Class _Zfijll6- Book__ . Gop>Tight ls° COPYRIGHT DEPOSrC RALPH WALDO EMERSON I^Vom Day to Day With the Poets COMPILED BY MARY E. SALISBURY NEW YORK BARSE & HOPKINS PUBLISHERS Copyright, IPll, BT BARSE 6c HOPKIXS -^ ^1 ^^ ©aAl< W >;^ W ViV Hv w viv viv >?^>^ >;< VK T^y^y^'/i^ January Sixth Innocent child and snow-white flower ! Well are ye paired in your opening hour. Thus should the pure and the lovely meet, Stainless with stainless, and sweet with sweet. Bri/ant, January Seventh By what astrology of fear or hope Dare I to cast thy horoscope ! Like the new moon thy life appears ; A little strip of silver light. And widening outward into night The shadowy disk of future years: And yet upon its outer rim, A luminous circle, faint and dim, And scarcely visible to us here. Rounds and completes the perfect sphere; A prophecy and intimation, A pale and feeble adumbration, Of the great world of light, that lies Behind all human destinies. — Longfellow. January Eighth O, world, as God has made it! all is beauty: And knowing this, is love, and love is duty. What further may be sought for or declared? Browning. [9] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS yfK yi< jr^< /iK x^x x+x /^^ ax x^x x^v /♦v x^v x^x /^^x /^v x^x /$< /^k Jaxuaey Ninth Who is Queen of Baby-land? Mother, kind and sweet ; And her love Born above, Guides the little feet. Eugerm Field. Jaxuaey Tenth 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. Bailey, January Eleventh A bond at birth is forged ; a debt doth lie Immortal on mortahty. It grows — By vast rebound it grows, unceasing growth; Gift upon gift, alms upon alms, upreared. From man, from God, from nature, till the soul At that so huge indulgence stands amazed. Stevenson. January Twelfth Brief is life, but love is long. Tennyson. [10] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS "W w w w w w v^ v^ w w^iv w V4V Hv w viv viv >;*( January Thirteenth Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And Cometh from afar. Not in entire forgetfulness. And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory, do we come From God, who is our home. — Wordsworth. January Fourteenth Thou canst make this life a Hell, Or Jacob's-ladder up to Heaven. Let not thy baptism in Life's wave Make thee like him whom Homer sings — A sleeper in a living grave. Callous and hard to outward things ; But open all thy soul and sense To every blessed influence That from the heart of Nature springs. Lowell. January Fifteenth Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead! Longfellow. [11] FEO^I DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >i^ >^x >4*;^ >4X -0i< >>< >♦< >♦*( >♦< >4*k >4V >4X >4»k y^x y^x /^x >^x >4V Jaxuaey Sixtzznth Falsehoods which we spurn to-day Were the truths of long ago ; Let the dead boughs fall away, Fresher shajl the living grow. Whittkr. Jaxuajiy Szvzxtzznth Progress is The Law of life — man is not Man as yet. Nor shall I deem his object served, his end Attained, his genuine strength put fairly forth, While only here and there a star dispels The darkness, here and there a towering mind O'erlooks its prostrate fellows: when the host Is out at once to the despair of night, When all mankind ahke is perfected. Equal in full-blown powers — then, not till then, I say, begins man's general infancy. Browmng. Januaey Eightzzxth Life is too short to waste The critic bite or cynic bark, Quarrel, or reprimand ; 'Twill soon be dark; L^p ! mind thine own aim, and God speed the mark. Emerson. [12] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >^ W >K Viv 'A^ y^ vi< W y^ y^y^ y^ y^ Viv y|y viv y^y y^ January Nineteenth Nature has placed thee on a changeful tide. To breast its waves, but not without a guide. Holmes, January Twentieth 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. J. 6r. Holland. January Twenty-first Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head ; Blinks but an hour or two ; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again. . . • Black are my steps on silver sod ; Thick blows my frosty breath abroad ; And tree and house, and hill and lake, Are frosted like a wedding-cake. Stevenson. January Twenty-second Happy the man, and happy he alone, He who can call to-day his own ; He who, secure within, can say. To-morrow, do thy worst, for I have lived to- day. — Dry den. 1 13 ] FROM DAY TO DAT WITH T^ j^ li^*^ «^* *-'.'i t^t ti* i;» t. » i.x » ■ 1 I ; »" "t, » «.;» "«..i" '^x— ^T^ T»±-5w" : JAxrAXT Tvz:>-tt-j:txth *- J. •n ! T - - ±_2r r^T Z _ _ T > X izii — . _ . - " T ' ' T I i^ FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS January Twenty-seventh The life which is, and that which is to come, Suspended hang in such nice equipoise A breath disturbs the balance; and that scale In which we throw