments, not harrying them with too frequent questions, but doing his best by voice and man- ner to hold their attention, and encourage them to read in their turn, pausing only at some salient beauty, or some unusual difficulty, above all giv- ing the poetry time to sink in — I believe thor- oughly he would find himself rewarded beyond all his calculations. For a child's mind is a won- derful worker if we only trust it. A child's imagination is as susceptible of improvement by exercise as his judgment or memory. Can we not so persuade our schoolmasters that our chil- dren may hear this music more clearly and more constantly than we? — A. T. Quiller-Couch in Pall Mail Gazette. Whatever the child feels in his heart, what- ever lives in his soul, whatever he cannot express in his own words, he would fain have others express for him. — Froebel. A man lives in the last half of life on the memory of things read in the first half of life. — Samuel Johnson. Blessings be with them and eternal praise Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares — The poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays. — Wordsworth. COME, read to me some poem, 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. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs have gushed from the heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Then read from the treasured volume The poem 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. EDITOR'S FOREWORD THIS collection of poems and prose selec- tions to be memorized by children, was arranged for use in the Lafayette schools, as a part of the regular courses in English and ethics. It had its beginning in the oft repeated request of the children to "read again" certain favorite selections. The list, short at first, read again and again, and finally learned by heart, included a few poems whose richness of imagery and brilliancy of word-coloring af- forded the children a satisfactory expression for their own enjoyment of the beauty of the out- door world about them. It was easy to extend it to include others whose recognized literary merit made an acquaintance with them desirable ; still others whose strong human interest both stimulated and offered a means of expression for feelings which might grow into high ideals of what man's relations to his neighbor ought to be; and others still, whose appeal is almost wholly to the moral nature. No one collection could possibly contain everyone's favorite. Space limitations make it necessary to exclude much that one feels should be included. It is hoped, however, that there is sufficient material and variety to permit some liberty of choice to teachers and to the children themselves. It has been the rule to offer nothing that was not in itself good, and then to hold to that which the children liked. In distributing the selections through the different months of the year, the Psalms of King David naturally took their place in November, the Thanksgiving month ; the patriotic and heroic poems and hymns fell into our Country's anniversary months — February, the birth-month of so many of our great men ; May, the Memorial month; and July the birth-month of the Nation. The nature poems, of course, belong of right to the months whose beauties they celebrate. Other poems are placed where room for them could best be found and should be so used as to serve the convenience of those using them, regardless of their place in the course. The beginning of the first conscious great epoch in a child's life is marked by his "first day" at school. His year then, begins with September, rathen than January, and so this Calendar of poem and prose begins with the month of the golden-rod and aster, rather than with New Year's Day. It is my privilege to express my debt to President Roosevelt for permission to include extracts from his Inaugural Address ; To Edward Everett Hale for a selection from "The Man Without a Country;" To James Whitcomb Riley; to Henry Van Dyke ; to Thomas Bailey Aldrich ; to Edwin Markham; to Margaret E. Sangster; to Evaleen Stein; to "Susan Coolidge;" to Ella Wheeler Wilcox, and to Mary H. Krout, for generous permission to use various selections from their published works. My thanks are also due to The Bobbs-Mer- rill Co., for kind permission to use Riley's poems ; to tne Century Co., for copyrighted material be- longing to them ; to Charles Scribner's Sons for poems by Eugene Field and J. G. Holland ; to Harper & Brothers for poems by Henry Van- Dyke ; to D. Appleton & Co., for selections from Bryant's works ; to Little, Brown & Co., for se- lections from the works of Edward Everett Hale, Helen Hunt Jackson and Susan Coolidge ; to Small, Maynard & Co., for Walt Whitman's "O Captain! My Captain"; to McClure, Phillips & Co., for Edwin Markham's "Lincoln," from "Lincoln and Other Poems;" to A. C. McClurg & Co., for "Rainbow Fairies," from "Child's Gar- den of Song;" to The Educational Publishing Co., for various selections which have appeared in Primary Education ; to The Outlook Co., for the verses, "Agreed to Disagree." The copyrighted selections from the works of Lowell, Longfellow, Whittier, Lucy Larcom, Celia Thaxter, Edward Sill and Frank Dempster Sherman are by permission of and special ar- rangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., the authorized publishers of their works. Centennial Schooe, June, 1905. CONTENTS CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 25 FIRST YEAR SEPTEMBER. Golden-rod - - From Our Little Ones. The Bye-low Song - Unknown. Nonsense Alphabet - Edward Lear. Alphabetic Gems ----- OCTOBER. Come Little Leaves - - George Cooper. The Swing - Robert Louis Stevenson. Nonsense Alphabet - Lear Alphabetic Gems NOVEMBER. Psalm XXIII - - - - The Bible. The Empty Nest - - - Alice E. Allen. Nonsense Alphabet _ _ _ _ Lear Alphabetic Gems ----- DECEMBER. When Santa Claus Comes - Unknown. The Little Snow-Flake Margaret E. Sangster. Nonsense Alphabet - Lear Alphabetic Gems - JANUARY. The New Year - Unknown. The Fairy Artist - Unknown. Nonsense Alphabet - Lear Alphabetic Gems ----- 2G CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FEBETXABY. America The Heart of a Seed Nonsense Alphabet Alphabetic Gems Samuel Francis Smith. Unknown. - Lear MARCH. The Wind - Pussy Willow Song Nonsense Alphabet Alphabetic Gems APRIL. April My Shadow Nonsense Alphabet Alphabetic Gems MAY. Little Peach Blossom - Robin's Secret - Nonsense Alphabet Alphabetic Gems JUNE. Seven Times One Sweet and Low Nonsense Alphabet Alphabetic Gems The Rainbow Fairies Dewdrops Nonsense Alphabet Alphabetic Gems JXHyY. Stevenson Unknown. - Lear. Unknown. Stevenson - Lear. Unknown Unknown. - Lear. Jean Ingelow. Tennyson. - Lear Lizzie M. Hadley. Mary F. Butts. - Lear. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 27 AUGUST Wynken, Blynken and Nod The Three-Inch Grin Non?ense Alphabet Alphabetic Gems Eugene Field. Unknown. - Lear. SECOND YEAR SEPTEMBER. The Child's World The Flower Lullaby Good-Bye to Summer W. B. Rands. Addie Litchfield. Kate S. Kellogg. OCTOBER. How the Leaves Came Down The Chestnut The Star - Susan Coolidge. Unknown. Jane Taylor. NOVEMBER. Psalm XXIV - We Thank Thee - How to be Happy The Bible. Margaret E. Sangster. - Unknown. DECEMBER. The Two Little Stockings What Makes Christmas The Wonderful Weaver Sarah Keables Hunt. Dorothy Howe. George Cooper. JANUARY. New Year's Greeting January The Reason Why Unknown. Unknown. Unknown. 2b CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FEBRUARY. Our Flag The Shortest Month Just You and I - - Unknown. Adelin Whitney. - Unknown. MARCH. March - - Constance Fenimore Woolson. Who Has Seen the Wind? Christina Rossetti. Pussy Willows - Elizabeth E. Foulke. APRIL. An April Day The Sweet Red Rose What Robin Told May Spring The Lilac Rachel E. Smith. - Joel Stacy. George Cooper. MAY. Ada Stewart Sheldon. Celia Thaxter. - Clara Doty Bates. JUNE. The Bluebell The Silver Boat The Violet - JULY. The Humming Bird Lady Moon The Wasp and the Bee Unknown. Mary F. Butts. Jane Taylor. - Unknown. Lord Houghton. Unknown AUGUST If I Were a Sunbeam - - Unknown. The City and the Country Mouse - Rossetti. Love - Francis Bourdillon. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 29 THIRD YEAR SEPTEMBEK. September - - Helen Hunt Jackson. Queer Little Historians - Adelbert Caldwell. OCTOBER. October's Bright Blue Weather - H. H. Jackson. A Fable - - Ralph Waldo Emerson. NOVEMBER. Psalm I - The Bible. November ----- Alice Cary. DECEMBER. The Little Fir Trees - Evaleen Stein. JANUARY. Holiday Gifts - Unknown. Talking in Their Sleep - Edith M. Thomas. FEBRUARY. Waiting to Grow - Unknown. The Red, White, and Blue - D. T. Shaw. MARCH. V/hat March Does - May Riley Smith. Sir Robin - Lucy Larcom. APRIL. The Tendril's Faith - Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Agreed to Disagree - - Sidney Dayre. 30 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MAY. The Four Sunbeams - - - M. K. B. A Song - Robert Browning. JUNE. Robert of Lincoln - William Cullen Bryant. Winged Seeds - - Helen Gray Cone. JULY. The Throstle - Tennyson. The Forget-Me-Not - - Unknown. AUGUST Earth to Air - L. A. C. Ward. The Children's Hour - - Longfellow. FOURTH YEAR SEPTEMBER. A Dream of Autumn - James Whitcomb Riley. Rare September - Unknown. OCTOBER. The Village Blacksmith - - Longfellow. Columbus - Joaquin Miller. NOVEMBER. Psalm CL. - - - - - The Bible The Landing of the Pilgrims - Mrs. Hemans. DECEMBER. The First Snow-Fall - - - Lowell. The Christmas Tree - Mary A. McHugh. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 31 JANUARY. The Wizard Frost - Frank Dempster Sherman. Abou Ben Adhem - - Leigh Hunt. FEBRUARY. Flag of the Free - Unknown. Just a Little - Unknown. MARCH. March - Lucy Larcom. The Redbreast and Butterfly Wordsworth. APRIL. The Daffodils - Wordsworth. Jack-in-the-Pulpit - Unknown. MAY. Little Dandelion - - Helen Bostwick. May - George McDonald. JUNE. Little Boy Blue - Eugene Field. The Barefoot Boy - - - Whittier. JULY. Summer's Sunny Days - - Unknown. Little Brown Hands - - Mary H. Krout. AUGUST Give - Adelaide Proctor. Alexander Selkirk - Cowper. 32 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIFTH YEAR SEPTEMBEB. The Corn Song - - John G. Whittier. The Better Way - Unknown. OCTOBEB. October Song - Evaleen Stein. Autumn Leaves - - Angelina Wray. NOVEMBEB. Down to Sleep - Helen Hunt Jackson. Psalm XV. - The Bible. DECEMBEB. Frost Work - - Thomas Bailey Aldrich. Home, Sweet Home - Payne. JANUABY. January - Evaleen Stein. Asleep ----- Edward Jenks. FEBBUABY. The Shepherd of King Admetus - Lowell. Abraham Lincoln - Richard Henry Stoddard. MABCH. March - Bryant. The Voice of Spring - - Mrs. Hemans. APBIL. The South Wind and the Sun - Riley. The Average Man - Margaret E. Sangster. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 33 MAY. Work - Mary N. Prescott. The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz - Longfellow. JUNE. June - Richard Burton. Leaning and Lifting - Ella Wheeler Wilcox. JULY. Battle Hymn of the Republic - Julia Ward Howe. The American Flag - Drake. AUGUST Wings - Mary F. Butts. Opportunity - Edward Sill. SIXTH YEAR SEPTEMBER. September Days - - Elliot C. True. Somebody's Mother - Unknown. OCTOBER. Indian Summer - - Henry VanDyke. Fame - Schiller. NOVEMBER. Psalm XIX - - - - The Bible. The Petrified Fern - Mary Bolles Branch. DECEMBER. Christmas Bells - Longfellow. "When Daddy Lights the Tree - Sangster. 34 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JANUARY. The Burial of Moses Hohenlinden - Mrs. Alexander. Campbell. FEBRUARY. The Heritage Find a Way or Make It Lowell. John G. Saxe. MARCH. The Ten Commandments Gradatim - - The Bible. J. G. Holland. APRIL. To the Dandelion Robin's Come MAY. Lowell. Caldwell. Love of Country Nolan's Speech Scott. Edward Everett Hale. JUNE. The Moss Rose To a Skylark JULY. Krumacher Shelley. The Origin of the Forest Hymn Opal Unknown Bryant. AUGUST Our Kind of a Man Riley. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 35 SEVENTH YEAR SEPTEMBER. Ode to Autumn - Keats. The Shell ----- Tennyson. OCTOBER. To a Water Fowl Bryant. Burial of Sir John Moore Wolfe. NOVEMBER. Psalm XC. - - - t The Bible. Recessional - Kipling. DECEMBER. The Snow Storm - - Emerson. Ring Out, Wild Bells Tennyson. JANUARY. Winter - Whittier. The Bells ----- Poe. FEBRUARY. Lincoln, the Great Commoner - Edwin Markham The Aim of Life - Bailey. MARCH. The Eve of Waterloo - - Byron. The Charge of the Light Brigade - Tennyson. APRIL. An April Day - Caroline B. Southey. King Henry's Address to His Soldiers Shakespeare. 36 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MAY. The Star Spangled Banner - Francis S. Key. The Blue and the Grav - Finch. JUNE. Thoughts fer the Discuraged Farmer - Riley, JUET. The Humble-bee The Skylark Emerson, James Hogg AUGUST The Cloud - The Finding of the Lyre Shelley Lowell, EIGHTH YEAR SEPTEMBER. The Chambered Nautilus Hymn to Diana - Holmes Ben Jonson, OCTOBER. To the Fringed Gentian The Last Leaf - Bryant, Holmes, NOVEMBER. Psalm CXLVIII The Bible, DECEMBER. God Bless Us Every One Winter Riley Lowell, CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 37 JANUARY. Lead Kindly Light Remember ! Cardinal Newman. The Bible. FEBRUARY. The Ship of State O Captain! My Captain! MARCH. The Ladder of St. Augustine Thanatopsis - APRIL. Concord Hymn Old Ironsides Longfellow. Walt Whitman. Longfellow. Bryant. Emerson. Holmes. MAY. The Gettysburg Address Inaugural Address Lincoln. Roosevelt. JUNE. A June Day Lowell. JULY. The Name of Old Glory The Present Crisis Riley. Lowell. AUGUST fcong Riley BETWEEN WHILES. *_*0 TIRST YEAR Be to others kind and true As you'd have others be to you. Golden Rule CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 41 SEPTEMBER GOLDEN-ROD "T"ELL me, sunny golden-rod, 1 Growing everywhere, Did Fairies come from Fairyland And make the dress you wear? Say, did you get from mines of gold Your bright and shining hue? Or did the baby stars some night Fall down and cover you? Or did the angels flap their wings And drop their glitter down Upon you, laughing golden-rod, Your nodding head to crown? Or are you clothed in sunshine caught From summer's brightest day, To give again in happy smiles To all who pass your way ? —From Our Little Ones. 42 CHILD' H CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIRST TEAK SEPTEMBEB THE BYE-LOW SONG ^7 AY, birdies, when your bed-time comes, »-— ^ And underneath your mother's wing You're tucked away so carefully, Does Mamma Birdie to you sing t The Bye-Low Song? Say, little lamb, with curly hair, That in the field is gamboling The whole day through,when bed-time comes, Does Mamma Sheep then to you sing The Bye-Low Song? I know that when my bed-time comes, And I am tired of everything, I cannot go to sleep unless I hear my Mamma softly sing The Bye-Low Song. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 43 FIRST YEAR SEPTEMBM NONSENSE ALPHABET A was an ant Who seldom stood still, And who made a nice house In the side of a hill. Nice little ant! Bwas a bat, Who slept all the day; And fluttered about When the sun went away. Brown little bat! — Edward Lear. ALPHABETIC GEMS AS little by little the oak trees grow, So little by little I'll try to know ; One of these days perhaps we'll see The world will be the better for me. BE kind and be gentle To those who are old, For dearer is kindness And better than gold. 44 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL OCTOBER COME LITTLE LEAVES COME, little leaves," said the wind one day, '•Come o'er the meadows with me and play ; Put on your dresses of red and gold, Summer is gone and the days grow cold." Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call, Down they came fluttering one and all ; Over the brown fields they danced and flew, Singing the glad little songs they knew. Dancing and whirling the little leaves went, Winter had called them and they were content; Soon fast asleep in their earthy beds The snow laid a white blanket over their heads. — George Cooper. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 45 FIRST TEAR OCTOHER THE SWING H OW do you like to go up in a swing, ■ ■ Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing Ever a child can do! Up in the air and over the wall, Till I can see so wide, Rivers and trees and cattle and all Over the countryside — Till I look down on the garden green, Down on the roof so brown — Up in the air I go flying again, Up in the air and down! — Robert Louis Stevenson. 46 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIEST TEAR OCTOBER NONSENSE ALPHABET Cwas a camel, You rode on his hump ; And if you fell off, You came down such a bump! What a high camel ! Dwas a duck With spots on his back, Who lived in the water, And always said "Quack!" Dear little duck! ALPHABETIC GEMS Cherish what is good and drive Evil thoughts and feelings far, For as sure as you're alive You will show for what you are. — Phoebe Cary. Do not look for wrong and evil You will find them if you do ; As you measure to your neighbor He will measure back to you. — Alice Cary. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 47 NOVEMBER PSALM XXIII i. The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. 2. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures : he leadeth me beside the still waters. 3. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. 4. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 5. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 6. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life ; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. — The Bible. 48 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIRST TEAR NOVEMBER THE EMPTY NEST* rLY away little bird! Southern skies are aglow, And our winter is coming in silence and snow; Take the songs that you taught me on summer days fleet, Take the music you brought, so tender, so sweet, But leave me this wee nest, so lonely and gray ! Fly away! Fly away! Fly away! Fly away little bird, with the bonny red breast 1 I remember one day well — we love it the best, — I found in their cradle, so dreamy and deep, Blue eggs, — bits of music were in them asleep, — Don't forget this wee nest so empty today ! Fly away, little bird, fly away ! Fly away, little bird! through the snow and the storm ! I shall know you are singing in groves glad and warm ; Next spring, will you bring to me dreams of it all As sweetly you sing to me from your tree tall? You'l! find' your nest waiting that morning in May, Fly away! Fly away! Fly away! — Alice B. Allen. •Copyrighted and must not be reproduced without permission. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 49 KIRST TEAK NOVEMBEB NONSENSE ALPHABET E was an elephant, Stately and wise ; He had tusks and a trunk, And two queer little eyes. Oh, what funny small eyes r was a fish Who was caught in a net; But he got out again, And is quite alive yet. Lively young fish ! ALPHABETIC GEMS Every gentle word you say One dark spirit drives away ; Every gentle deed you do One bright spirit brings to you. — Virginia Harrison. ror what you find in these sweet days Depends on how you go about it. A glad heart helps poor eyes to see, What brightest eyes can't see with- out it. — Henrietta Eliot. 50 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL DECEMBER WHEN SANTA CLAUS COMES \A ERRILY, merrily, merrily oh ! ' * The reindeer prance across the snow; We hear their tinkling silver bells, Whose merry music softly tells Old Santa Claus is coming. Merrily, merrily, merrily oh ! The evergreens in the woodland grow; They rustle gently in the breeze; O, don't you think the Christmas trees Know Santa Claus is coming? Merrily, merrily, merrily oh ! We've hung our stockings in a row, Into our beds we'll softly creep, Just shut our eyes and go to sleep And wait — for Santa Claus is coming. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 51 FIRST YEAR DECEMBER THE LITTLE SNOW FLAKE IT was a little snowflake With tiny winglets furled ; Its warm cloud mother held it fast Above the sleeping world. All night the wild wind blustered, And blew o'er land and sea; But the little snowflake cuddled close, As safe as safe could be. Then came the cold gray morning, And the great cloud mother said, "Now every little snowflake Must proudly lift its head, And through the air go sailing Till it finds a place to light, For I must weave a coverlet To clothe the earth in white." The little snowflake fluttered, And gave a wee, wee sigh ; But fifty million other flakes Came floating softly by ; And the wise cloud mothers sent them To keep the world's bread warm, Through many a winter sunset, Through many a winter storm. — Margaret B. Songster. 52 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIRST YEAR DECEMBER NONSENSE ALPHABET Gwas a goat Who was spotted and brown; When lie did not lie still He walked up and down. Good little goat ! nwas a hat Which was all on one side; Its crown was too high, And its brim was too wide. Oh, what a hat ! ALPHABETIC GEMS ("* oodness shows in blushes bright, 3 Or in eyelids dropping down, Like a violet from the light ; Badness, in a sneer or frown. — Phoebe Cary. nearts like doors will ope with ease To very, very little keys, And don't forget that two are these: "I thank you" and "If you please." CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 53 JANUARY THE NEW YEAR OI am the little New Year, ho ! ho ! Here I come tripping it over the snow Shaking my bells with a merry din. So open your doors and let me in. THE FAIRY ARTIST Oh, there is a little artist Who paints in the cold night hours, Pictures for little children, Of wondrous trees and flowers ! Pictures of rushing rivers By fairy bridges spanned ; Bits of beautiful landscape Copied from elfin land. The moon is the lamp he paints by, His canvas, the window pane, His brush is a frozen snowflake, Tack Frost is the artist's name. 54 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL F1KST TEAR JANUARY NONSENSE ALPHABET Iwas some ice So white and so nice, But which nobody tasted; And so it was wasted. All that good ice ! I was a jug, Q) So pretty and white, With fresh water in it At morning and night. Nice little jug. ALPHABETIC GEMS I know a child and who she is I'll tell you by and by ; When mother says, "Do this, or that," She says "What for?" or "Why?" She'd be a better child bv far, If she would say, "I'll try/' — Unknown. Inst for today! Q) Let me no wrong or idle word Unthinking say, Put thou thy seal upon my lips Just for today ! — Canon Farrar. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 55 FEBRUARY AMERICA 1\A Y country, 'tis of thee, / V Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, Land of the Pilgrims' pride, From every mountain side, Let Freedom ring. My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love ; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. Let music swell the breeze And ring from all the trees, Sweet freedom's song. Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us by Thy might, Great God our King. — Samuel Francis Smith. 56 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIIIST YEAR FEBRUARY THE HEART OF A SEED J N the heart of a seed, * Buried deep, so deep, A dear little plant lay fast asleep. "Awake," said the sunshine, "And creep to the light." "Awake," said the voice Of the raindrop bright. The little plant heard And rose to see What this beautiful outside world might be. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 57 FIRST YEAR FEBRUARY NONSENSE ALPHABET Kwas a kite Which flew out of sight, Above houses so high, Quite into the sky. Fly away, kite ! Lwas a lily, So white and so sweet ! To see it and smell it Was quite a nice treat. Beautiful lilv. ALPHABETIC GEMS I/^ind hearts are the gardens, I \ Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the blossoms, Kind deeds are the fruits. Little children, you should seek Rather to be good than wise, For the thoughts you do not speak Shine out in your cheeks and eyes 58 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MARCH THE WIND Isaw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies' skirts across the grass — O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all — O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song. O you, that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind a blowing all day long, O wind that sings so loud a song! — Robert Louis Stevenson. PUSSY WILLOW SONG I ITTLE Pussy Willow, L« Budding on the tree, When we see your fuzzy coat, Blithe and gav are we ; For we know that Spring has come, When you first appear; Know that soon the bluebird's call Joyfully we'll hear. