Part 5 (1/2)
I said one year ago, ”I wonder, if I truly kept A list of days when life burnt low, Of days I smiled and days I wept, If good or bad would highest mount When I made up the year's account?”
I took a ledger fair and fine, ”And now,” I said, ”when days are glad, I'll write with bright red ink the line, And write with black when they are bad, So that they'll stand before my sight As clear apart as day and night.
”I will not heed the changing skies, Nor if it s.h.i.+ne nor if it rain; But if there comes some sweet surprise, Or friends.h.i.+p, love or honest gain, Why, then it shall be understood That day is written down as good.
”Or if to anyone I love A blessing meets them on the way, That will to me a pleasure prove: So it shall be a happy day; And if some day, I've cause to dread Pa.s.s harmless by, I'll write it red.
”When hands and brain stand labor's test, And I can do the thing I would, Those days when I am at my best Shall all be traced as very good.
And in 'red letter,' too, I'll write Those rare, strong hours when right is might.
”When first I meet in some grand book A n.o.ble soul that touches mine, And with this vision I can look Through some gate beautiful of time, That day such happiness will shed That golden-lined will seem the red.
”And when pure, holy thoughts have power To touch my heart and dim my eyes, And I in some diviner hour Can hold sweet converse with the skies, Ah! then my soul may safely write: 'This day has been most good and bright.'”
What do I see on looking back?
A red-lined book before me lies, With here and there a thread of black, That like a gloomy shadow flies,-- A shadow it must be confessed, That often rose in my own breast.
And I have found it good to note The blessing that is mine each day; For happiness is vainly sought In some dim future far away.
Just try my ledger for a year, Then look with grateful wonder back, And you will find, there is no fear, The red days far exceed the black.
GOOD READING THE GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT.
BY JOHN S. HART, LL.D.
There is one accomplishment, in particular, which I would earnestly recommend to you. Cultivate a.s.siduously the ability to read well. I stop to particularize this, because it is a thing so very much neglected, and because it is such an elegant and charming accomplishment. Where one person is really interested by music, twenty are pleased by good reading. Where one person is capable of becoming a skillful musician, twenty may become good readers. Where there is one occasion suitable for the exercise of musical talent, there are twenty for that of good reading.
The culture of the voice necessary for reading well, gives a delightful charm to the same voice in conversation. Good reading is the natural exponent and vehicle of all good things. It is the most effective of all commentaries upon the works of genius. It seems to bring dead authors to life again, and makes us sit down familiarly with the great and good of all ages.
Did you ever notice what life and power the Holy Scriptures have when well read? Have you ever heard of the wonderful effects produced by Elizabeth Fry on the criminals of Newgate, by simply reading to them the parable of the Prodigal Son? Princes and peers of the realm, it is said, counted it a privilege to stand in the dismal corridors, among felons and murderers, merely to share with them the privilege of witnessing the marvelous pathos which genius, taste, and culture could infuse into that simple story.
What a fascination there is in really good reading! What a power it gives one! In the hospital, in the chamber of the invalid, in the nursery, in the domestic and in the social circle, among chosen friends and companions, how it enables you to minister to the amus.e.m.e.nt, to the comfort, the pleasure of dear ones, as no other art or accomplishment can. No instrument of man's devising can reach the heart as does that most wonderful instrument, the human voice. It is G.o.d's special gift and endowment to his chosen creatures. Fold it not away in a napkin.
If you would double the value of all your other acquisitions, if you would add immeasurably to your own enjoyment and to your power of promoting the enjoyment of others, cultivate, with incessant care, this divine gift. No music below the skies is equal to that of pure, silvery speech from the lips of a man or woman of high culture.
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE.
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
Listen, my children, and you shall hear, Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five-- Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year--
He said to his friend: ”If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light; One, if by land, and two if by sea, And I on the opposite sh.o.r.e will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middles.e.x village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm.”
Then he said ”Good-night,” and, with m.u.f.fled oar, Silently row'd to the Charlestown sh.o.r.e, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay The ”Somerset,” British man-of-war; A phantom s.h.i.+p, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide.
Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street, Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the sh.o.r.e.
Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Ma.s.ses and moving shapes of shade, By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight flowing over all.