our hearts preponderates. Longfellow. January Twenty-eighth The song is old and simple that I sing: Good were the days of yore, when men were tried By ring of shields, as now by ring of gold; But, while the gods are left, and hearts of men, And the free ocean, still the days are good ; Through the broad Earth roams Opportunity And knocks at every door of hut or hall, Until she finds the brave soul that she wants. ^ r^ Lowell. January Twenty-ninth He who hath led will lead All through the wilderness; He who hath fed will feed; He who hath blessed will bless ; He who hath heard thy cry Will never close His ear ; He who hath marked thy faintest sigh Will not forget thy tear. He loveth always, f aileth never ; So rest on Him, to-day, forever ! Havergdl. [15] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >jx >;x y^v >;►> x;^v >;< >;x >*v >;v >;x^;^ >^v v;v >^v f^^ y^x >ix >ix Jaxuaet Thirtieth The child, the seed, the grain of corn. The acorn on the hill, Each for some separate end is bom In season fit, and still Each must in strength arise to work The almighty will. Sietfenson. Januaey Thirty-first In God's own might We gird us for the coming fight ; And, strong in Him whose cause is ours In conflict with unholy powers, We grasp the weapons He has given, — The Light, the Truth, and Love of Hearen. Whit tier. [16] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS FEBRUARY February First I love thee — I love theel 'Tis all that I can say ; — It is my vision in the night. My dreaming in the day ; The very echo of my heart, The blessing when I pray. Hood. February Second Slow pass our days In childhood, and the hours of light are long Betwixt the morn and eve; with swifter lapse They glide in manhood, and in age they fly ; Till days and seasons flit before the mind As flit the snow-flakes in a winter storm. Seen rather than distinguished. Bri/ant. [H] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >4X >4y >♦< >*v Ai< >iv >^x >^v x^ >tV ^tx #;x >;x >^y >;v x^x >♦< >^ FEBErAEY ThIED God's gift was that man should conceive of truth And veam to gain it, catcliing at mistake. As midway help till he reach fact indeed — Yet all the while goes changing what was wrought From falsehood like the truth, to truth itself. Brou'ning. Febbuaey Foubth Each, where his tasks or pleasures call, Thev pass, and heed each other not. There is Who heeds, who holds them all. In His large love and boundless thought. These struggling tides of Kfe that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end. Bryant. Februaby Fifth Affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning Back to their springs, Hke the rain, shaU fill them full of refreshment. LongfeUaw^ [18] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 54V V|V ViV ViV y|V V4V W V^ W W >l^ W V4V >j»: v^ v^ w w February Sixth That one unquestioned text we read, All doubt beyond, all fear above, Nor crackling pile nor cursing creed Can burn or blot it: God is Love. Holmes. February Seventh Alas ! such is our nature ! all but aim At the same end by pathways not the same ; Our means, our birth, our nation, and our name, Our fortune, temper, even our outward frame, Are far more potent o'er our yielding clay Than aught we know beyond our little day. Yet still there whispers the small voice within. Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din: Whatever creed be taught, or land be trod, Man's conscience is the oracle of God. — Byron. February Eighth The night is calm and beautiful; the snow Sparkles beneath the clear and frosty moon And the cold stars, as if it took delight In its own silent whiteness ; the hushed earth Sleeps in the soft arms of the embracing blue, Sleep then, O Earth, in thy blue-vaulted cradle, Bent over always by thy mother Heaven ! We all are tall enough to reach God's hand, And angels are no taller. — Lowell. [191 FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >i< >iv >^ >^ >^ v;v '«;v Vt< >**^ >t^ >tV >^ >^ >tV >^\ >^x >^\ y^v Februaky Ninth Live not without a friend 1 The Alpine rock must own Its mossy grace, or else be nothing but a stone. Live not without a God I however low or high. In everv house should be a window to the sky. W. W, Story. February Tenth blest retirement ! friend to life's decline — How blest is he who crowns in shades like these A youth of Labor with an age of ease. Goldsmith, February Eleventh Ah, how skilful grows the hand That obeveth Love's conmiand! It is the heart, and not the brain, That to the highest doth attain, And he who f oUoweth Love's behest Far exceedeth all the rest I LongfcUozo. February Twelfth Truth is witliin ourselves: it takes no rise From outward thino^s, whatever you may believe. There is an inmost center in us all. Where truth abides in