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 59 FIRST YEAR MARCH NONSENSE ALPHABET ]\A was a man, / \ Who walked round and round; And he wore a long coat That came down to the ground. Funny old man ! Nwas a net Which was thrown in the sea To catch fish for dinner For you and for me. Nice little net! ALPHABETIC GEMS /V\ ake a little sunshine dear, i \ 'Tis surely worth your while; Make a little sunshine here, 'Twill only cost a smile. No matter what you try to do, At home or at your school, Always do your very best, There is no better rule. 60 CHILD' >S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL APRIL APRIL r~* OOD morning, sweet April, so winsome ^-^ and shy, With a smile on your lip and a tear in your eye, There are pretty hepaticas hid in your hair, And bonny blue violets clustering there. The spring-beauties wake for the girls and the boys, And the earth growj green without bustle or noise. From tiny brown beds now wrapped fold upon fold, The loveliest garlands will soon be unrolled. Ah, welcome ! sweet April, whose feet from the hills Have walked down the valleys and crossed o'er the rills ; The pearls that you bring us are dews and warm showers, And the hem of your garment is broidered with flowers. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 61 FIRST YEAR AFRIL MY SHADOW I HAVE a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. Ke is very, very like me from the heels up to the head ; And I see him jump before me when I jump into bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow — Not at all like proper children which is always very slow ; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india- rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't any notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way ; He stays up close beside me, he's a coward you can see, I'd be ashamed to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me. One morning very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every but- tercup ; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy- head Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. — Robert Louis Stevenson, 612 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIRST TEAR APRIL NONSENSE ALPHABET Owas an orange So yellow and round; When it fell off the tree, It fell down to the ground. Down to the ground ! Pwas a polly, All red, blue, and green,- The most beautiful polly That ever was seen. Poor little polly ! ALPHABETIC GEMS One child sees sunlit air and sky, And bursting leaf-buds round and rudd) Another looks down at the earth And only sees that it is muddy. P oliteness is to do and say The kindest thing in the kindest way. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 63 MAY LITTLE PEACH BLOSSOM LITTLE Peach Blossom has waked at last, What do you think awoke her? Not the birds that sang and twittered all day, And talked of their nests and the eggs they would lay ; Not the wind as it rocked the cradle so fast, And told her that winter had long ago passed; Not the sun as he wrapped her in an embrace, And showered sweet kisses upon her fair face; Nor the moon nor the stars though they glis- tened so bright, And tried to persuade her to work in the night — But a warm April shower fell on her one day With a quick dash of rain, and this is the way That little Peach Blossom first opened her eyes With a faint little blush and a look of surprise. 64 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIRST TEAR ROBIN'S SECRET \a/E have a secret, just we three, ^ *• The robin and I and the sweet cherry tree ; The bird told the tree, and the tree told me, And nobody knows it but just we three. But of course the robin knows it best, Because he built the — I shan't tell the rest ; And laid the four little — somethings — in it — I am afraid I shall tell it every minute. But if the tree and the robin don't peep, I'll try my best the secret to keep ; Though I know when the little birds fly about, Then the whole secret will be out. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 65 FIRST TEAR MAT NONSENSE ALPHABET Qwas a quail With a very short tail ; And he fed upon corn In the evening and morn. Quaint little quail ! Rwis a rabbit, Who had a bad habit Of eating the flowers In garden and bowers. Naughty fat rabbit! ALPHABETIC GEMS Quit all the little faults Then the big ones cannot grow; Shun the wrong and do the right, Make your life as pure as snow. — Unknown. Remember the old proverb says That "pretty is which pretty does ;" That true worth neither goes nor stays For poverty or splendor. — Phoebe Cary. 66 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEUAT1FUL JUNE SEVEN TIMES ONE THERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven; I've said my "seven times" over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old, so old I can write a letter ; My birthday lessons are done; The lambs play always, they know no better, They are only one times one. moon! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low; You were bright, ah bright! but your light is failing, You're nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face? 1 hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow, You've powdered your legs with gold ! O brave marsh mary-buds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold! O columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell ! cuckoo pint, toll me your purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell. And show me your nest with the young ones in it I will not steal them away ; 1 am old ; you may trust me, linnet, linnet, I am seven times one today. — Jean Ingelow. GUILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 67 FIRST TEAR JUNE SWEET AND LOW ^WEET and low, sweet and low, ' — ^ Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon and blow, Blow him again to me ; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon ; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon. Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west, Under the silver moon ; Sleep my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep ! — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 68 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIRST YEAR J CT yB NONSENSE ALPHABET Swas the sugar-tongs, Nippity-nee, To take up the sugar To put in our tea. Nippity-nee ! Twas a tortoise, All yellow and black ; He walked slowly away, And he never came back. Torty never came back. ALPHABETIC GEMS Speak the truth ! 'Tis beautiful and brave ; Strong to bless and strong to save ; Falsehood is a coward knave ; Speak the truth. True worth is in being, not seeming; In doing each day that goes by, Some little good ; not in the dreaming Of great things to do by and by. — Alice Car\. T CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 6SJ JULY THE RAINBOW FAIRIES WO little clouds one summer day- Went flying through the sky. They went so fast they bumped their heads, And both began to cry. Old Father Sun looked out and said, "O, never mind, my dears, I'll send my little fairy folk To dry your falling tears." One fairy came in violet, And one in indigo, In blue, green, orange, red, — They made a pretty row. They wiped the cloud tears all away, And then from out the sky Upon a line the sunbeam made They hung their gowns to dry. — Lizzie M. Hadley. DEWDROPS A MILLION little diamonds Twinkled on the trees ; And all the little maidens said "A jewel, if you please!" But while they held their hands outstretched To catch the diamonds gay, A million little sunbeams came And stole them all away. — Mary F. Butts. 70 CHILD' 8 CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL F1EST TEAR NONSENSE ALPHABET Uwas an urn All polished and bright And full of hot water At noon and at night. Useful old urn! Vwas a veil With a border upon it, And a ribbon to tie it All round a pink bonnet. Pretty green veil ! JUL? ALPHABETIC GEMS Unless you do the best you can And do it every day, No need to wish and hope and plan, Your time is thrown away. Very Uttle foxes Spoil the vines, you know ; Very little ugly traits Into big ones grow. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 71 AUGUST WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD* WYNKEN, Blynken and Nod, one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe — Sailed off on a river of misty light, Into a sea of dew; "Where are you going and what do you wish?' The old moon asked the three: "We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in the beautiful sea ; Nets of silver and gold have we," Said Wynken, Blynken and Nod. The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe ; And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. The little stars were the herring fish That lived in that beautiful sea; "Now cast your net wherever you wish. Never afeard are we," So cried the stars to the fisherman three, Wynken, Blynken and Nod. 'From The Eugene Field Reader. Permission from Charles Scrib- ner's Sons. 72 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIRST YEAR AUCCST All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam, Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home. 'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed As if it could not be, And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed, Of sailing that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken and Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea, — Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken and Nod. — Eugene Field. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 73 FIRST YEAR AUGUST THE THREE-INCH GRIN SISTER measured my grin one day, Took the ruler and me, Measured the inches all the way, One, two, three. "Oh! You're a chesshire cat," said she; Father said, "That's no sin," Then he nodded and smiled at me, Smiled at my three-inch grin. Brother suggested I'd better begin Trying to trim it down ; But mother said, "Better a three-inch grin, Than a little hali-inch frown." 74 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIE8T YEAR AUGUST NONSENSE ALPHABET Wwas a watch, Where, in letters of gold, The hour of the day You might always behold. Beautiful watch Ywas a yew Which flourished and grew By a quiet abode Near the side of a road; Dark little yew. Zwas a zebra All striped white and black ; And if he were tame You might ride on his back ; Pretty, striped zebra ! ALPHABETIC GEMS When you're told to do a thing, And mean to do it really, Never let it be by halves, Do it fully, freely. — Alice Cary. Y( t when you come to think of it The day is what you make it; And whether good or whether bad Depends on how you take it. SECOND YEAR DO not look for wrong and evil, — You will find them if you do; As you measure to your neighbor He will measure back to you. Look for goodness, look for gladness, You will meet them all the while; If you bring a smiling visage to the glass You will meet a smile. — Alice Gary, CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 77 SEPTEMBER THE CHILD'S WORLD GREAT, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, With the wonderful water around you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast, World, you are beautifully dressed. The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree ; It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. You friendly Earth, how far do you go With the wheatfields that nod, and the rivers that flow, With cities and gardens and cliffs and isles, And people upon you for thousands of miles? Ah, you are so great, and I am so small, I tremble to think of you, World, at all ; And yet, when I said my prayers, today, A whisper inside me seemed to say : "You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot ; You can love and think, and the Earth cannot." —IV. B. Rands. 78 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL ii ■ ■ — — - — * -■■ ■ - ' ' — — ' -■ (SECOND YEAR SEPTEMBER FLOWER LULLABY ALL of the flowers are going to bed, Daisies are nodding their pretty white heads, Clovers have softly just whispered "Good night," Soon Mother Nature will tuck them up tight. "Lullaby, lullaby," now the winds sigh, "Mother will watch you while winter is nigh;" Over them softly she spreads a white sheet, "Lullaby, lullaby, sleep, babies, sleep." Softly, so softly, she's calling them all; "Hasten, oh, bluebells, or night shades will fall ; Buttercups, buttercups, come to your rest, Little forget-me-not is all undressed. "Maples are taking off dresses of green, And in bright dressing-gowns now can be seen; Oak trees are going more slowly to bed, With pretty night-caps of dark brown and red." — Addie Litchfield. GOOD-BYE TO SUMMER THE brown birds are flying like; leaves Through the sky, The flow'rets are calling, "Dear birdlings good- bye!" The bird voices falling so soft from the sky. Are answering the flow'rets, "Dear playmates, good-bye !" — Kate S. Kellogg. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 7» OCTOBER HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN.* I'LL tell you how the leaves came down: The great Tree to his children said, You're getting sleepy, Yellow, and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red, It is quite time to go to bed." "Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, "Let us a little longer stay; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief, 'Tis such a very pleasant day We do not want to go away." So, just for one more merry day, To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among; "Perhaps the great Tree will forget And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg and coax and fret." But the great Tree did no such thing ; He smiled to hear their whispering. "Come, children, all to bed," he cried ; And, ere the leaves could urge their prayer, He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air. 80 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SECOND YEAR OCTOBER I saw them ; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm. The great bare Tree looked down and smiled; "Good night, dear little leaves," he said ; And from below each sleepy child Replied, "Good night," and murmured, "It is so nice to go to bed." — Susan Coolidge. By special permission of Little, Brown & Co. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 81 SECOND YEAB OCTOEEB THE CHESTNUT A WEE little nut lay deep in its nest Of satin and down, the softest and best, And slept and grew, while its cradle rocked, As it hung in the boughs that interlocked. Now the house was small where the cradle lay, As it swung in the winds by night and day; And a thicket of under-brush fenced it round, This little lone cot, by the great sun browned. The little nut grew, and ere long it found There was work outside, on the soft green mound ; It must do its part so the world might know It had tried one little seed to grow. And soon the house that had kept it warm Was tossed about by the autumn storm ; The stem was cracked, the old house fell, And the chestnut burr was an empty shell. But the little seed, as it waiting lay, Dreamed a wonderful dream from day to day, — Of how it should break its coat of brown, And live as a Tree to grow up and down. 82 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SECOND TEAR OCTOBEB THE STAR TWINKLE, twinkle, little star ; How I wonder what you are ! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the glorious sun is set, When the grass with dew is wet, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. In the dark blue sky you keep, And often through my curtain peep; For you never shut your eye Till the sun is in the sky. And your bright and tiny spark Lights the traveler in the dark; Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star. — Jane Taylor CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 83 NOVEMBER PSALM XXIV THE earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein : 2. For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods. 3. Who shall ascend unto the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place? 4. He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart ; who hath not lifted up his soul unto van- ity, nor sworn deceitfully. 5. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation. 6. This is the generation of them that seek him, that seek thy face, O Jacob. Selah. 7. Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors ; and the King of glory shall come in. 8. Who is this King of glory ? The Lord, strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. ^ 9. Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; even lift them up, ye everlasting doors ; and the King of glory shall come in. 10. ' Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory. Selah. —The Bible. 84 CHILD' ti CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL BECOND YEAR NOVEMBER WE THANK THEE p-^OR peace and for plenty, for freedom, for rest, *■ For joy in the land from the east to the west, For the dear starry flag, with its red, white and blue, We thank thee from hearts that are honest and true. For waking and sleeping, for blessings to be, We children would offer our praises to thee ! For God is our Father and bends from above To keep the round world in the smile of His love. — Margaret B. Sangster. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 85 SECOND YEAR NOVEMBER HOW TO BE HAPPY ARE you cross and disgusted, my dear little man ? I will tell you a wonderful trick That will bring you contentment if anything can : Do something for somebody, quick ! Do something for somebody, quick ! Are you very tired with play, little girl? Weary, discouraged and sick? I'll tell you the loveliest game in the world — Do something for somebody — quick! Do something for somebody — quick! Though it rain like the rain of the floods, little man, And the clouds are forbidding and thick, You can make the sun shine in your soul, little man — Do something for somebody — quick ! Do something for somebody — quick! Though the skies are like brass overhead, little girl, And the walk like a well-heated brick ; And are all your affairs in a terrible whirl? Do something for somebody — quick! Do something for somebody — quick! 86 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL DECEMBER THE TWO LITTLE STOCKINGS TWO little stockings hung side by side, Close to the fire place broad and wide. "Two ?" said Saint Nick, as down he came, Loaded with toys and many a game. "Ho! ho!" said he with a laugh of fun, "I'll have no cheating, my pretty one; I know who dwells in this house my dear ; There's only one little girl lives here." So he crept up close to the chimney place, And measured a sock with a sober face. Just then a wee little note fell out, And fluttered low, like a bird about ; "Aha ! what's this ?" said he in surprise, As he pushed his specks up close to his eyes, And read the address, in a child's rough plan, "Dear Saint Nicholas," so it began, "The other stocking you see on the wall I have hung for a child named Clara Hall. She's a poor little girl, but very good, So I thought perhaps you kindly would Fill up her stocking too, tonight, And help to make her Christmas bright. If you've not enough for both stockings there, Please put all in Clara's ; I shall not care." Saint Nicholas brushed a tear from his eye, "God bless you, darling," he said with a sigh. Then softly he blew through the chimney high, A note like a bird's when it soars on high. When down came two of the funniest mortals That ever were seen this side earth's portals. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAVTIFVL 87 SECOND TEAR DECEMBER "Hurry up !" said Saint Nick, and nicely prepare All a little girl wants where money is rare." Then, oh, what a scene there was in that room ! Away went the elves, but down from the gloom Of the sooty old chimney comes tumbling low A child's whole wardrobe, from head to toe. How Santa laughed, as he gathered them in And fastened each one to the sock with a pin! Right to the toe he hung a blue dress. "She'll think it came from the sky I guess," Said Saint Nicholas, smoothing the folds of blue, And tying the hood to the stockings, too. When all the warm clothes were fastened on, And both little socks were filled and done, Then Santa tucked a toy here and there, And hurried away through the frosty air, Saying, "God pity the poor, and bless the dear child Who pities them, too, on this night so wild !" The wind caught the words and bore them on high, Till they died away in the midnight sky, While Saint Nicholas flew through the icy air, Bringing "peace and good-will with him every- where." — Sarah Keables Hunt. WHAT MAKES CHRISTMAS 1ITTLE wishes on white wings, — » Little gifts — such tiny things — Just one little heart that sings, Make a Merry Christmas. — Dorothv Hozve. 88 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SECOND TEAR DECEMBER THE WONDERFUL WEAVER "~P HERE'S a wonderful weaver 1 High up in the air, And he weaves a white mantle For cold earth to wear. With the wind for his shuttle, The cloud for his loom, How he weaves, how he weaves, In the light, in the gloom. Oh, with finest of laces, He decks bush and tree; On the bare flinty meadows A cover lays he. Then a quaint cap he places On pillar and post, And he changes the pump, To a grim silent ghost. But this wonderful weaver Grows weary at last ; And the shuttle lies idle That once flew so fast. Then the sun peeps abroad On the task that is done, And he smiles : "I'll unravel It all, just for fun." — George Cooper. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 89 JANUARY NEW YEAR'S GREETING H APPY NEW YEAR I" Like a bell, 1 1 Peals the happy joyous call, "Happy New Year !" Louder yet ! "Happy New Year!" One and all. JANUARY SPARKLING world and shining sky, Sleigh-bells jingling, jangling by, Skates that gleam and sleds that fly, Make up January. Snowy world and low hung cloud, Snowflakes whirling in a crowd, Winds a-whistling long and loud, Make up January. Snow and shine and shine and snow. Days that swiftly come and go, Thirty-one of them, you know, Make up January. 90 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SECOND YEAR JANUARY THE REASON WHY. TWO ears and only one mouth have you ; The reason, I think, is clear: It teaches, my child, that it will not do To talk about all you hear. Two eyes and only one mouth have you The reason for this must be, That you should learn that it will not do To talk about all you see. Two hands and only one mouth have you And it is worth while repeating That two are for the work you will have to do — The one is enough for eating. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 91 FEBRUARY OUR FLAG HP HERE are many flags in many lands, ■ There are flags of every hue, But there is no flag in any land Like our own Red, White and Blue. I know where the prettiest colors are, I'm sure if I only knew How to get them here, I could make a flag Of glorious Red, White and Blue. I would cut a piece from the evening sky, Where the stars were shining through, And use it just as it was on high, For my stars and field of Blue. Then I want a piece of a fleecy cloud, And some red from a rainbow bright, And I'd put them together, side by side, For my stripes of Red and White. Then "Hurrah for the Flag !" our country's flag, Its stripes and white stars, too; There is no flag in any land Like our own Red, White and Blue. 92 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 6FC0ND YEAR FEBRUAKT THE SHORTEST MONTH \ * /ILL the winter never be over, * * Will the dark days never go? Must the buttercup and the clover Be always hid under the snow? Ah, lend me your little ear, love! Hark! 'tis a beautiful thing; The weariest month of the year, love, Is shortest and nearest to spring. — Adeline Whitney. JUST YOU AND I IF you and I — just you and I — Should laugh instead of worry; If we should grow — just you and I — Kinder and lighter hearted, Perhaps in some near by and by, A good time might get started ; Then what a happy time 'twould be, For you and me, for you and me. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 93 MARCH MARCH /7LALLOPING, galloping, galloping in, ^~* Into the world with a stir and a din. The north wind, the east wind, the west wind together In-bringing, in-bringing the March's wild weather. — C. F. Woolson. WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND? \ , / HO has seen the wind ? * * Neither I nor you ; But when the leaves hang trembling The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I ; But when the trees bow down their heads The wind is passing by. — Christina G. Rossetti. 94 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 8EC0.VD YEAR MABCH PUSSY WILLOWS IN her dress of silver gray Comes the Pussy Willow gay, Like a little Eskimo Clad in fur from tip to toe. Underneath her in the river, Flows the water with a shiver. Downward, sweeping from the hill, North Wind whistles, loud and shrill. Birds are loth to wing their flight To a land in such. a plight, Not another flower is found Peeping from the bark or ground. Only Mother Willow knows How to make such suits as those; How to fashion them with skill, How to guard against the chill. Did she live once, long ago, In the land of ice and snow? Was it first by Polar seas That she made such coats as these? Who can tell? — We only know Where our Pussy Willows grow. Fuzzy little friends that bring Promise of the coming spring. — Elizabeth E. Foulke. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 95 APRIL AN APRIL DAY TAKE a dozen little clouds And a little patch of blue; Take a million raindrops As many sunbeams too. Take a host of violets, A wandering little breeze, And myriads of little leaves Dancing on the trees. Then mix them well together, In the very quickest way, Showers and sunshine, birds and flowers, And you'll have an April day. — Rachel G. Smith. THE SWEET RED ROSE GOOD morning, little rose-bush, Now prithee, tell me true, To be as sweet as a red, red rose, What must a body do? To be as sweet as a red, red rose, A little girl like you Just grows, and grows, and grows, And that's what she must do. — Joel Stacy. 90 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SECOND YEAR APRIL WHAT ROBIN TOLD HOW cio robins build their nest? * * Robin Redbreast told me. First a wisp of yellow hay In a pretty round they lay ; Then some shreds of downy floss, Feathers too, and bits of moss, Woven with a sweet, sweet song, This way, that way and across ; That's what Robin told me. Where do Robins hide their nest? Robin Redbreast told me. Up among the leaves so deep, Where the sunbeams rarely creep, Long before the winds are cold Long before the leaves are gold Bright-eyed stars will peep and see Baby robins — one, two, three; That's what Robin told me. — George Cooper. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 97 MAY MAY Oa dear little maiden is dainty Miss May, And she has such a pleasant and sweet win- ning way, That we long to be out and be with her all day. She comes over the meadows and into the town All embroidered with lilacs her beautiful gown, And her bonnet of buttercups way to the crown. When she smiles all the clouds disappear from the skies, For there's seldom a tear to be seen in those eyes, Whose color to match the forget-me-not tries. And to show how they love her, their own dar- ling May, 'Tis with blushes as pink as the dawn of the day, That each apple tree turns to a blooming bouquet. — Ada Stewart Sheldon. 98 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MAT SECOND YEAR "^ SPRING THE alder by the river Shakes out her powdery curls ; The willow buds in silver For little boys and girls. The little birds fly over, And oh how sweet they sing, To tell the happy children That once again 'tis spring. The gay green grass comes creeping So soft beneath their feet ; The frogs begin to ripple A music clear and sweet. And buttercups are coming And scarlet columbine And in the sunny meadows The dandelions shine. And just as many daisies As their soft hands can hold, The little ones may gather All fair in white and gold. Here blows the warm red clover, There peeps the violet blue; Oh, happy little children, God made them all for you. — Celia Thaxter. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 99 1EC0ND TEAR MAT THE LILAC THE sun shone warm, and the lilac said, "I must hurry and get my table spread, For if I am slow and dinner late, My friends the bees will have to wait." So delicate lavender glass she brought And the daintiest china ever wrought, Purple tinted and all complete; And she filled each cup with honey sweet. "Dinner is ready," the spring wind cried ; And from hive and hiding far and wide, While the lilac laughed to see them come, The little gray- jacketed bees came hum — m ! They sipped the sirup from every cell, They nibbled at taffy and caramel; Then, without being asked, they all buzzed, "We Will be very happy to stay to tea." — Clara Doty Bates. 100 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JUNE THE BLUEBELL ^^HERE is a story I have heard, A poet learned it from a bird, And kept its music every word. About two thousand years ago A little flower as white as snow Swayed in the silence to and fro. Day after day, with longing eye, The floweret watched the narrow sky And fleecy clouds that floated by. And swiftly o'er its petals white, There crept a blueness like the light Of skies upon a summer night. And in the chalice I am told The bonny bell was found to hold A tiny star that gleamed like gold. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 101 SECO.N'D YEAR JU1H THE SILVER BOAT THERE is a boat upon a sea ; It never stops for you or me. The sea is blue, the boat is white ; It sails through winter and summer night. The swarthy child in India land Points to the prow with eager hand ; The little Lapland babies cry For the silver boat a-sailing by. It fears no gale, it fears no wreck; It never meets a change or check, Through weather fine or weather mild, The oldest saw it when a child. Upon another sea below Full many vessels come and go ; Upon the swaying, swinging tide Into the distant worlds they ride. And strange to tell, the sea below, Where countless vessels come and go, Obeys the little boat on high Through all the centuries sailing by. — Mary F. Butts. 102 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SECOND YEAB 3m!t THE VIOLET DOWN in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew, Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colors bright and fair! It might have graced a rosy bower Instead of hiding there. Yet there it was content to bloom In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused its sweet perfume Within the silent shade. Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. — Jane Taylor. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 103 JTJX.Y THE HUMMING-BIRD O DAINTY, "living sunbeam" With gorgeous colors bright, Show me your ruby necklace, And gauzy wings so light; Just pause one little moment Before the open door, And whisper low the secret You found within that flower. LADY MOON LADY Moon, lady moon, Sailing so high! Drop down to baby From out the clear sky; Babykin, babykin, Down far below, I hear thee calling, But I cannot go. But lady moon sendeth thee Soft shining rays ; Moon loves the baby, The moonlight says. In her house dark and blue, Though she must stay, Kindly she'll watch thee Till dawns the new day. -Lord Houghton. 104 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SECOND TEAR JULY THE WASP AND THE BEE A wasp met a Bee that was just buzzing by, And said, "Little cousin, can you tell me why You are loved so much better by people than I? My back shines as bright and as yellow as gold, And my shape is most elegant too, to behold ; Yet nobody likes me for that I am told." "Ah friend," said the Bee, "it is all very true, And were I but half as much mischief to do, Then people would love me no better than you. "You have a fine shape, and a delicate wing; You are perfectly handsome, but there is one thing They can never put up with, and that is your sting. "My coat is quite homely and plain as you see, Yet nobody ever is angry with me, Because I'm a useful and innocent Bee." CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 105 AUGUST IF I WERE A SUNBEAM. IF I were a sunbeam, I know what I would do ; I would seek white lilies Rainy woodlands through; I would steal among them, Softest light I'd shed, Until every lily Raised its drooping head. If I were a sunbeam, I know where I would go; Into lowliest hovels Dark with want and woe ; Till sad hearts looked upward, I would shine and shine ; Then they'd think of heaven, Their sweet home and mine. Art thou not a sunbeam, Child, whose life is glad, With an inner radiance Sunshine never had? Oh, as God has blessed thee, Scatter rays divine ! For there is no sunbeam But must die or shine. 106 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SECOND TEAB AUGUST THE CITY MOUSE AND THE COUNTRY MOUSE THE city mouse lives in a house; — The garden mouse lives in a bower, He's friendly with the frogs and toads, And sees the pretty plants in flower. The city mouse eats bread and cheese; — The garden mouse eats what he can; We will not grudge him seeds and stocks, Poor little timid furry man. — Christina G. Rossetti. LOVE THE night has a thousand eyes, The day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one ; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done. — Francis Bourdillon. THIRD YEAR True worth is in being, not seeming, In doing each day that goes by Some little good — not in the dreaming Of great things to do by and by. — Alice Cary. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 109 SEPTEMBER SEPTEMBER* THE golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown; The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun ; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest, In every meadow nook ; The asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook. From dewy lanes at morning The grape's sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies. By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer. — Helen Hunt Jackson. 'By special permission of Little, Brown and Company. 110 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIED YBAB SErTEMBEB QUEER LITTLE HISTORIANS JUST a raindrop loitering earthward, Q) All alone, Leaves a tiny "tell tale story" In the stone. Gravel, tossed by teasing water, Down the hill, Shows where once in merry laughter Flowed a rill. In the coal bed, dark and hidden, Ferns, (how queer!) Left a message, plainly saying, "We've been here." You may see where tiny ripples On the sands, Leave a history written by their Unseen hands. Why, the oak trees, by their bending Clearly show The direction playful winds blew, Years ago! So our habits tell us, little Maids and men, What the history of our whole past Life has been. — Adelbert F. Caldwell. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 111 OCTOBER OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER* Osuns and skies and clouds of June, And flowers of June together, Ye cannot rival for one hour October's bright blue weather. When loud the bumble-bee makes haste, Belated, thriftless vagrant, And Golden-Rod is dying fast, And lanes with grapes are fragrant; When Gentians roll their fringes tight, To save them for the morning, And chestnuts fall from satin burrs Without a sound of warning; When on the ground red apples lie In piles like jewels shining, And redder still on old stone walls Are leaves of woodbine twining; When all the lovely wayside things Their white-winged seeds are sowing, And in the fields, still green and fair, Late aftermaths are growing; When springs run low, and on the brooks, In idle golden freighting, Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush Of woods, for winter waiting; 112 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIRD TEAR OCTOBER When comrades seek sweet country haunts, By twos and twos together, And count like misers hour by hour, October's bright blue weather. O, sun and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together, Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather. — Helen Hunt Jackson. *ty special permission of Little, Brown and Company. A FABLE THE mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter "Little Prig;" Bun replied, ''You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track ; Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut." — R. W . Emerson. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 113 NOVEMBER PSALM I BLESSED is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. 2. But his delight is in the law of the Lord ; and in His law doth he meditate day and night. 3. And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season ; his leaf also shall not wither ; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. 4. The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away. 5. Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation 01 the righteous. 6. For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous : but the way of the ungodly shall perish. — The Bible. 114 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL T THIRD TEAR K0\ EMBER NOVEMBER 'HE leaves are fading and falling, The winds are rough and wild, The birds have ceased their calling, But let me tell you, my child, Though day by day, as it closes, Doth darker and colder grow, The roots of the bright red roses Will keep alive in the snow. And when the winter is over, The boughs will get new leaves, The quail come back to the clover, And the swallow back to the eaves. The robin will wear on his bosom A vest that is bright and new, And the loveliest wayside blossom Will shine with the sun and dew. The leaves today are whirling, The brooks are all dry and dumb, But let me tell you, my darling, The spring will be sure to come. There must be rough, cold weather, And winds and rains so wild ; Not all good things together Come to us here, my child. So, when some dear joy loses Its beauteous summer glow, Think how the roots of the roses Are kept alive in the snow. — Alice Cary. CHILD' iS CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 115 DECEMBER THE LITTLE FIR TREES nEY! little evergreens, Sturdy and strong! Summer and autumn time Hasten along. Harvest the sunbeams, then, Bind them in sheaves, Range them, and change them To tufts of green leaves. Delve in the mellow mold, Far, far below, And so, Little evergreens, grow ! Grow, grow ! Grow, little evergreens, grow! Up, up so airily To the blue sky, Lift up your leafy tips Stately and high; Clasp tight your tiny cones, Tawny and brown; By and by, buffeting Rains will pelt down; By and by, bitterly Chill winds will blow; And so, Little evergreens, grow ! Grow, grow ! Grow, little evergreens, grow! 116 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIRD TEAS DUCEMllER Gather all uttermost Beauty, because, Hark, till I tell it now ! How Santa Claus, Out of the northern land, Over the seas, Soon shall come seeking you, Evergreen trees ! Seek you with reindeer, soon, Over the snow ; And so, Little evergreens, grow '. Grow, grow ! Grow, little evergreens, grow! What if the maples flare Flaunting and red, You shall wear waxen white Tapers instead! What if now, otherwhere, Birds are beguiled, You shall yet nestle The little Christ-child! Ah, the strange splendor The fir trees shall know! And so, Little evergreens, grow! Grow, grow! Grow, little evergreens, grow! — Evaken Stein. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 117 JANUARY HOLIDAY GIFTS WHY do you look so downcast? What do I hear you say? "Nothing to give to people On Christmas or New Year's day?" You want to be making presents? Well, now, just think a while; Suppose you look in the glass, dear, And present yourself with a smile. Then make up a bundle of troubles And give them away to the Past, He owns such a musty junkshop Where worn-out worries are cast. Just bundle them on to the Old Year, And let him lug them away, And next give a heart of hope dear, To the New Year, blithe and gay. TALKING IN THEIR SLEEP V/OU think I am dead," I The apple tree said, ''Because I have never a leaf to show — Because I stoop, And my branches droop, And the dull gray mosses over me grow ! But I'm all alive in trunk and shoot ; The buds of next May I fold away — But I pity the withered grass at my root. 118 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIRD YEAR JANUARY "You think I am dead," The quick grass said, "Because I have parted with stem and blade; But under the ground I am safe and sound With the snow's thick blanket over me laid. I'm all alive, and ready to shoot, Should the spring of the year Come dancing here — But I pity the flower without branch or root." "You think I am dead," A soft voice said, "Because not a branch or root I own ! I never have died, But close I hide, In a plumy seed that the wind has sown, Patient I wait through the long winter hours; You will see me again — I shall laugh at you then, Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers." — Edith M. Thomas. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 119 FEBRUAKY WAITING TO GROW LITTLE white snowdrop just waking up, Violet, daisy, and sweet buttercup ; Think of the flowers that are under the snow Waiting to grow ! And think what hosts of queer little seeds, Of flowers and mosses, of ferns and weeds Are under the leaves, and under the snow, Waiting to grow ! Think of the roots getting ready to sprout, Reaching their slender brown fingers about, Under the ice, and the leaves, and the snow, Waiting to grow ! Only a month or a few weeks more Will you have to wait behind that door; Listen and watch — and wait — below, Waiting to grow ! Nothing so small, and hidden so well, That God will not find it, and presently tell His sun where to shine, and his rain where to j^'o, To help it to grow ! 120 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIRD YEAR FEBRUARY THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE OH Columbia, the gem of the ocean, The home of the brave and the free, The shrine of each patriot's devotion, A world offers homage to thee; Thy mandates make heroes assemble, When liberty's form stands in view ; Thy banners make tyranny tremble When borne by the Red, White, and Blue. When war waged its wide desolation And threatened the land to deform, The ark then of freedom's foundation, Columbia rode safe through the storm; With the garlands of victory around her, When so proudly she bore her brave crew, With her flag floating proudly before her The boast of the Red, White, and Blue. The star spangled banner bring hither, O'er Columbia's true sons let it wave ; May the wreaths they have won never wither, Nor its stars cease to shine on the brave; May the service united ne'er sever But hold to their colors so true ; The army and navy forever ! Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue. — D. T. Shaw. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 121 MARCH WHAT MARCH DOES IN the dark silence of her chamber low, March works sweeter things than mortals know. Her noiseless looms ply on with busy care, Weaving the fine cloth that the flowers wear; She sews the seams in violet's queer hood, And paints the sweet arbutus of the wood. Out of a bit of sky's delicious blue She fashions hyacinths, and harebells, too; And from a sunbeam makes a cowslip fair, Or spins a gown for a daffodil to wear. She pulls the cover from the crocus beds And bids the sleepers lift their drowsy heads. "Come, early risers ; come anemone, My pale windflower, awake, awake," calls she. ''The world expects you, and your lovers wait To give you welcome at Spring's open gate." She marshals the close armies of the grass, And polishes their green blades as they pass. .And all the blossoms of the fruit trees sweet Are piled in rosy shells about her feet. Within her great alembic she distills The dainty odor which each flower fills. Nor does she ever give to mignonette The perfume that belongs to violet. Nature does well whatever task she tries Because obedient, — there the secret lies. — May Riley Smith. 122 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIRD YEAR MARCH SIR ROBIN QOLLICKING R bi n is here again. **■ What does he care for the April rain ? Care for it ? Glad of it ! Doesn't he know That the April rain carries off the snow, And coaxes out leaves to shadow his nest, And washes his pretty red Easter vest, And makes the juice of the cherry sweet, For his hungry little robins to eat? "Ha! ha! ha!" hear the jolly bird laugh. "That isn't the best of the story, by half !" Robin, Sir Robin, gay red-vested knight, Now you have come to us, summer's in sight. You never dreamed of the wonders you bring, Visions that follow the flash of your wing. How all the beautiful by and by Around you and after you seems to fly! Sing on, or eat on, as pleases your mind ! Well have you earned every morsel you find. "Aye! ha! ha! ha!" whistles Robin, "My dear, Let us all take our own choice of good cheer!" — Lucy Larcom. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 123 APRIL THE TENDRIL'S FAITH UNDER the snow in the dark and the cold A pale little tendril was humming; Sweetly it sang 'neath the frozen mold Of the beautiful days that were coming. "How foolish your songs," said a lump of clay; "What is there, I ask, to prove them? Just look at these walls between you and the day, How can you have power to remove them ?" But under the ice and under the snow, The pale little sprout kept singing, "I cannot tell how, but I know, I know — I know what the days are bringing. "Birds and blossoms and buzzing bees, Blue, blue skies above me; Bloom on the meadow, and buds on the trees, And the great glad sun to love me." Then a pebble spoke up: "You are quite absurd," It said, "with your song's insistence; For I never saw a tree or a bird, So of course there are none in existence." But, "I know, I know," the tendril cried, In beautiful sweet unreason, Till lo, from its prison, glorified It burst in the glad spring season. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 124 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIRD YEAR APRIL AGREED TO DISAGREE A mouse, a cricket, a bumblebee Started out in the sweet spring weather. "Let's all agree," Said the bumblebee, "To build us a house and live together." "I'm willing to try," Said the cricket spry, Said dear little mousie, "So am I." "Under the porch, away down low," The cricket chirruped in rare delight, "Is the place, I know, For us to go; There's not the tiniest ray of light ! We'll hide away From the dazzling day, And chirrup and buzz and squeak all night." Said the mouse, "O dear, I fear, I fear Such a place would be so dark and drear !" "Away, 'way up in the elm tree high," Said the bumblebee, "is a cozy nook, In the early light Of the morning bright A royal place. Let us go and look," Said the cricket, "Why, As I can not fly, I never could think of going so high." CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 125 Said the Mistress Mouse, "The finest spot Is out in the field of growing wheat ; We'll build a dot Of a nest — why not? — Convenient, cozy, and snug and sweet." Said the bumblebee, "Dear me, dear me ! Such a house would never do for three." Well, Mistress Mouse Built a wee, wee house, And cuddled under the sun-warmed hay. The bumblebee From his hole in the tree Buzzed and hummed through the sunny day, While the cricket stole To the darkest hole And chirruped till morning's earliest ray. And though they could never live together, All rejoiced in the sweet spring weather. — Sydney Day re. 126 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MAY THE FOUR SUNBEAMS rOUR little sunbeams came earthward one day, Shining and dancing along on their way, Resolved that their course should be blest. "Let us try," they all whispered, "some kindness to do, Not seek our own pleasuring all the day through, Then meet in the eve at the west." One sunbeam ran in at a low cottage door, And played "hide-and-seek" with a child on the floor, Till baby laughed loud in his glee, And chased with delight his strange playmate so bright, The little hands grasping in vain for the light That ever before them would flee. One crept to the couch where an invalid lay, And brought him a dream of the sweet summer day, Its bird-song and beauty and bloom; Till pain was forgotten and weary unrest, A.nd in fancy he roamed through the scenes he loved best, Far away from the dim darkened room. One stole to the heart of a flower that was sad, And loved and caressed her until she was glad And lifted her white face again ; For love brings content to the lowliest lot, And finds something sweet in the dreariest spot, And lightens all labor and pain. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 127 THIRD TEAR UAT And one, where a little blind girl sat alone, Not sharing the mirth of her playfellows, shone On hands that were folded and pale, And kissed the poor eyes that had never known sight, That never would gaze on the beautiful light Till angels had lifted the veil. At last when the shadows of evening were falling, And the sun, their great father, his children was calling, Four sunbeams sped into the west. All said, "We have found that in seeking the pleasure Of others, we fill to the full our own measure," — Then softly they sank to their rest. —M. K. B. A SONG THE year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in His heaven — All's right with the world. — From Pip pa Passes, Robert Browning. 128 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JUNE ROBERT OF LINCOLN ISA ERRILY swinging on briar and weed, I V Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders and white his crest. Hear him call in his merry note : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link. Spink, spank, spink ; Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here, Chee, chee, chee. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 1^9 THIRD TEAR JUKE Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note. Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Never was I afraid of man; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food ; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee. 130 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIRD TEAR J01TE Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care ; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows ; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; Off he flies and we sing as he goes : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. — William Cullen Bryant. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 131 THIRD TEAR J'-"XH WINGED SEEDS O gold-green wings and bronze-green wings, And rose tinged wings that down the breeze Come sailing from the maple trees ! You showering things, you shimmering things, That June-time always brings! O, are you seeds that seek the earth, The shade of lovely leaves to spread, Or shining angels, that had birth When kindly words were said? O, downy dandelion wings, Wild-floating wings, like silver spun, That dance and glisten in the sun ! You airy things, you elfin things, That June-time always brings ! O, are you seeds that seek the earth, The light of laughing flowers to spread? Or flitting fairies that had birth When merry words were said? — Helen Gray Cone. 132 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JULY 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. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 133 THIRD TEAR JULT THE FORGET-ME-NOT WHEN to the flowers so beautiful The Father gave a name, Back came a little blue-eyed one, — All timidly it came. And standing at the Father's feet And gazing on His face, It said, in meek and timid voice, Yet with a gentle grace: "Dear Lord, the name Thou gavest me, Alas, I have forgot." The Father kindly looked on her And said, "Forget-me-not." 134 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL AUGUST EARTH TO AIR A little worm on branch of gray, Began his work one summer day. He planned and built, he wove and spun, Until his tiny house was done. He laid the walls with leaf-green rails; He set the roof with golden nails ; He wove a sheet of softest lace, And in its folds himself found place. He slept and in the dark of night, Upon his sides grew wings of light. The shining house became a veil, And gone was every golden nail. Through the thin walls of gauze I spied The rainbow wings he had not tried ; They cradled close and folded tight His velvet body, strong and light. On sped the hours till sleep was done, Wide swung the doors to life's new sun. He woke ! — he longed his wings to try, And found himself — a butterfly ! No longer measuring slow his way, No longer shut from light of day, He does not toil with creeping things, But floats with birds on happy wings. Dear symbol of immortal years, Thy lesson banishes our fears ; For we, when done with earthly things Shall find like thee, our angel wings. — Lydia Avery Coonly Ward. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 135 THIRD TEAR AUGUST THE CHILDREN'S HOUR BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper and then a silence : Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together To take me by surprise. A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall ! By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall ! They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape they surround me ; They seem to be everywhere. 136 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL THIRD YEAR AUGUST They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all ! I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away! — Henry Wadsworth Longfellozv. FOURTH YEAR Sow a thought, you reap an action; Sow an action, you reap a habit; Sow a habit, you reap a character; Sow a character, you reap a destiny. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 139 SEPTEMBER A DREAM OF AUTUMN nELLOW hazes, lowly trailing Over wood and meadow, veiling Somber skies, with wildfowl sailing Sailor-like to foreign lands; And the north-wind overleaping Summer's brink, and floodlike sweeping Wrecks of roses where the weeping Willows wring their helpless hands. Flared, like Titan torches flinging Flakes of flame and embers, springing From the vale the trees stand swinging In the moaning atmosphere; While in dead'ning-lands the lowing Of the cattle, sadder growing, Fills the sense to overflowing With the sorrow of the year. Sorrowfully, yet the sweeter Sings the brook in rippled meter Under boughs that lithely teeter Lone birds, answering from the shores Through the viny, shady-shiny Interspaces, shot with tiny Flying motes that speck the winy Wave-engraven sycamores. Fields of ragged stubble, wrangled With rank weeds, and shocks of tangled Corn, with crests like rent plumes dangled Over Harvest's battle-plain; 140 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH TEAR SEP1EMBEB And the sudden whir and whistle Of the quail that, like a missile, Whizzes over thorn and thistle, And, a missile, drops again. Muffled voices, hid in thickets Where the redbird stops to stick its Ruddy beak betwixt the pickets Of the truant's rustic trap ; And the sound of laughter ringing Where, within the wild-vine swinging, Climb Bacchante's schoolmates, flinging Purple clusters in her lap. Rich as wine, the sunset flashes Round the tilted world, and dashes Up the sloping west and splashes Red foam over sky and sea — Till my dream of Autumn, paling In the splendor all-prevailing, Like a sallow leaf goes sailing Down the silence solemnly. — James Whit comb Riley. RARE SEPTEMBER "MS the radiant rare September, 1 With the clusters ripe on the vine, With scents that mingle in spicy tingle On the hill slope's glimmering line. And summer's a step behind us, And autumn's a thought before, And each fleet sweet day that we meet on the way Is an angel at the door. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 141 OCTOBER THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow ; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And the children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor. 142 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH YEAR OCTOBER He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys ; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes ; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close ; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought ; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought. — Henry Wads-worth Longfellow. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 143 JfURTH YEAR OCTOBER COLUMBUS* BEHIND him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules ; Before him, not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said : "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone. Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?" "Why say, 'Sail on ! sail on ! sail on !' " "My men grow mutinous day by day ; My men grow ghastly, wan, and weak." The stout mate thought of home ; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why you shall say at break of day, Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! sail on !" They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said, "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say" — He said : "Sail on, sail on, sail on !" 144 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOUBTH YEAR OCTOBER They sailed; they sailed. Then spake the mate; "This mad sea shows his teeth tonight; He curls his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite! Brave Admiral, say but one good word ; What shall we do when hope is gone?" The words leapt as a leaping sword: "Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! sail on !" Then, pale and worn he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — A light ! A light ! A light ! A light ! It grew, a star-lit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. He gained a world ! He gave that world Its grandest lesson: "On and on!" — Joaquin Miller. *lr\ point of power, workmanship, and feeling, among all the poems written by Americans, we are inclined to give first place to "The Pert of Ships," or "Columbus," by Joaquin Miller.— London Athenaeum. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 145 NOVEMBER PSALM CL 1. Praise ye the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power. 2. Praise him for his mighty acts: praise him according to his excellent greatness. 3. Praise him with the sound of the trum- pet: praise him with the psaltery and harp. 4. Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs. 5. Praise him with the loud cymbals: praise him upon the high sounding cymbals. 6. Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord. — The Bible. 146 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH YEAR NOVEMBBR THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS THE breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came ; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame ; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear ; They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea ; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared, — This was their welcome home. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 147 FOURTH TEAR NOVEMBER There were, men with hoary hair Amidst that pilgrim band ; Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land? There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar? Eright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found ; Freedom to worship God ! — Dorothea Felicia Hemans. 148 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL DECEMBER THE FIRST SNOW-FALL THE snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's mufflled crow, The stiff rails softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, Like brown leaves whirling by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Where a little headstone stood ; How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-Father Who cares for us here below. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 149 rOCRTH TEAR DECEMBER Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high. I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar that renewed our woe. And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can make it fall !" Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her ; And she, kissing back, could not know That my kiss was given to her sister, Folded close under deepening snow. — James Russell Lowell. 150 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH YEAR DECEMBER THE CHRISTMAS TREE YOU come from a land where the snow lies deep In forest glade, on mountain steep, Where the days are short and the nights are long, And never a skylark sings his song. Have you seen the wild deer in his mountain home, And watched the fall of the brown pine cone ? Do you miss your mates in the land of snow, Where none but the evergreen branches grow? Dear tree, we will dress you in robes so bright That ne'er could be seen a prettier sight ; In glittering balls and tinkling bells, And the star which the story of Christmas tells ; On every branch we will place a light That shall send its gleam through the starry night ; And the little children will gather there, And carol their songs in voices fair ; And we hope you will never homesick be, You beautiful, beautiful Christmas tree. — Mary A. McHugh. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 151 JANUARY THE WIZARD FROST WONDROUS things have come to pass On my square of window glass. Looking in it I have seen Grass no longer painted green, — Trees whose branches never stir, — Skies without a cloud or blur, — Church spires pointing to the sky, — And a funny little town Where the people, up and down Streets of silver, to me seem Like the people in a dream Dressed in finest kinds of lace ; 'Tis a picture on a space Scarcely larger than my hand, Of a tiny Switzerland, Which the Wizard Frost has drawn 'Twixt the daylight and the dawn. Quick, and see what he has done Ere 'tis stolen by the sun. — Frank Dempster Sherman. 152 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH TEAK JANUARY ABOU BEN ADHEM ABOU Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) Awoke one night from a dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold ; Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou ?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still, and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one who loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great awakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blest ; And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. — Leigh Hunt. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 153 FEBRUARY FLAG OF THE FREE rLAG of the free, fairest to see ! Borne through the strife and the thunder of war; Banner so bright with starry light, Foat ever proudly from mountain to shore. Emblem of Freedom, hope to the slave, Spread thy fair folds but to shield and to save, While through the sky, loud rings the cry, Union and Liberty ! One evermore. Flag of the brave, long may it wave, Chosen of God while His might we adore, In Freedom's van for good to man, Symbol of Right through the years passing o'er. Pride of our country, honored afar, Scatter each cloud that would darken a star, While through the sky, loud rings the cry, Union and Liberty ! One evermore. JUST A LITTLE JUST a little every day, That's the way Seeds in darkness swell and grow, Tiny blades push through the snow ; Never any flower of May Leaps to blossom at a burst, Slowly, slowly at the first, That's the way, Just a little every day. 154 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MAJRCH MARCH ISA ARCH ! March ! March ! They are coming i 1 In troops to the tune of the wind ; Red-headed woodpeckers drumming, Gold-crested thrushes behind ; Sparrows in brown jackets hopping Past every gateway and door ; Finches with crimson caps stopping Just where they stopped years before. March! March! March! They are slipping Into their places at last ; Little white lily-buds, dripping Under the showers that fall fast ; Buttercups, violets, roses; Snowdrop and bluebell and pink ; Throng upon throng of sweet posies, Bending, the dewdrops to drink. March ! March ! March ! They will hurry Forth at the wild bugle-sound; Blossoms and birds in a flurry, Fluttering all over the ground. Hang out your flags, birch and willow ! Shake out your red tassels, larch ! LTp, blades of grass, from your pillow ! Hear who is calling you — March. — Lucy Larcom. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 155 FOtRTH TEAR MARCH THE REDBREAST AND BUTTERFLY A RT thou the bird whom man loves best, ' * The pious bird with the scarlet breast, Our little English robin ; The bird that comes about our doors When autumn winds are sobbing? Art thou the Peter of Norway boors? Their Thomas in Finland, And Russia far inland? The bird, who by some name or other All men who know thee call their brother, The darling of children and men? Could father Adam open his eyes,* And see this sight beneath the skies, He'd wish to close them again. If the butterfly knew but his friend, Hither his flight he would bend ; And find his way to me Under the branches of the tree; In and out, he darts about ; Can this be the bird, to man so good, That, after their bewildering, Did cover with leaves the little children, So painfully in the wood? 156 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH YEAR MARCH What ailed thee, Robin, that thou couldst pursue A beautiful creature, That is gentle by nature? Beneath the summer sky From flower to flower let him fly; 'Tis all that he wishes to do. The cheerer thou of our indoor sadness, He is the friend of our summer gladness ; What hinders, then, that ye should be Playmates in the sunny weather, And fly about in the air together ! His beautiful wings in crimson are drest, A crimson as bright as thine own ; If thou wouldst be happy in thy nest, O pious bird ! whom man loves best, Love him, or leave him alone ! — William Wordsworth. *See "Paradise Lost," book xi, where Adam points out to Eve the ominous sign of the eagle chasing "two birds of gayest plume," and the gentle hart and hind pursued by their enemy. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 157 APRIL THE DAFFODILS I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils ; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay; Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced ; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee ; A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company; I gazed, — and gazed, — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought; For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon the inward eye, Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure thrills And dances with the daffodils. — William Wordsworth. 158 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH TEAR APRIL JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT J ACK-in-the-pulpit Ci Preaches today Under the green trees Just over the way. Squirrel and song-sparrow, High on their perch, Hear the sweet lily-bells Ringing to church. Come, hear what his reverence Rises to say, In his low painted pulpit, This calm sabbath day. Fair is the canopy Over him seen, Penciled, by Nature's hand, Black, brown and green; Green is his surplice, Green are his bands ; In his queer little pulpit The little priest stands. In black and gold velvet, So gorgeous to see, Comes with his bass voice, The chorister bee. Green fingers playing Unseen on wind-lyres, Low singing-bird voices, — These are his choirs. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 159 FOURTH TEAR APRIL The violets are deacons; I know by the sign That the cups which they carry Are purple with wine. And the columbines bravely, As sentinels stand On the lookout, with all their Red trumpets in hand. Meek-faced anemones, Drooping and sad ; Great yellow violets, Smiling out glad ; Buttercups' faces, Beaming and bright ; Clovers with bonnets — Some red and some white; Daisies, their white fingers Half clasped in prayer; Dandelions, proud of The gold of their hair. Innocents, children Guileless and frail, Meek little faces, Upturned and pale ; Wild-wood geraniums, All in their best, Languidly leaning In purple gauze dressed, — All are assembled This sweet Sabbath day To hear what the priest In his pulpit will say. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 160 MAY LITTLE DANDELION GAY little Dandelion Lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot, Telleth her beads; Lists to the robin's note Poured from above ; Wise little Dandelion Asks not for love. Cold lie the daisy banks Clothed but in green, Where in the clays agone Bright hues were seen, Wild pinks are slumbering; Violets decay ; True little dandelion Greeteth the May. Brave little Dandelion; Fast falls the snow, • Bending the daffodil's Haughty head low. Under that fleecy tent, Careless of cold, Blithe little Dandelion Counteth her gold. Meek little Dandelion Groweth more fair, Till dies the amber dew Out from her hair. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 161 FOURTH YEAR MAY High rides the thirsty sun, Fiercely and high; Faint little Dandelion Closeth her eye Pale little Dandelion In her white shroud, Heareth the angel breeze Call from the cloud. Tiny plumes fluttering Make no delay ; Little winged Dandelion Soareth away. — Helen Bostzvick. MAY /VVERRY, rollicking, frolicking May I \ Into the woods came skipping one day ; She teased the brook till he laughed outright, And gurgled and scolded with all his might ; She chirped to the birds and bade them sing A chorus of welcome to Lady Spring; And the bees and butterflies she set To waking the flowers that were sleeping yet. She shook the trees till the buds looked out To see what the trouble was all about, And nothing in Nature escaped that day The touch of the life-giving bright young May. — MacDonald. 162 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JUNE LITTLE BOY BLUE* THE little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands ; And the little toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket moulds in his hands, Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair; And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. ''Now, don't you go till I come," he said; "And don't you make any noise !" So toddling off to his trundle-bed He dreamed of the pretty toys ; And as he was dreaming, an angel's song Awakened our Little Boy Blue — Oh, the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true. Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face. And they wonder, as waiting these long years through, In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them and put them there. — Eugene Field. *From The Eugene Field Reader. Permission from Charles Serib- ner's Sons. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 163 FOURTH YEAR JtJNE THE BAREFOOT BOY BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee joy, — I was once a barefoot boy ! Prince thou art, — the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride ! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye, — Outward sunshine, inward jov: Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! Oh for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild-flower's time and place, Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground mole sinks his well ; How the robin feeds her young, 164 CHILD' ti CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH YEAR JUNE How the oriole's nest is hung; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shine; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans ! For eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks ; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy,— Blessings on the barefoot boy ! Oh for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for. I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall ; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 165 FOURTH TEAR JTJNE Mine, on bending orchard trees Apples of Hesperidesl Still as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy. Oh for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread ; Pewter spoon and bowl of wood ; On the door-stone gray and rude ! O'er me like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; While for music came the play Of the pied frog's orchestra ; And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch ; pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy! Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, 166 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH TEAR JUNE Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil, Up and down in ceaseless moil : Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground ; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah, that thou could'st know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! — John G. Whittier, CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAU1IF0L 167 JULY SUMMER'S SUNNY DAYS SUMMER'S sunny days have come; Soft and sweet the wind is blowing; Bees across the meadow hum, Where the golden flowers are growing; Fields and trees are green and fair, And sunshine's sleeping everywhere. Ch, the sunny summer days, When the ripples dance and quiver ; And the sun at noontide lays Starlike jewels on the river! Take your shoes off ; wade in here, Where the water 's warm and clear. Listen to the song it sings, Ever rippling, ever flowing; Telling of a thousand things, Whence it comes and whither going; Singing like the birds and bees, Of the wondrous world it sees. All the world is filled with sound, And the very air is ringing, Up and down and all around, With the songs the birds are singing. Oh, the golden summer hours, When earth's a paradise of flowers. — From The Child's World. 168 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH YEAR JULT LITTLE BROWN HANDS THEY drive home the cows from the pasture, Up through the long shady lane, Where the quail whistles loud in the wheatfields That are yellow with ripening grain. They find in the thick waving grasses, Where the scarlet-lipped strawberry grows; They gather the earliest snowdrops, And the first crimson buds of the rose. They toss the new hay in the meadow; They gather the elder-bloom white; They find where the dusky grapes purple In the soft-tinted October light. They know where the apples hang ripest, And are sweeter than Italy's wines ; They know where the fruit hangs the thickest On the long, thorny blackberry vines. They gather the delicate seaweeds, And build tiny castles of sand ; They pick up the beautiful seashells, Fairy barks that have drifted to land. They wave from the tall, rocking treetops, Where the oriole's hammock nest swings ; And at night time are folded in slumber By a song that a fond mother sings. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 169 FOURTH YEAR JTrLT Those who toil bravely are strongest; The humble and poor become great ; And so, from these brown-handed children Shall grow mighty rulers of state. The pen of the author and statesman, The noble and wise of the land, The sword, and the chisel, and palette, Shall be held in the little brown hand. — Mary H. Krout. 170 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL AUGUST GIVE SEE the rivers flowing Downwards to the sea, Pouring all their treasures Bountiful and free ; Yet to help their giving Hidden springs arise ; Or, if need be, showers Feed them from the skies ! Watch the princely flowers Their rich fragrance spread, Load the air with perfumes, From their beauty shed : Yet their lavish spending Leaves them not in dearth, With fresh life replenished By their mother earth ! Give thy heart's best treasures, — From fair Nature learn ! Give thy love, and ask not, Wait not a return ! And the more thou spendest From thy little store, With a double bounty God will give thee more. — Adelaide Anne Proctor. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 171 FOURTH YEAR AUGUST THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK I am monarch of all I survey; My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute. Solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech; I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, Friendship, and Love Divinely bestow'd upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. 172 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FOURTH YEAR AUGUST Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more ; My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the' speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought ! Gives even affliction a grace And reconciles man to his lot. — William Cowper. nrrn year THE heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. — Longfellow. CHILD'S CALENDAK BEAUTIFUL 175 SEPTEMBER THE CORN-SONG HEAP high the farmer's wintry hoard! I I Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn ! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine; We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, Our ploughs their furrows made, While on the hills the sun and showers Of changeful April played. V/e dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. All through the long, bright days of June Its leaves grew green and fair, And waved in hot midsummer's noon Its soft and yellow hair. 176 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIFTH TEAR SEPTEMBER And now, with autumn's moonlit eves, Its harvest-time has come, We pluck away the frosted leaves, And bear the treasure home. There, when the snows about us drift, And winter winds are cold, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers loll in silk Around their costly board; Give us the bowl of samp and milk, By homespun beauty poured! Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth Sends up its smoky curls, Who will not thank the kindly earth, And bless our farmer girls! Then shame on all the proud and vain, Whose folly laughs to scorn The blessing of our hardy grain, Our wealth of golden corn! Let earth withhold her goodly root, Let mildew blight the rye, Give to the worm the orchard's fruit, The wheat-field to the fly; But let the good old crop adorn The hills our fathers trod ; Still let us, for his golden corn, Send up our thanks to God ! — John Greenleaf Whittier. CHILD' H CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 111 FIFTH YEAR SEPTEMBER THE BETTER WAY IF anything unkind you hear About some one you know, my dear, Do not, I pray you, it repeat When you that some one chance to meet, For such news has a leaden way Of clouding o'er a sunny day. But if you something pleasant hear About some one you know, my dear, Make haste — to make great haste 'twere well, To her or him the same to tell ; For such news has a golden way Of lighting up a cloudy day. 178 CHILu a CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL OCTOBER OCTOBER SONG THE locust trees are hung with pods Of glossy russet-brown, And tawny leaves of sycamores Are swiftly drifting down. Their purple clusters, over-ripe, The trailing wild-grapes show ; And frost-tipped woodbine clambers up From scarlet depths below. Still clinging to the clover stalks Are blossoms, white and sweet ; And pricked in tufted rows, the fields Are green with winter wheat. On furrowed mold, where grew the corn, Pale, golden stubble stands ; And lingering blackbirds pipe and trill Through swampy meadow-lands Far, far above, within the blue, Half hid in lofty flight, A hawk sails slow, and sunward turns A breast of shining white. The air is full of milkweed films, And floating thistle floss ; And busily the spiders spin Their silver nets across CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 1«9 FIFTH YEAR OCTOBER The red-oak's tangled undergrowth Of lacing boughs, and string The yellow lindens, that the winds Are rudely pillaging. And where the ruddy maples blaze Athwart the gusty air, It lifts their leaves like little flames, And puffs them everywhere. But what if, loosed with fitful touch, The woodland doffs its gown; What if the fallow hillside grass Grows slowly crisp and brown! What matter that the truant sun Slips southward, day by day, And that, hard by, the winter waits To hood the skies in gray! I'll find but deeper joy in this, The autumn's pageantry; The sumac boughs are brighter far Than dark forebodings be. — Bvaleen Stein. 180 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIFTH YEAR OCTOBER AUTUMN LEAVES IN the hush and the lonely silence Of the chill October night Some wizard has worked his magic With fairy fingers light. The leaves of the sturdy oak trees Are splendid with crimson and red, And the golden flags of the maple Are fluttering overhead. Through the tangle of faded grasses There are trailing vines ablaze, And the glory of warmth and color Gleams through the autumn haze Like banners of marching armies That farther and farther go ; Down the winding roads and valleys The boughs of the sumacs glow. So open your eyes little children, And open your hearts as well, Till the charm of the bright October Shall fold you in its spell. — Angelina Wray. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 181 NOVEMBER DOWN TO SLEEP NOVEMBER woods are bare and still ; November days are clear and bright ; Each noon burns up the morning's chill ; The morning's snow is gone by night. Each day my steps grow slow, grow light, As through the woods I reverent creep, Watching all things "lie down to sleep." I never knew before what beds, Fragrant to smell, and soft to touch, The forest sifts and shapes and spreads; I never knew before how much Of human sound there is in such Low tones as through the forest sweep When all wild things "lie down to sleep." Each day I find new coverlids Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight ; Sometimes the viewless mother bids Her ferns kneel down full in my sight; I hear their chorus of "good night," And half I smile, and half I weep, Listening while they lie "down to sleep." November woods are bare and still, November days are bright and good; Life's noon burns up life's morning chill, Life's night rests feet that long have stood ; Some warm soft bed, in field or wood, The mother will not fail to keep, Where we can "lay us down to sleep." — Helen Hunt Jackson. 182 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIFTH YEAR NOVEMBER PSALM XV 1. Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? Who shall dwell in thy holy hill? 2. He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart. 3. He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbor, nor taketh up reproach against his neighbor. 4. In whose eyes a vile person is con- temned ; but he honoreth them that fear the Lord. He that sweareth to his own hurt and changeth not. 5. He that putteth not out his money to usury, nor taketh reward against the innocent. He that doeth these things shall never be moved. — The Bible. CHILD' b CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 183 DECEMBER FROST WORK THESE winter nights against my window pane, Nature with busy pencil draws designs Of ferns, and blossoms, and fine sprays of pines, Oak-leaf and acorn, and fantastic vines, Which she will make when summer comes again, Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold, Like curious Chinese etchings. — By and by, Walking my leafy garden as of old, These frosty fantasies shall charm my eye In azure, damask, emerald, and gold. — Thomas Bailey Aldrich. HOME, SWEET HOME J\A ID pleasures and palaces though we may roam / V Be it ever so humble there's no place like home ! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ; Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ! The birds singing gayly that came at my call : — Give me them — and the peace of mind dearer than all! Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! — John Hozvard Payne. 184 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JANUARY JANUARY TO and fro, To and fro, Athwart the tingling icy air, The linden branches blow, and so, With warp of wind and woof of snow, The weaver Winter's shuttles go; Such garment rare The earth shall wear, No softest ermine, neither vair, Nor royal robing anywhere, Nor any cunning looms may show A fabric half so fair. Upon the peach and apple trees A thousand frosty fringes freeze; The moon-vines lace the lattice bars In filmy filigrees. The grass is flecked with flaky stars; The clover-tufts are hid from sight; And, now and then, a bird alight With burst of gleeful flutter, jars The pearly-laden red rose-hips, And tilting airily, so tips A tiny tempest, pelting down The slender briars bare and brown ; Or else some sudden flurry stirs The fleecy drifts that freight the firs, And swept from silvery tassels slips A swirling cloud of trailing, bright, Light scarfs of powdered white. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 185 FIFTH YEAR JArTCAKt Aye, richly, Winter, to and fro Thus let your silver shuttles go, Till every sparkling web is spun ; Still, with rare skill, unceasing ply Your artful trickeries, and try All chill enchantments, every one Of all devices to beguile This dreary overweary while Wherein we wait the sun ; And since the north must yet prevail, And bitter cheerless winds assail, Come, white-wing'd snows, and over all Like shreds of floating feathers fall, And lightly lie! So, by and by, — Ah, by and by ! — Like blue flakes from an azure sky, The April birds will fly. — Bvaleen Stein. 186 CHILD' H CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIFTH YEAR JANUARY ASLEEP DEAR tired Mother Earth has gone to sleep ; Walk tiptoe through her chamber lest she waken ! Her children faithful watch above her keep, While she with slumber sweet is overtaken. Not long ago a thousand tender ferns Spread over her their wealth of dew-spun laces, And nestled close to her warm heart, where burns The fire that kindles Springtime's sylvan graces. And when the blessed Mother longed for rest, How soothingly the little tender grasses Threw all their soft green arms across her breast ; No wintry blast shall touch her as it passes ! The maples watched her with a beaming smile When proud October covered them with glory, And gladly doffed their golden robes, the while With them they made her bed — the old sweet story ! And yesterday all day the longing sky Bent lovingly and wistfully above her, While soft white kisses — O, so tenderly — Came down and covered her — who could but love her ! — Bdzvard A. Jenks. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 187 FEBKUAKY THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS THERE came a youth upon the earth, Some thousand years ago, Whose slender hands were nothing worth, Whether to plough, or reap, or sow. Upon an empty tortoise shell He stretched some chords, and drew Music that made men's bosoms swell Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew. Then King Admetus, one who had Pure taste by right divine, Decreed his singing not too bad To hear between the cups of wine: And so, well pleased with being soothed Into a sweet half-sleep, Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, And made him viceroy o'er his sheep. His words wsre simple words enough, And yet he used them so. That what in other mouths was rough In his seemed musical and low. Men called him but a shiftless youth, In whom no good they saw ; And yet, unwittingly, in truth They made' his careless words their law. 188 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIFTH TEAR FEBRUARY They knew not how he learned at all, For idly, hour by hour, He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, Or mused upon a common flower. It seemed the loveliness of things Did teach him all their use, For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, He found a healing power profuse. Men granted that his speech was wise, But, when a glance they caught Of his slim grace and woman's eyes, They laughed, and called him good-for- naught. Yet after he was dead and gone, And e'en his memory dim, Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, More full of love, because of him. And day by day more holy grew Each spot where he had trod, Till after-poets only knew Their first-born brother as a god. — James Russell Lozvell. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL lS'J FIFTH TEAR FEBRUARY ABRAHAM LINCOLN THIS man whose homely face you look upon, Was one of Nature's masterful great men ; Born with strong arms that unfought victories won. Direct of speech, and cunning with the pen, Chosen for large designs, he had the art Of winning with his humor, and he went Straight to his mark, which was the human heart. Wise, too, for what he could not break, he bent ; Upon his back, a more than Atlas load, The burden of the Commonwealth was laid ; He stooped and rose up with it, though the road Shot suddenly downwards, not a whit dismayed. Hold, warriors, councillors, kings! All now give place To this dead Benefactor of the Race. — Richard Henry Stoddard. 190 CHILD' ii CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MARCH MARCH THE stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies ; I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies. Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month ! in praise of thee ; Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again, The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. A.nd, in thy reign of blast and storm Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, When the changed winds are soft and warm, And heaven puts on the blue of May. Then sing aloud the gushing rills In joy that they again are free, And, brightly leaping down the hills, Renew their journey to the sea. The year's departing beauty hides Of wintry storms, the sullen threat; But in thy sternest frown abides A look of kindly promise yet. Thou brings't the hope of those calm skies, And that soft time of many showers, When the wide bloom, on earth that lies, Seems of a brighter world than ours. — William Cullen Bryant. CHILD' 8 CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 191 FIFTH YEAR MARCH THE VOICE OF SPRING I come ! I come ! ye have called me long ; I come o'er the mountains with light and song ! Ye may trace my steps o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass. I have sent through the wood paths a glowing sigh, And called out each voice of the deep blue sky, From the night bird's lay through the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, To the swan's wild note, by the iceland lakes, Where the dark fir branch into verdure breaks. From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain, They are sweeping on to the silvery main, They are flashing down from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, And the earth resounds with the joy of waves ! Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come ! Where the violets lie may be now your home. Ye of the rose lip and dew-bright eye, And the bounding footstep, to meet me, fly! With the lyre and the wreath and the joyous lay, Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay. — Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 192 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL APRIL THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN Othe South Wind and the Sun ! How each loved the other one — Full of Fancy — full of folly — Full of jollity and fun ! How they romped and ran about, Like two boys when school is out, With glowing face, and lisping lip, Low laugh, and lifted shout! And the South Wind — he was dressed With a ribbon round his breast That floated, flapped and fluttered In a riotous unrest, And a drapery of mist, From the shoulder and the wrist Flowing backward with the motion Of the waving hand he kissed. And the Sun had on a crown Wrought of gilded thistle-down, And a scarf of velvet vapor, And a raveled-rainbow gown ; And his tinsel-tangled hair, Tossed and lost upon the air, Was glossier and flossier Than any anywhere. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 193 FIFTH TEAR APRIL And the South Wind's eyes were two Little dancing drops of dew, As he puffed his cheeks, and pursed his lips, And blew, and blew, and blew ! And the Sun's — like diamond-stone, Brighter yet than ever known, As he knit his brows, and held his breath, And shone, and shone, and shone ! And this pair of merry fays Wandered through the summer days; Arm-in-arm they went together Over heights of morning haze — Over slanting slopes of lawn, They went on, and on, and on, Where the daisies looked like star-tracks Trailing up and down the dawn. * * * * * * * — James Whitcomb Riley. THE AVERAGE MAN WHEN it comes to a question of trusting Yourself to the risks of the road, When the thing is the sharing of burdens, The lifting the heft of a load, In the hour of peril or trial, In the hour you meet as you can, You may safely depend on the wisdom And skill of the average man. 194 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIFTH YEAH APRIL 'Tis the average man and no other Who does his plain duty each day, The small thing his wage is for doing, On the commonplace bit of the way. 'Tis the average man, may God bless him, Who pilots us, still in the van, Over land, over sea as we travel, Just the plain, hardy, average man. So on through the days of existence, All mingling in shadow and shine, We may count on the every-day hero Whom haply the gods may divine, But who wears the swart grime of his calling, And labors and earns as he can, And stands at the last with the noblest, The commonplace average man. — Margaret B. Songster. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 195 MAY WORK SWEET wind, fair wind, where have you been? "I've been sweeping the cobwebs out of the sky ; I've been grinding a grist in the mill hard by; I've been laughing at work while others sigh; Let those laugh who win!" Sweet rain, soft rain, what are you doing? "I'm urging the corn to fill out its cells ; I'm helping the lily to fashion its bells; I'm swelling the torrent and brimming the wells ; Is that worth pursuing?" Redbreast, redbreast, what have you done? "I've been watching the nest where my fledge- lings lie ; I've sung them to sleep with a lullaby; By and by I shall teach them to fly, Up and away, every one!" Honey-bee, honey-bee, where are you going? "To fill my basket with precious pelf; To toil for my neighbor as well as myself; To find out the sweetest flower that grows, Be it a thistle or be it a rose — A secret worth the knowing!" Wind and rain fulfilling His word! Tell me, was ever a legend heard Where the wind, commanded to blow, deferred; Or the rain, that was bidden to fall, demurred? — Mary N. Prescott. 196 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FirTH YEAB MAT THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ IT was fifty years ago, In the pleasant month of May, In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, A child in its cradle lay. And Nature, the old nurse, took The child upon her knee, Saying: "Here is a story-book Thy Father has written for thee." "Come, wander with me," she said, "Into regions yet untrod ; And read what is still unread In the manuscripts of God." And he wandered away and away With Nature, the dear old nurse, Who sang to him night and day The rhymes of the universe. And whenever the way seemed long, Or his heart began to fail, She would sing a more wonderful song, , Or tell a more marvelous tale. So she keeps him still a child, And will not let him go, Though at times his heart beats wild For the beautiful Pays de Vaud ; CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 197 FIFTH TEAR l 14 * Though at times he hears in his dreams The *Ranz des Vaches of old, And the rush of mountain streams From glaciers clear and cold ; And the mother at home says, "Hark! For his voice I listen and yearn ; It is growing late and dark, And my boy does not return!" — Henry W . Longfellow. *Melodies of the Swiss mountaineers blown on a long tube called the Alpine horn, and sometimes sung. 198 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JUNE JUNE I UNE in the grass ! Ci Daisies and buttercups, lo, they surpass Coined gold of kings ;and for queendom, the rose, Bloom of the month, see how stately she goes. Blow, winds, and waft me the breathings of flowers ; June's in her bowers. June overhead ! All the birds know it, for swift they have sped Northward, and now they are singing like mad ; June is full-tide for them, June makes them glad. Hark, the bright choruses greeting the day — Sorrow, away! June in the heart! Dormant dim dreamings awake and upstart, Blood courses quicker, some sprite in my feet Makes rhythm of motion, makes wayfaring sweet — So, outward or inward, the meaning is clear; Summer is here. — Richard Burton. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 199 FIFTH YEAR JUN» LEANING AND LIFTING THERE are two kinds of people on earth today, Just two kinds of people, no more, I say. Not the saint and the sinner, for 'tis well under- stood The good are half bad and the bad are half good ; Not the rich and the poor, for to count a man's wealth You must first know the state of his conscience and health; Not the humble and proud, for in life's little span Who puts on vain airs is not counted a man; Not the happy and sad, for the swift-flying years Bring each man his laughter and each man his tears. No! the two kinds of people on earth I mean Are the people who lift and the people who lean. Wherever you go you will find the world's masses Arc always divided in just these two classes; And oddly enough you will find, too, I ween, There is only one lifter to twenty who lean. In which class are you ? Are you easing the load Of overtaxed lifters who toil down the road? Or are you a leaner who lets others bear Your portion of labor and worry and care? — Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 200 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JULY BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC j\A INE eyes have seen the glory of the com- 2 V ing of the Lord ; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored ; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of the ter- rible, swift sword, His truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps ; They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps ; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps ; His days are marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel ; As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal ; Let the Hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on. He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat ; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat; O, be swift, my soul, to answer Him, be jubilant my feet! Our God is marching on. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 201 FIFTH YBAB JTJLT In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. — Julia Ward Howe. THE AMERICAN FLAG. \ m /HEN 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. 202 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL FIFTH YEAR JULT 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 storms, And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven — Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free ; To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke ; And bid its blending shine afar, Like rainbows on the clouds of war, The harbingers of victory! Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high ! When speaks the signal trumpet tone, And the long line comes gleaming on, Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, Each soldier eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn, And, as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance; And when the cannon-mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise and fall. Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, Then shall thy meteor glances glow, And cowering foes shall shrink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 203 FIFTH YEAR JULY Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave, When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frightened waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack; Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendors fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart's hope and home, By angel hands to valor given, Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedoms soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! — Joseph Rodman Drake. 204 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL AUGUST WINGS WINGS that flutter in sunny air; Wings that dive and dip and dare; Wings of the humming bird flashing by; Wings of the lark in the purple sky ; Wings of the eagle aloft, aloof; Wings of the pigeon upon the roof; Wings of the storm bird swift and free, With wild winds sweeping across the sea: Often and often a voice in me sings, — O, for the freedom, the freedom of wings ! O, to winnow the air with wings ; O, to float far above hurtful things — Things that weary and wear and fret; Deep in the azure to fly and forget ; To touch in a moment the mountain's crest, Or haste to the valley for home and rest ; To rock with the pine tree as wild birds may; To follow the sailor a summer's day ; Over and over a voice in me sings, — O, for the freedom, the freedom of wings ! Softly responsive a voice in me sings, — Thou hast the freedom, the freedom of wings ; Soon as the glass a second can count, Into the heavens thy heart may mount ; Hope may fly to the topmost peak ; Love its nest in the vale may seek ; Outspeeding the sailor, Faith's pinions may Touch the ends of the earth in a summer's day. Softly responsive a voice in me sings, — Thou hast the freedom, the freedom of wings. — Mary F. Butts. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 205 FIFTH YEAR AUGUST OPPORTUNITY THIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: There spread a cloud of dust along a plain, And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge, And thought: "Had I a sword of keener steel — That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this Blunt thing !" He snapped and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away and left the field. Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead, And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and snatched it, and with battle shout Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down, And saved a great cause on that heroic day. — Edward Rowland Sill. SIXTH YEAR No life Can be pure in its purpose and strong in its strife, And all life not be purer and stronger thereby. — Owen Meredith. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 209 SEPTEMBER SEPTEMBER DAYS CICADA plays his viol mid the grasses, The last shrill sound at night, the first at morn; Late poppies grow along the garden passes, And light winds gossip in the ripening corn. The sluggish creek, in meadows lately greening, Is flushed with gold and purple, either brink ; From dusty hedge the last wild rose is leaving, A deadly pallor on her lovely pink. With Tyrian fruit the lowly poke is laden; Wych-hazel weaves her "thread of golden bloom ;" The wandering woodbine, like a Gypsy maiden, Warms with its color the deep forest's gloom. The morning sows with pearls Arachne's weav- ing '■> The orchard peach looks out with cheeks a-blush ; From shady nook the ringdove's note of grieving Floats far and faint upon the noontide hush. By country roads the scarlet sumac's burning, And over zigzag fences spread and shine The lush dark berries, daily turning Their loyal heart's blood into purple wine. 210 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH YEAB SEPTlClfBEB Down the lane path, where the cows come in the gloaming, The thistles stand with faded armor on; In buckwheat bloom the weary bees are roaming, To gather sweets till the last day is done. With all thy gift and grace, O fair September, Some anniversaries it is thine to bring, That flood unwilling eyes but to remember, And choke with sighs the heart that fain would sing. And yet, when God has filled the earth with beauty, And given the soul a quickened conscious- ness, One may go forth in pleasant ways of duty And feel the chastening Hand in close caress. — Elliot C. True. SOMEBODY'S MOTHER THE woman was old, and ragged, and gray, And bent with the chill of the winter's day. The street was wet with the recent snow, And the woman's feet were aged and slow. She stood at the crossing and waited long, Alone, uncared for, amid the throng Of human beings who passed her by, Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 211 SIXTH YEAR SEPTEMBER Down the street with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of school "let out," Came the boys like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow piled white and deep. Past the woman so old and gray, Hastened the children on their way, Nor offered a helping hand to her, So meek, so timid, afraid to stir, Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet Should crowd her down in the slippery street. At last came one of the merry troop, The gayest laddie of all the group ; He paused beside her and whispered low, "I'll help you across if you wish to go." Her aged hand on his strong young arm She placed, and so, without hurt or harm, He guided her trembling feet along, Proud that his own were firm and strong. Then back again to his friends he went, His young heart happy and well content. '"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, For all she's aged and poor and slow; "And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, you understand, If ever she's poor, and old, and gray, When her own boy is far away." And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head, In her home that night, and the prayer she said, Was, "God be kind to the noble boy, Who is somebody's son and pride and joy." 212 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL OCTOBER INDIAN SUMMER A soft veil dims the tender skies, And half conceals from pensive eyes The bronzing tokens of the fall ; A calmness broods upon the hills, And summer's parting dream distills A charm of silence over all. The stacks of corn, in brown array, Stand waiting through the placid day, Like tattered wigwams on the plain; The tribes that find a shelter there Are phantom peoples, forms of air, And ghosts of vanished joy and pain. At evening when the crimson crest Of sunset passes down the West, I hear the whispering host returning; On far-off fields, by elm and oak, I see the lights, I smell the smoke, — The Camp-fires of the Past are burning. — Henry VanDyke. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 213 S1STH YEAR OCTOBER FAME AND what shall I do lest life in silence pass? And if it do, And never prompt the bray of noisy brass, What need'st thou rue? Remember, aye the ocean deeps are mute ; The shallows roar; Worth is the ocean, Fame is but the bruit Along the shore. What shall I do to be forever known? — Thy duty ever. This did full many who yet slept unknown. Oh! never, never! [known Think'st thou, perchance, that they remain un- Whom thou know'st not? By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown, Divine their lot ! What shall I do to gain eternal life? Discharge aright The simple duties with which each day is rife ! Yea, with all thy might ! — Johann F. C. von Schiller. 214 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL NOVEMBER PSALM XIX THE heavens declare the glory of God: and the firmament showeth his handiwork. 2. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge. 3. There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard. 4. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, 5. Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. 6. His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof. 7. The law of the Lord is perfect, convert- ing the soul : the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple. 8. The statutes of the Lord are right, re- joicing the heart: the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes. 9. The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever: the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether. 10. More to be desired are they than gold, CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 215 SIXTH TEAR NOVEMBER yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb. ii. Moreover by them is thy servant warned: and in keeping of them there is great reward. 12. Who can understand his errors? cleanse thou me from secret faults. 13. Keep back thy servant also from pre- sumptuous sins ; let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression. 14. Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer. —The Bible. THE PETRIFIED FERN IN a valley, centuries ago, Grew a little fern leaf green and slender, Veining delicate and fibers tender, Moving when the wind crept down so low ; Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it; Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, Drops of dew stole down by night and crowned it ; But no foot of man e'er came that way; Earth was young and keeping holiday. 216 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH TEAR NOVEMBER Monster fishes swam the silent main; Stately forests waved their giant branches; Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches; Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain; Nature reveled in grand mysteries ; But the little fern was not like these, Did not slumber with the hills and trees, Only grew and waved its sweet wild way; No man came to note it day by day. Earth one time, put on a frolic mood, Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion Of the strong deep currents of the ocean; Moved the hills and shook the haughty wood; Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay, Covered it and hid it safe away. O the changes ! O life's bitter cost, Since the little useless fern was lost ! Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man Searching Nature's secrets far and deep; From a fissure in a rocky steep He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran Fairy pencilings, a quaint design, Leafage, veining, fibers, clear and fine, And the fern's life lay in every line. So, I think God hides some souls away, Sweetly to surprise us the Last Day. — Mary Bolles Branch. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 217 DECEMBER CHRISTMAS BELLS 1 heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! Till, ringing, singing on its way, The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, A chant sublime Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! Then from each black accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! It was as if an earthquake rent The hearth-stones of a continent, And made forlorn The households born Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 218 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH YEAR DBCEMBEH And in despair I bowed my head; "There is no peace on earth/ I said; For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men !" Then pealed the bells more loud and deep; "God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep ! The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men !" — Longfellow. WHEN DADDY LIGHTS THE TREE WE have our share of ups and downs, Our cares like other folk ; The pocketbook is sometimes full, We're sometimes well nigh broke; But once a year, at Christmas time, Our hearth is bright to see ; The baby's hand just touches heaven When Daddy lights the tree. For weeks and weeks the little ones Have lotted on this hour; And mother, she has planned for it Since summer's sun and shower. With here a nickel, there a dime, Put by where none should see, A loving hoard against the night When Daddy lights the tree. The tiny tapers glow like stars ; They mind us of the flame CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 219 SIXTH TEAR DECEMBER That rifted once the steel-blue sky The morn the Christ-child came; The blessed angels sang to earth Above that far countree — We think they sing above our hearth When Daddy lights the tree. The weest kid in mother's arms Laughs out and claps her hands, The rest of us on tiptoe wait ; The grown-up brother stands Where he can reach the topmost branch, Our Santa Claus to be, In that sweet hour of breathless joy When Daddy lights the tree. ****** 'Tis Love that makes the world go round, 'Tis Love that lightens toil, 'Tis Love that lays up treasure which Nor moth nor rust can spoil; And Love is in our humble home, In largesse full and free, We all are very close to heaven When Daddy lights the tree. We pray that little orphaned ones May have some share of bliss, Nor when the Yule-tide fires burn Their bit of gladness miss; From our rich store we're fain to send Where'er such children be A present as from friend to friend When Daddy lights the tree. — Margaret E. Sangster. 220 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JANUARY THE BURIAL OF MOSES BY Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab, There lies a lonely grave ; And no man knows that sepulcher, And no man saw it e'er, For the angels of God upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there. That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth ; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth, — Noiselessly as the daylight Comes back when night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun, — Noiselessly as the springtime Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves ; So without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown The great procession swept. Perchance the bald old eagle, On gray Beth-peor's height, Out of his lonely eyrie, Looked on the wondrous sight; CHILD'S CALKSDAB BEAUTIFUL Perchirce :he '..::'. i::..:\\ z S~... - . - ei »?•:■: For beast and bird have seer, and e;.rd That .::ch man knoweth .:. : he ir: : . : Ffis v ;-.-:. la Lr : :e re ir.i rr.ufr.e ~ . . . r runeril :;.r Thev =•-.:".- .r.-ers "They : : - .: . - ! if:er ' : 2 i his • ?; = . . WTiile peals the minute gun. lest :: : ■ : ind Wc sag -: zh cos: ress In : great minster brans \\~bere lights A::i :he -;..:: r-h-.c? ..:*- :he ?--ee: :h::r - g - ng the 1 walL Th s the truest warrior — a wcr sr earl - Traced wi s gol : a 7 - '.-;. '.:" - : - ; ~ rote down for en. 222 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH YEAR JANUARY And had he not high honor — The hillside for a pall, — To lie in state while angels wait, With stars for tapers tall, — And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes, Over his bier to wave, And God's own hand in that lonely land, To lay him in the grave? In that strange grave without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again, oh, wondrous thought! Before the Judgment Day, And stand, with glory wrapped around, On the hills he never trod, And speak of the strife that won our life, With the Incarnate Son of God. O lonely grave in Moab's land ! O dark Beth-peor's hill! Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still. God hath His mysteries of grace, Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep Of him He loved so well. — Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 223 SIXTH YEAR JANUARY HOHENLINDEN ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast array'd Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ; And louder than the bolts of Heaven Far flash'd the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow ; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 224 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH YEAR JANUARY The combat deepens. On, ye Brave Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few, few shall part, where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. — Thomas Campbell. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 225 FEBRUARY THE HERITAGE THE rich man's son inherits lands, And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, And he inherits soft white hands, And tender flesh that fears the cold, Nor dares to wear a garment old; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits cares ; The bank may break, the factory burn, A breath may burst his bubble shares, And soft white hands could hardly earn A living that would serve his turn ; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare; With sated heart he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easy chair ; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit? Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; King of two hands, he does his part In every useful toil and art; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. 8 226 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH TEAK FEBRUARY What doth the poor man's son inherit? Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, A rank adjudged by toil-won merit, Content that from employment springs, A heart that in his labor sings; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit? A patience learned of being poor, Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, A fellow-feeling that is sure To make the outcast bless his door ; A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. O rich man's son ! there is a toil That with all others level stands; Large charity doth never soil, But only whiten, soft white hands, — This is the best crop from thy lands; A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being rich to hold in fee. O poor man's son ! scorn not thy state ; There is worse weariness than thine, In merely being rich and great; Toil only gives the soul to shine, And makes rest fragrant and benign; A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being poor to hold in fee. * ***** — James Russell Lowell. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 227 BliTH YEAR FEBRUARY FIND A WAY, OR MAKE IT IT was a noble Roman, In Rome's imperial day, Who heard a coward croaker, Before the Castle say; "They're safe in such a fortress ; There is no way to shake it!" "On — on," exclaimed the hero, "I'll find a way, or make it !" Is fame your aspiration? Her path is steep and high; In vain he seeks her temple, Who is content to gaze and sigh; The shining throne is waiting, But he alone can take it Who says, with Roman firmness, "I'll find a way, or make it !" Is Learning your ambition? There is no royal road ; Alike the peer and peasant Must climb to her abode; Who feels the thirst of knowledge, In Helicon may slake it If he has still the Roman will "To find a way, or make it!" — John G. Saxe. 228 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MARCH THE TEN COMMANDMENTS Exodus XX, 3-18. 3. Thou shalt have no other gods before me. 4. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth be- neath, or that is in the water under the earth : 5. Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them : for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth gen- eration of them that hate me ; 6. And showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments. 7. Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain ; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh His name in vain. 8. Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. 9. Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work : 10. But the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy manservant nor thy maidservant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates : 11. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is, and CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 229 SIXTH TEAR MARCH rested the seventh day: wherefore the Lord blessed the seventh day and hallowed it. 12. Honor thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. 13. Thou shalt not kill. 14. Thou shalt not commit adultery. 15. Thou shalt not steal. 16. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. 17. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neigh- bor's. — The Bible. GRADATIM* HEAVEN is not reached by 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 clod To a purer air and a broader view. 230 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 8I1TH YEAR JUNE We rise by the things that are under our feet, By what we have mastered of good or gam ; By the pride deposed, or the passion slain, And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, When the morning calls to life and light ; But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray; And we think that we mount the air on wings Beyond the recall of earthly things, While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. Wings for angels, but feet for men ! We may borrow the wings to find the way; We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray, But our feet must rise or we fall again. Only in dreams is a ladder thrown From the weary earth to the sapphire walls ; But the dreams depart and the ladder falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. Heaven is not reached 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. — Josiah Gilbert Holland. •From The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland. Permission from Charles Scribner's Sons. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 231 APRIL TO THE DANDELION DEAR common flower, that grow'st beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold, High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they An Eldorado in the grass have found, Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, Nor wrinkled the lean brow Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease ; 'Tis the Spring's largess which she scatters now To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, Though most hearts never under-stand To take it at God's value, but pass by The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. Thou art my tropics and my Italy; To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime : The eyes thou givest me Are in the heart, and heed not space or time; Not in mid June the golden cuirassed bee Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment In the white lily's breezy tent, His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 232 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH TEAK APBI& Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, Where, as the breezes pass, The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue That from the distance sparkle through Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee ; The thought of thee calls back the robin's song, Who from the dark old tree Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, And I, secure in childish piety, Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from heaven, which he could bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art ! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, Did we but pay the love we owe, And with a child's undoubting wisdom look On all these living pages of God's book, — James Russell Lowell. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 233 SIXTH YEAK APRIL ROBIN'S COME rROM the elm-tree's topmost bough, Hark ! the Robin's early song ! Telling one and all that now- Merry spring-time hastes along ; Welcome tidings dost thou bring, Little harbinger of spring, Robin's come ! Of the winter we are weary, Weary of the frost and snow, Longing for the sunshine cheery, And the brooklet's gurgling flow; Gladly then we hear thee sing The reveille of spring, Robin's come ! Ring it out o'er hill and plain, Through the garden's lonely bowers, Till the green leaves dance again, Till the air is sweet with flowers! Wake the cowslips by the rill, Wake the yellow daffodil ! Robin's come ! — W. W. Caldwell. 234 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MAY LOVE OF COUNTRY BREATHES there a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go mark him well ! For him no minstrel raptures swell ; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power and pelf, The wretch concentered all in self, Living shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from which he sprung, L T nwept, unhonored and unsung. — Sir Walter Scott. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL <#5 SI>TH YEAR MAT NOLAN'S SPEECH *From The Man Without a Country. For your country, boy, and for that flag, never dream a dream, but of serving her as she bids you, though the service carry you through a thousand hells. No matter what happens to you, no matter who flatters you or who abuses you, never look at another flag, never let a night pass but you pray God to bless that flag. Remember, boy, that behind all these men you have to deal with, behind officers, and govern- ment, and people even, there is the Country Her- self, your Country, and that you belong to Her as you belong to your own mother. Stand by Her, boy, as you would stand by your mother. — Bdward Everett Hale. *By special permission of the author. 