Part 104 (2/2)

--_Isaac Watts_.

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LOVE BETWEEN BROTHERS AND SISTERS

Whatever brawls disturb the street, There should be peace at home; Where sisters dwell and brothers meet, Quarrels should never come.

Birds in their little nests agree, And 't is a shameful sight, When children of one family Fall out, and chide, and fight.

Hard names at first, and threatening words That are but noisy breath, May grow to clubs and naked swords, To murder and to death.

The devil tempts one mother's son To rage against another; So wicked Cain was hurried on Till he had killed his brother.

The wise will make their anger cool, At least before 't is night; But in the bosom of a fool It burns till morning light.

Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage, Our little brawls remove; That, as we grow to riper age, Our hearts may all be love.

--_Isaac Watts_.

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A SUMMER EVENING

How fine has the day been! How bright was the sun!

How lovely and joyful the course that he run; Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun, And there follow'd some droppings of rain: But now the fair traveler's come to the West, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best; He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest, And foretells a bright rising again.

Just such is the Christian. His course he begins, Like the sun in the mist, when he mourns for his sins, And melts into tears; then he breaks out and s.h.i.+nes, And travels his heavenly way: But when he comes nearer to finish his race Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days, Of rising in brighter array.

--_Isaac Watts_.

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[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE PITTI MADONNA By Murillo (1618-1682)

”The Pitti Madonna is one of this sweet company, and perhaps the loveliest of them all. Both she and her beautiful boy are full of gentle earnestness, and if they are too simple-minded to realize what is in store for them, they are none the less ready to do the Father's will.”--_Hurll_ [End ill.u.s.tration]

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SUMMER

The heats of Summer come hastily on, The fruits are transparent and clear; The buds and the blossoms of April are gone, And the deep colored cherries appear.

The blue sky above us is bright and serene, No cloud on its bosom remains; The woods and the fields and the hedges are green, And the hayc.o.c.k smells sweet from the plains.

But, hark! from the woodlands what sound do I hear?

The voices of pleasure so gay; The merry young haymakers cheerfully bear The heat of the hot summer's day.

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