fulness, Brozcning, [20] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS February Thirteenth Man, like the gen'rous vine, supported lives ; The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives. On their own axis as the planets run, Yet make at once their circle round the sun ; So two consistent motions act the soul; And one regards itself, and one the whole. Thus God and Nature linked the general frame. And bade Self-love and Social be the same. Pope. February Fourteenth O grant me, God, from every care, And stain of passion free, Aloft, through virtue's purer air, To hold my course to Thee ! Moore. February Fifteenth Oh, that the vacant eye would learn to look. On very beauty, and the heart embrace True loveliness, and from this holy book Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace Of love Indeed ! Oh, that the young soul took Its virgin passion from the glorious face Of fair religion, and addressed its strife. To win the riches of eternal life ! — Hood. [21] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W w >?< vi< viv wv yiy.y^'AK'j^y^'M^y^yiK y^y^w^ y^ Februauy Sixteenth The "good old times'' — all times when old are good — Are gone; the present might be if they would; Great things have been, and are, and greater still Want little of mere mortals but their will: A wider space, a greener field, is given To those who play their "tricks before high heaven." I know not if the angels weep, but men Have wept enough — -for what? — to weep again! Byron. February Seventeenth For thy life. Up, spirit, and defend that fort of clay. Thy body, now beleaguered ; whether soon Or late she fall ; whether to-day thy friends Bewail thee dead, or, after years, a man Grown old in honor and the friend of peace. Stevenson. February Eighteenth Complain ! when God has been so good to me, And when his blessings with my days increase, Giving for every day of misery A recompense of tranquil days of peace: Even as the morning with her smiles and light Is over-payment for the weary night. Phcebe Gary. [22] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS "W >?< W >?< y^ >?< y^y^'M^ i^y^ W >?< W >?< v?< >?< y^ February Nineteenth 0, human love! thou spirit given, On Earth, of all we hope In Heaven ! Poe. February Twentieth Then let us cheerf u' acquiesce ; Nor make our scanty pleasures less, By pining at our state ; And, even should misfortune come, 1, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, An's thankfu' for them yet. They gie the wit of age to youth; They let us ken oursel ; They mak us see the naked truth, The real guid and ill. Tho' losses, and crosses, Be lessons right severe. There's wit there, ye'U get there, Ye'U find nae other where. — Burns. February Twenty-first Eternal Truth ! Beyond our hopes and fears Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad spheres ! From age to age while History carves sublime On her waste rock the flaming curves of time, How the wild swayings of our planet show That worlds unseen surround the world we know ! — Holmes. [23] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^ 'M9^ Ji^C If^i JUPC 1^ j^ M^ M^ jt^ jt^ M^x ,.x »,i i,x *> ■*:»' 'mIx Febsuasy TwE>rrT-sEco>rD Man wsLS made of social earth, Chfld and brother from his birth ; Tethered by a liquid cord Of blood throogfa yeins of kindred poured. Ewiersan. FzBKrABT TwE5rrT-THI»J> I pray thee call not this socktj; I asked for bread, tboa grrest me a stone : I ajDd an hungered, and I find not one To giTe me meat, to joy or grieTe with me ; I find not here what I went out to see — Soak of true miai, of Tomen who can more The deeper, better part of us to love, Sools that can hold with mine communion free. Alas! nmst tiien these hopes, these longings hi^ This yearning of the soid for brotheihood. And all that makes us pure, and wise, and good. Come broken-hearted, hcmie again to dfe? No, Hope is left, and prays with bended heaid, 'HjiTe us this day, O God, oar daily breadP* FE:BauA5.T T— ZNTT-Fousxa In Nature there's no bleniisli bat the mind; None can be called deformed bat tiie wnkind, Shakespeare. FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >j< w w j^y^i^ w >i< w >ioi^ viv w< VK viv viv v^y vk February Twenty-fifth The heart has needs beyond the head. And, starving in the plenitude Of strange gifts, craves its common food, — Our human nature's daily bread. — Whittier, February Twenty-sixth Oh! not by bread alone is manhood nourished To its supreme estate ! By every word of God have lived and flourished The good men and the great. Ay, not by bread alone ! J. G. Holland. February Twenty-seventh Nature, so far as in her lies. Imitates God, and turns her face To every land beneath the skies, Counts nothing that she meets with base, But lives and loves in every place. Tennyson. February