236 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JUNE THE MOSS ROSE THE angel of the flowers, one day, 13eneath 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 to 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 that 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? — Krummacher. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 237 SIXTH YE^R JUNE TO A SKYLARK MAIL to thee, blithe Spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest, Like a cloud of fire, The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun O'er which clouds are brightning, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight ; Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see, — we feel that it is there. 238 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH TEAR JTTNE All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody ; — Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass,which screen it from the view : CHILL 8 CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 239 SIXTH YUAR JOT1 Like a rose embower'd In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflower'd, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy- winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awaken'd flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth sur- pass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? 2i() CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH YEAR JUNE 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 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! — P. B. Shelley. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 241 JULY ORIGIN OF THE OPAL Adewdrop came, with a spark of flame He had caught from the sun's last ray, To a violet's breast, where he lay at rest Till the hours brought back the day. The rose looked down, with a blush and frown ; But she smiled all at once, to view Her own bright form, with its coloring warm, Reflected back by the dew. Then the stranger took a stolen look At the sky, so soft and blue ; And a leaflet green with its silver sheen, Was seen by the idler too. A cold north wind, as he thus reclined, Of a sudden raged around ; And a maiden fair, who was walking there, Next morning, an opal found. 242 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SIXTH TEAR JU 17 FOREST HYMN. HPHE groves were God's first temples. Ere man * learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems, — in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. Let me, then, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear. Father, Thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns; Thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They in Thy sun Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze, And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow Whose birth was in the tops, grew old and died Among their branches, — till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 243 SIXTH TEAB JULY Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of Thy fair works. But Thou art there; Thou flll'st The solitude ; Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summit of these trees In music; Thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. — William Cidlen Bryant. 244 CHILD' '8 CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL AUGUST OUR KIND OF A MAN THE kind of a man for you and me ! He faces the world unflinchingly, And smites, as long as the wrong resists, With a knuckled faith and force like fists; He lives the life he is preaching of, And loves where most is the need of love ; His voice is clear to the deaf man's ears, And his face sublime through the blind man's tears ; The light shines out where the clouds were dim, And the widow's prayer goes up for him ; The latch is clicked at the hovel door, And the sick man sees the sun once more, And out o'er the barren fields he sees Springing blossoms and waving trees, Feeling, as only the dying may, That God's own servant has come that way, Smoothing the path as it still winds on Through the golden gate where his loved have gone. II. The kind of a man for me and you ! However little of worth we do He credits full, and abides in trust That time will teach us how more is just. He walks abroad and he meets all kinds CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 245 SIXTH TEAE ACGU8T Of querulous and uneasy minds, And, sympathizing, he shares the pain Of the doubts that rack us, heart and brain ; And, knowing this, as we grasp his hand, We are surely coming to understand ! He looks on sin with pitying eyes — E'en as the Lord, since Paradise, — Else, should we read, Though our sins should glow As scarlet, they shall be white as snow? — And feeling still, with a grief half glad, That the bad are as good as the good are bad, He strikes straight out for the Right — and he Is the kind of a man for you and me ! — James Whitcomb Riley. SEVENTH YEAR 'This above all, — to thine own self be true ; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man. — Shakespeare. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 241) SEPTEMBER ODE TO AUTUMN Q7EASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness, k — Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with Him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store ? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies,while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers : And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 250 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR SEPTEMBER Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river-sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. — /. Keats CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 251 SEVENTH YEAR SEPTEMBER THE SHELL SEE what a lovely shell, Small and pure as a pearl, Lying close to my foot, Frail, but a work divine, Made so fairily well With delicate spine and whorl, How exquisitely minute, A miracle of design! What is it? A learned man Could give it a clumsy name. Let him name it who can, The beauty would be the same. The tiny cell is forlorn, Void of the little living will That made it stir on the shore. Did he stand at the diamond door Of his house in a rainbow frill? Did he push, when he was uncurl'd, A golden foot or a fairy horn Thro' his dim water- world? Slight, to be crushed with a tap Of my finger nail on the sand, Small, but a work divine, Frail, but of force to withstand, Year upon year, the shock Of cataract seas that snap The three decker's open spine Athwart the ledges of rock, Here on the Breton strand! — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 252 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL OCTOBER TO A WATER-FOWL WHITHER, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean-side? There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Scon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 253 SEVENTH YEAR OCTOBER Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou has given, And shall not soon depart. He who from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. — William Cull en Bryant. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT CORUNNA NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corpse to the rampart was hurried ; Not a solider discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We hurried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. 254 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR OCTOBER Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring : And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory. — C. Wolf. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 255 NOVEMBER PSALM XC i. Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. 2. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God. 3. Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men. 4. For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night. 5. Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep; in the morning they are like grass which groweth up. 6. In the morning it flourisheth, and grow- eth up ; in the evening it is cut down, and with- ereth. 7. For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath are we troubled. 8. Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance. 9. For all our days are passed away in thy wrath ; we spend our years as a tale that is told. 10. The days of our years are threescore years and ten ; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow ; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away. 11. Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath. 256 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR NOVEMBER 12. So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. 13. Return, O Lord, how long? and let it repent thee concerning thy servants. 14. O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. 15. Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil. 16. Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children. 17. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us : and establish thou the work of our hands upon us ; yea, the work of our hands es- tablish thou it. — The Bible. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 257 SEVENTH YEAR NOVEMBER RECESSIONAL GOD of our fathers, known of old — Lord of our far-flung battle line — Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine — ■ Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget ! The tumult and the shouting dies — The captains and the kings depart — Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, — lest we forget! Far-called our navies melt away — On dune and headland sinks the fire — Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre ! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget! If drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — Such boasting as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the Law — Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget! For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard — All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding calls not Thee to guard, For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord ! Amen. — Rudyard Kipling. 258 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL DECEMBER THE SNOW-STORM ANNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky, Ai rives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm. Come see the north wind's masonry. Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastians with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he For number or proportion. Mockingly, On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths ; A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall, Maugre the farmer's sighs ; and at the gate A tapering turret overtops the work. And when his hours are numbered, and the world Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work, The frolic architecture of the snow. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFVL 259 SEVENTH TEAR DECEMBER RING OUT, WILD BELLS RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, 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. Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more ; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times, Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite ; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. 2r'0 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR DECEMBER Ring out old shapes of foul disease ; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be. — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 261 JANUARY WINTE n. THE sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. Slow tracing down the thickening sky Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it set. A chill no coat, however stout, Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told. The wind blew east ; we heard the roar Of Ocean on his wintry shore, And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air. Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm, And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, As zigzag wavering to and fro Crossed and recrossed the winged snow : And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 262 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH TEAK JANUARY So all night long the storm roared on; The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs, In starry flake, and pellicle, All day the hoary meteor fell; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below, — A universe of sky and snow ! The old familiar sights of ours Took marvelous shapes ; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road. The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof ; And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant splendor seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle. — From Snowbound — John Greenleaf Whittier. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 263 SEVENTH TEAR JANUART THE BELLS HEAR the sledges with the bells — Silver bells — What a world of merriment their melody foretells How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night ! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — ■ From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding-bells, Golden bells ! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight From the molten-golden notes ! And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! 261 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH TEAR JANUARY Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! How it swells ! How it dwells On the Future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ! Hear the loud alarum bells- Brazen bells ! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright ! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor, Now — now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of despair! CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 265 SEVENTH YEAH JANUARY How they clang, and clash, and roar ! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air ! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows ; Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — Of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells ! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! In the silence of the night How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats, Is a groan : And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, 266 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 8EVENTH YEAR JANUARY And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman — ■ They are neither brute nor human — They are Ghouls ! And their king it is who tolls ; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the psean of the bells ! And he dances and he yells ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the paean of the bells — Of the bells ; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, To the sobbing of the bells ; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells— To the tolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells bells Bells, bells, bells — To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. — Edgar Allen Poe. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 267 FEBRUARY LINCOLN, THE GREAT COMMONER WHEN the Norn-mother saw the Whirl- wind Hour, Greatening and darkening as it hurried on, She bent the strenuous heavens and came down To make a man to meet the mortal need. She took the tried clay of the common road, Clay, warm yet with the genial heat of earth, Dashed through it all a strain of prophecy; Then mixed a laughter with the serious stuff, It was a stuff to wear for centuries; A man that watched the mountains and compelled The stars to look our way and honor us. The color of the ground was in him, the red Earth, The tang and color of the primal things — The rectitude and patience of the rocks; The gladness of the wind that shakes the corn; The courage of the bird that dares the sea; The justice of the rain that loves all leaves; The pity of the snow that hides all scars ; The loving kindness of the wayside well; The tolerance and equity of light That gives as freely to the shrinking weed As to the great oak flaring to the wind — To the grave's low as to the Matterhorn That shoulders out the sky. 268 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR FEBRUARY And so he came From prairie cabin up to Capitol, One fair Ideal led our chieftain on. Forevermore he burned to do his deed With the fine stroke and gesture of a king; He built the rail pile as he built the State, Pouring his splendid strength through every blow, The conscience of him testing every blow, To make his deed the measure of a man. So came the captain with the mighty heart; And when the step of earthquake shook the house, Wrenching the rafters from their ancient hold, He held the ridge-pole up and spiked again The rafters of the Home. He held his place — Held the long purpose like a growing tree — Held on through blame and faltered not at praise. And when he fell in whirlwind, he went down As when a kingly cedar green with boughs Goes down with a great shout upon the hills. — Edwin Markham. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 261) SEVENTH YEAR FEBRUARY THE AIM OF LIFE WE live in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs ; he most lives Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best, And he whose heart beats quickest, lives the longest ; Lives in one hour more than in years do some Whose fat blood sleeps as it slips along their veins. Life is but a means unto an end ; that end, Beginning, mean, and end to all things — God. The dead have all the glory of the world. — From Festus, Philip James Bailey. 270 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MARCH THE EVE OE WATERLOO THERE was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — , But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is the cannon's opening roar. Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of dis- tress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 271 SEVENTH YEAR MAItCO And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and chok- ing sighs Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar, And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They come ! they come !" And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave — alas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall molder cold and low. 272 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH VEAR MARCH Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay ; The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn, the marshaling in arms — the day, Battle's magnificently stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse — friend and foe — in one red burial blent. — George Gordon, Lord Byron. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 273 SEVENTH YEAR UA11CH THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE HALF a league, half a league, 1 1 Half a league onward, All in the valley of death, Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns !" he said. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldiers knew Some one had blunder'd; Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thundered ; Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of hell Rode the six hundred. 274 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAVTIFDL SEVENTH TEAR MARCH Flash'd all their sabers bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air. Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd; Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the saber-stroke, Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back — but not, Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell; They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made ! All the world wonder'd. Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade! Noble six hundred! — Alfred, Lord Tennyson. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 275 APRIL AN APRIL DAY ALL day the low-hung clouds have dropped Their garnered fullness down ; All day that soft, gray mist hath wrapped Hill, valley, grove, and town. There has not been a sound to-day To break the calm of Nature ; Nor motion, I might almost say, Of life, or living creature ; Of waving bough, or warbling bird, Or cattle faintly lowing; I could have half-believed I heard The leaves and blossoms growing. I stood to hear — I love it well — The rain's continuous sound; Small drops, but thick and fast they fell, Down straight into the ground. For leafy thickness is not yet Earth's naked breast to screen ; Though every dripping branch is set With shoots of tender green. Sure, since I looked at early morn, Those honeysuckle buds Have swelled to double growth; that thorn Hath put forth larger studs. 276 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR APEIL That lilac's cleaving cones have burst, The milk-white flowers revealing; Even now, upon my senses first Methinks their sweets are stealing. The very earth, the steamy air, Is all with fragrance rife ; And grace and beauty everywhere Arc flushing into life. Down, down they come — those fruitful stores, Those earth-rejoicing drops ! A momentary deluge pours, Then thins, decreases, stops. And ere the dimples on the stream Have circled out of sight, I_o! from the west a parting gleam Breaks forth, of amber light. But yet behold — abrupt and loud, Comes down the glittering rain; The farewell of a passing cloud, The fringes of her train. — Caroline Anne Bowles Southey. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 277 SEVENTH YEAR AFR1L KING HENRY'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it ply through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean, Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on you noble English, Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof ! Fathers, that like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. Dishonor not your mothers ; now attest That those whom you called fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, 278 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR APRIL Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear That you were worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble luster in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot; Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry, "God for Harry, England, and Saint George." — From Henry V. — Shakespeare. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 279 M^Y THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER Osay can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? Whose stripes and bright stars thro' the perilous fight O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming ? And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. O say, does the star spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? On the shore dimly seen, through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's rirst beam, In full glory reflected, now shines in the stream. Tis the star spangled banner, oh long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 280 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR MAY And where is that band who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave. And the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. Oh thus be it ever when freemen shall stand Between their loved home and wild war's deso- lation ; Blessed with vict'ry and peace may the heaven rescued land Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation ! Then conquer we must when our cause it is just, And this be our motto, "In God is our trust !" And the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave While the land of the free is the home of the brave. — Francis Scott Key. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 281 SEVENTH YEAR MAY THE BLUE AND THE GRAY BY the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead : — Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the one, the Blue, Under the other the Gray. These in the robings of glory Those in the gloom of defeat, All with the battle-blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet : — Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the laurel, the Blue, Under the willow, the Gray, From the silence of sorrowful hours The desolate mourners go, Lovingly laden with flowers, Alike for the friend and the foe : Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the roses, the Blue, Under the lilies, the Gray. So, with an equal splendor, The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender, On the blossoms blooming for all : — 282 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH TEAR MAT Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Broidered with gold, the Blue, Mellowed with gold, the Gray. So, when the summer calleth On forest and field of grain, With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain : — Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Wet with the rain, the Blue, Wet with the rain, the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done ; In the storm of the years that are fading No braver battle was won: — Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the blossoms, the Blue, Under the garlands, the Gray. No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red ; They banish our anger forever, When they laurel the graves of our dead, — Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Love and tears for the Blue, Tears and love for the Gray. — Francis M. Finch. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 283 JUNE THOUGHTS FER THE DISCURAGED FARMER THE summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' locus' trees ; And the clover in the pastur' is a big day fer the bees, And they been a-swiggin' honey, above board and on the sly, Till they stutter in their buzzin' and stagger as they fly. The flicker on the fence-rail 'pears to jest spit on his wings And roll up his feathers, by the sassy way he sings ; And the hoss-fly is a whettin'-up his forelegs fer biz, And the off-mare is a switchin' all of her tail they is ! You can hear the blackbirds jawin' as they f oiler up the plow — Oh, they're bound to git their breakfast and they're not a-carin' how ; So they quarrel in the furries, and they quarrel on the wing — But they're peaceabler in pot-pies than any other thing ; And it's when I git my shotgun drawed up in stiddy rest, She's as full of tribbelation as a yaller-jackets' nest; 284 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAK JO.\H And a few shots before dinner, when the sun's a-shinin' right, Seems to kindo-sorto sharpen up a feller's appe- tite ! They's been a heap o' rain, but the sun's out today, And the clouds of the wet spell is all cleared away, And the woods is all the greener, and the grass is greener still ; It may rain again to-morry, but I don't think it will. Some says the crops is ruined, and the corn's drownded out, And propha-sy the wheat will be a failure, with- out doubt; But the kind Providence that has never failed as yet, Will be on hands onc't more at the 'leventh hour, I bet. Does the medder-lark complain, as he swims high and dry Through the waves of the wind and the blue of the sky? Does the quail set up and whistle in a disap- pinted way, Er hang his head in silence, and sorrow all the day? Is the chipmunk's health a failin'? Does he walk, er does he run? CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 285 SEVENTH TEAR JUSB Don't the buzzards ooze around up thare jist like they've alius done? Is there anything the matter with the rooster's lungs er voice? Ort a mortal be complainin' when dumb animals rejoice? Then let us, one and all, be contented with our lot; The June is here this morning, and the sun is shinin' hot, Oh ! let us fill our hearts up with the glory of the day, And banish ev'ry doubt and care and sorrow far away! Whatever be our station, with Providence fer guide, Such fine circumstances ort to make us satisfied ; Fer the world is full of roses, and the roses full of dew, And the dew is full of heavenly love that drips fer me and you. — James Whit comb Riley. 286 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JULY THE HUMBLE-BEE BURLY, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me. Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek; I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid-zone ! Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer. Let me chase thy waving lines ; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines. Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion ! Sailor of the atmosphere ; Swimmer through the waves of air; Voyager of light and noon; Epicurean of June; Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum — All without is martyrdom. When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall, And, with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With a color of romance, And infusing subtle heats, Turns the sod to violets, Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy bass. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 287 SEVENTH YEAR JT7LT Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers; Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen ; But violets and bilberry bells, Maple sap and daffodels, Grass with green flag half-mast high, Succory to match the sky, Columbine with horn of honey, Scented fern and agrimony, Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue, And brier-roses, dwelt among; All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he passed. Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher ! Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast, Thou already slumberest deep ; Woe and want thou canst outsleep ; Want and woe, which torture us, Thy sleep makes ridiculous. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. 288 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH TEAR JXTLY THE SKYLARK BIRD of the wilderness, Blythesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! Emblem of happiness Bless'd be thy dwelling-place — O to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and mountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away ! Then when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be, Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — O to abide in the desert with thee! — James Hogg. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 289 AUGUST THE CLOUD I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers Lightning my pilot sits, In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, It struggles and howls at fits ; Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, The pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The Spirit he loves remains, And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, Whilst he is dissolving in rains. — Percy Byssche Shelley. 10 290 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL SEVENTH YEAR AUGUST THE FINDING OF THE LYRE THERE lay upon the ocean's shore What once a tortoise served to cover; A year and more, with rush and roar, The surf had rolled it over, Had played with it, and flung it by, As wind and weather might decide it, Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry Cheap burial might provide it. It rested there to bleach or tan, The rains had soaked the suns had burned it ; With many a ban the fisherman Had stumbled o'er and spurned it; And there the fisher-girl would stay, Conjecturing with her brother How in their play the poor estray Might serve some use or other. So there it lay, through wet and dry, As empty as the last new sonnet, Till by and by came Mercury, And, having mused upon it, "Why, here," cried he, "the thing of things In shape, material, and dimensions! Give it but strings, and, lo, it sings, A wonderful invention !" So said, so done ; the chords he strained, And, as his fingers o'er them hovered, The shell disdained a soul had gained, The lyre had been discovered. O, empty world that round us lies, Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken, Brought we but eyes like Mercury's In thee what songs should waken! — James Russell Lozvell. EIGHTH YEAR ' i I\A AY every soul that touches thine, / V Be it the slightest contact, get therefrom some good, Some little grace, one kindly thought, One aspiration yet unfelt ; one bit of courage For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith To brave the thickening ills of life, One glimpse of brighter sky beyond the gather- ing mists, To make this life worth while, And heaven a surer heritage." CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 293 SEPTEMBER THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! And every chambered cell Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped its growing shell, Before thee lies revealed, — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil ; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in its last found home, and knew the old no more. 294 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH YEAR SEPTEMBER Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap forlorn ! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! While on my ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: — Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea. —Oliver Wendell Holmes. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 295 EIGHTH YEAR SEPTEMBER HYMN TO DIANA QUEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver ; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever; Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright! — Ben Jonson. 296 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL OCTOBER TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN THOU blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged year is at its end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. — William Cullen Bryant CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 297 EIGHTH YEAR OCTOBER THE LAST LEAF Isaw 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. 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 pressed In their bloom, And the names he loved to hear Have been carved for many a year On the tomb. 298 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH YEAR OCTOBER 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 In his laugh. 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. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 299 NOVEMBER PSALM CXLVIII i. Praise iye the Lord. Praise ye the Lord from the heavens ; praise Him in the heights. 2. Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts. 3. Praise ye him, sun and moon: praise ye nim, all ye stars of light. 4. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye waters that be above the heavens. 5. Let them praise the name of the Lord: for he commanded, and they were created. 6. He hath also established them forever and ever : he hath made a decree which shall not pass. 7. Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons, and all deeps. 8. Fire, and hail ; snow, and vapors ; stormy wind fulfilling his word. 9. Mountains, and all hills; fruitful trees and all cedars ; 10. Beasts, and all cattle; creeping things and flying fowl : 11. Kings of the earth, and all people; princes, and all judges of the earth: 12. Both young men and maidens ; old men, and children : 13. Let them praise the name of the Lord: for his name alone is excellent ; his glory is above the earth and heaven. 14. He also exalteth the horn of his people, the praise of all his saints; even of the children of Israel, a people near unto him. Praise ye the Lord. 300 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL DECEMBER "GOD BLESS US EVERY ONE" ii (~^ OD bless us every one!" prayed Tiny Tim, V-J Crippled, and dwarfed of body, yet so tall Of soul, we tiptoe earth to look on him, High towering over all. He loved the loveless world, nor dreamed, indeed, That it, at best, could give to him, the while, But pitying glances, when his only need Was but a cheery smile. And thus he prayed, "God bless us every one!" Enfolding all the creeds within the span Of his child-heart; and so, despising none, Was nearer saint than man. I like to fancy God, in Paradise Lifting a finger o'er the rhythmic swing Of chiming harp and song, with eager eyes Turned earthward, listening — The Anthem stilled — the angels leaning there Above the golden walls — the morning sun Of Christmas bursting flower-like with the prayer "God bless us Every One !" — James Whitcomb Riley. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 301 "EIGHTH YEAR DECEMBER WINTER. DOWN swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, From the snow five thousand summers old; On open wold and hill-top bleak It had gathered all the cold, And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ; It carried a shiver everywhere From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; The little brook heard it and built a roof 'Neath which he could house him winter-proof; All night by the white stars' frosty gleams He groined his arches and matched his beams; Slender and clear were his crystal spars As the lashes of light that trim the stars ; He sculptured every summer delight In his halls and chambers out of sight; Sometimes his tinkling waters slipped Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt, Long, sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees Bending to counterfeit a breeze; Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew But silvery mosses that downward grew ; Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear For the gladneso of heaven to shine through, and here He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 302 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH YEAB DECEMBER That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, And made a star of every one : No mortal builder's most rare device Could match that winter-palace of ice ; 'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay In his depths serene through the summer day, Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, Lest the happy model should be lost, Had been mimicked in fairy masonry By the elfin builders of the frost. — James Russell Lowell. From The Vision of Sir Launfal. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 303 JANUARY LEAD KINDLY LIGHT LEAD, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on; The night is dark and I am far from home, Lead Thou me on; Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step's enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou Shouldst lead me on ; I loved to choose and see my path, but now Lead Thou me on ; I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years. So long Thy power has blessed me, sure it still Will lead me on O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone; And with the morn those angel faces smile, Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile ! Meanwhile, along the narrow rugged path Thyself have trod, Lead, Savior, lead me home in childish faith, Home to my God. To rest forever after earthly strife In the calm light of everlasting life. — Cardinal Newman. 304 • CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH TEAS JANUARY REMEMBER ! Ecclesiastes XII, 1-7. 1. Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them ; 2. While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds re- turn after the rain: 3. In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened, 4. And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of music shall be brought low ; 5. Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshop- per shall be a burden, and desire shall fail : be- cause man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets : 6. Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. 7. Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it. — The Bible. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 305 FEBRUARY THE SHIP OF STATE ^T HOU, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! 1 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 ! 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! — H. W. Longfellozv. 306 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH TEAR FEBRUAET O CAPTAIN ! MY CAPTAIN ! O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells ; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 307 EIGHTH TEAR FEBRUARY The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done. From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won ; Exult, O shores ; and ring, O bells ! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. — Walt IV hit man. 308 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL MARCH THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE SAINT Augustine ! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame! All common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. The low desire, the base design, That makes another's virtues less ; The revel of the ruddy wine, And all occasions of excess; The longing for ignoble things; The strife for triumph more than truth ; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill ; all evil deeds, That have their root in thoughts of ill ; Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will; — All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 309 EIGHTH TEAR MARCH We have not wings, we cannot soar ; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen and better known, Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The distant mountains that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by pathways, that appear, As we to higher levels rise. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern — unseen before — A path to higher destinies, Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If rising on its wrecks, at last, To something nobler we attain. — H. W. Longfelloiv. 310 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH YEAR MARCH THANATOPSIS Ohim who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart — Go forth, under the open sky, and list To natures teachings, while from all around — Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth to be resolved to earth again ; And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements — To be a brother to the insensible rock, And to the sluggish clod which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 311 EIGHTH YEAR MARCH Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good — Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between — The venerable woods, — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom — Take the wings Of morning; traverse Barca's desert sands, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet — the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 312 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHT YEAR MARCH So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living - , and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years — matron and maid, And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, — Shall one by one be gathered to thy side By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. — William Ciillen Bryant. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 313 APRIL CONCORD HYMN* BY the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept ; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set today a votive stone ; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee. — Ralph Waldo Emerson. •Sung at the completion of the battle monument, April 19, 1836. 314 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH YEAR APRIL OLD IRONSIDES AY, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more! Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee ; — The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea ! O better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave ; Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave; Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale! — Oliver Wendell Holmes. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 315 MAI ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE DEDI- CATION OF THE NATIONAL CEMETERY AT GETTYSBURG rOURSCORE and seven years ago, our fath- ers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so con- ceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedi- cate — we cannot consecrate — we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these hon- ored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that 316 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAVT1FZJL EIGHTH YEAR MAY these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. — Abraham Lincoln. November 19, 1863. WE know that self-government is difficult. We know that no people needs such high traits of character as that people which seeks to gov- ern its affairs aright through the freely expressed will of the freemen who compose it. But we have faith that we shall not prove false to the memo- ries of the men of the mighty past. They did their work, they left us the splendid heritage we now enjoy. We in our turn have an assured confidence that we shall be able to leave this heritage unwasted, and enlarged, to our children and our children's children. To do so, we must show not merely in great crises but in the every- day affairs of life, the qualities of practical intelli- gence, of courage, of hardihood and endurance, and above all, the power of devotion to a lofty ideal, which made great the men who founded this republic in the days of Washington, which made great the men who preserved this republic in the days of Abraham Lincoln. — Theodore Roosevelt, Inaugural Address, March 4, 1905. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 317 JUNE A JUNE DAY AND what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days ; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays: Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ; Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green, The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf or a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace ; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives ; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, — In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best ? Now is the high tide of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; 318 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH TEAR JUNK Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God wills it ; No matter how barren the past may have been, 'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green ; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help know- ing That skies are clear and grass is growing ; The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard-by; And if the breeze kept the good news back, For other couriers we should not lack ; We could guess it all by yon heifer's low- ing— And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, Warmed with the new wine of the year, Tells all in his lusty crowing. Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how ; Everything is happy now, Everything is upward striving; 'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true As for grass to be green or skies to be blue, — 'Tis the natural way of living: Who knows whither the clouds have fled? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 319 EIGHTH TEAR JUNE The soul partakes the season's youth, And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe, Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. — James Russell Lowell. 320 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL JULY THE NAME OF OLD GLORY When, why, and by whom, was our flag, the Stars and Stripes, first called "Old Glory?" Daily Query to Press. I. OLD Glory ! say, who, By the ships and the crew, And the long blended ranks of the Gray and the Blue— Who gave you, Old Glory, the name that you bear With such pride everywhere, As you cast yourself free to the rapturous air, And leap out full length, as we're wanting you to?— Who gave you that name, with the ring of the same, And the honor and fame so becoming to you? Your stripes stroked in ripples of white and of red, With your stars at their glittering best overhead, By day or by night Their delightfulest light Laughing down from their little square heaven of blue ! Who gave you the name of Old Glory — say, who — Who gave you the name of Old Glory? The old banner lifted, and faltering then In vague lisps and zvhispers fell silent again. CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL 321 EIGHTH TEAR JUIiT II. Old Glory, — speak out ! We are asking about How you happened to "favor" a name, so to say, That sounds so familiar and careless and gay, As we cheer it, and shout in our wild breezy way, We — the crozvd, every man of us, calling you that— We, Tom, Dick, and Harry, each swinging his hat And hurrahing "Old Glory!" like you were our kin, When — Lord! — we all know we're as common as sin ! And it just seems like you humor us all And waft us your thanks, as we hail you and fall Into line, with you over us, waving us on Where our glorified, sanctified betters have gone. And this is the reason we're wanting to know (And we're wanting it so! Where our fathers went we are willing to go) Who gave you the name of Old Glory? The old flag unfurled with a billowy thrill For an instant; then zvistfully sighed and was still. i i 322 CHILD'S CALENDAR BEAUTIFUL EIGHTH YEAR