Twenty-eighth Let us no more contend, nor blame Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten Each other's burden, in our share of woe. Milton. [25] fro:.: day to day with the poets g^\ *,v »,*. t^x »,» f^x i,» M,x t^x i,x f,* i^x <,v »,» i,x i^x t^x »«X All we ha' r -l^ed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; Not its spmhiance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power Whose Toice has gone forth but each surviTcs for the melodist When eternity affirms the conceptions of an hour. The high that proved too hi^i, the heroic for T r:h too hard. The p:*si.on that left the gTound to lose itself in the sky. Are music sent up tc G: : : Jr zyer and the bard; £nonghthatHehe :I :: :: r : weshallhearit bj-and-by. Brooming. [26] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS VjV W Hv viv viv '/(< y|v >t>; >;>; y^">?? hv hv h^ viv >}y vjv v?< MARCH March First Just to let thy Father do What He will; Just to know that He is true, And be still. Just to follow hour by hour As He leadeth; Just to draw the moment's power As it needeth. Just to trust Him, this is all! Then the day will surely be Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall. Bright and blessed, calm and free. Havergal. March Second Ah, March! we know thou art Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats, And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets. H. H. Jackson. [27] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS ,^x ..X M^x -^x *^' •♦»k' «^' -t^ ,*^ >^ x^" >^" >i^ j^9i j9€ ji^ ji^i :p^ IIabcb: Thzi3 Every mfment as :" z Some pccolb:- ^ : ~rS. Conae, then, pr Sdrotiiedet — jUnnfL Tliere is a pfeasor^ There is a rap There is society, iriiere ncaie ni By the deep se- - ^ _ - -:- :_ The tidal w Into oar And Ml Oat c: Hith he not always tr^ ' - ; friaids, TLe good great man? . .- :. . .. : „ -5, — Iotc, ^ and light. And cahn thonghti, regular a^ infant's breath; And *: 7 7 ~ :'n: : r: fn :. . rn : 7 r 5nre than day and H Death. Coieridge. FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >4x x^x xix /\\ yi(K yfK yfK n'^ yf< y^y^ A^ x^x y^ yfK W W >K March Seventh No need of sulphurous lake, No need of fiery coal. But only that crowd of human kind Who wanted pity and dole — In everlasting retrospect — Will wring my sinful soul! — Hood, March Eighth Then gently scan your brother Man, Still gentler sister Woman ; Tho' they may gang a kennin wrang, To step aside is human: One point must still be greatly dark, The moving Why they do It ; And just as lamely can ye mark, How far perhaps they rue it. — Burns. March Ninth For this is love's nobility, Not to scatter bread and gold, Goods and raiment bought and sold. But to hold fast his simple sense. And speak the speech of Innocence, And with hand, and body, and blood, To make his bosom-counsel good: For he that feeds men, serveth few. He serves all, who dares be true. Emerson. [ 29 ] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y'ix ii^ M^K /^ /^ j^ y^ y^ j^ '/^ Maech Tenth Beauty, Good, and Knowledge, are three sisters That doat upon each other, friends to man, Living together under the same roof, And never can be sunder'd without tears. And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie Howling in outer darkness. Not for this Was common clay ta*en from the common earth, Moulded by God, and tempered with the tears Of angels to the perfect shape of man. Tennyson. March Eleventh There is a history in all men's lives. Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; The which observ'd, a man may prophesy, With a near aim. of the main chance of things As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds And weak bemnnincrs lie intreasured. Shakespeare, March Twelfth Well to suffer is divine; Pass the watchword down the hne. Pass the countersign: '"Endure." Not to him who rashly dares, But to him who nobly bears. Is the victor's garland sure. — Whittier. [SO] I FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^K yf< y^\ yf< -/^ yit^'K y^ y^ y^ y^Ky^y^ '/^ y^ '/Ik 'm^ y^ y^ March Thirteenth Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers ; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain. And dies among his worshippers. Bryant, March Fourteenth Look at thy heart, and when its depths are known, Then try thy brother's, judging by thine own, But keep thy wisdom to the narrow range. While its own standards are the sport of change. Nor ask mankind to tremble, and obey The passing breath that holds thy passion's sway. — Holmes. March Fifteenth 'Tis not in pleasure's idle hour That thou canst know affection's power. No, try its strength in grief or pain ; Attempt as now its bonds to sever. Thou'lt find true love's a chain That binds forever ! — Moore. March Sixteenth Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, All men below and saints above ; For love is heaven, and heaven is love. Scott. [31] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS Mix i,x >;» M,x >»v >;» .> ».» M,x »> r,v i> ,;* ,;» v.* t^jt^j/^ And not a drop : - : :ni our C _: ^ ~ ' ~ For Carth to drii^ : i* :iiav s:- ~ To quench the n: r : : _-._^ J.sh in sc t Z^ e Tr.T : „ 1 iaa — ^far b^ieath, and long ago. As zs.i:L lie Tulip for her morning sup Of HeaT-'nlj Vintage from the soil looks op. Do Tou deToutlv do the Kke. till HeaT^n Tj E.^rth [7.' -Tt ycu — liie an empty Gop- Omar Khaygaau Fc»±une! take back these colhired lands. Take hack this name of splendid sound! I hate the touch of servile hands, I hate the slaves that cringe around. Place me among tl^ rocks I love. Which sound to oce..z's ~lie?t roar; I ask but tins — again :: Through scenes my t : _: .:. ;. : h known before. Btfrom. AIa-:z y-:z7Zzy7E: TjBnoskg Cfn E :\- : . reverent meekness His cmr. :: And with ..:^ irom Him shall thy utter life's task fulfill — WhittUr. [32] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS March Twentieth Go where he will, the wise man is at home. His hearth the earth ; — his hall the azure dome ; Where his clear spirit leads him, there's his road, By God's own light illumined and foreshowed. Emerson. March Twenty-first Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain. Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd : Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease. Seats of my youth, when every sport could please. How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green. Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! Goldsmith. March Twenty-second As the palm-tree standeth so straight and so tall. The more the hail beats, and the more the rains fall,— So love in our hearts shall grow mighty and strong, Through crosses, through sorrows, through manifold wrong. — Longfellow. [33] FBOM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS t;x t,\ r,\ r.x r;t r.i f,\ t ,\ i.-i V't" ~t,\ 'r> >> ^Jf v:' : >Tr-i»oi5«:iit }^l r botfc? Liilr 3. Cflff. -r. r , v.- -^. zc^orilL [»*] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS March Twenty-seventh Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; Everything is happy now, Everything is upward striving ; 'Tis 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. Lowell. March Twenty-eighth Oh, what a dawn of day ! How the March sun feels like May ! All is blue again After last night's rain, And the South dries the hawthorn-spray, Only, my Love's away ! I'd as lief that the blue were gray. Browning. March Twenty-ninth Can ye take off the sweetness from the flower, The color and the sweetness from the rose, And place them by themselves ; or set apart Their motions and their brightness from the stars, And then point out the flower or the star? Or build a wall betwixt my life and love. And tell me where I am? 'Tis even thus: In that I live I love. — Tennyson. [35] FEOM DAY TO DAY WTTM THE POETS >^< *i< >♦* »♦» «;»k^ 'H^ 1^ >♦< 'V^ «#«i **v •♦* *^* «^< -tjic -j^ y^ 1^ Mjlech Thzztzzth The wind o' :. t ~: -:er It breats iiiio olaom And STiddenlj songs Are sung in the gloom. Eugene Fidd, Mazjh Thdity-fikst O to be up : ^ . Unf earing anc i^ed to go In all the upro^i ^i.^ die press About my human business! My undissuaded I^art I hear Whisper courage in mj ear. With voiceless caHs, the ancioit earth Summons me to a daily birth. Thou, O my lore, ye, O my friends — The gist of life, the end of ends — To laugh, to loTe, to lire, to die. Ye call me by the ear and eye! Eclc'ri LjuIs Sfevensom. [36] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS APRIL April First The Night Is mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, And ever upon old Decay The greenest mosses cHng. Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall ; For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his Hope with all! Whit tier. April Second The year's at the spring And day's at the morn ; Morning's at seven; The hillside'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 ! Bronming. [37] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS xix xix y|x xjv xiv x^\ x|y x^ x^ y^yi'K y|V w >|< >|< >;y y^ >k April Third Dear God and Father of us all. Forgive our faith in cruel lies, — Forgive the blindness that denies ! Forgive thy creature when he takes For the all-perfect love thou art. Some grim creation of his heart. Whittier. April Fourth More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for m^e night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain. If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. Tennyson. April Fifth Yes, Love is ever busy with his shuttle, Is ever weaving into life's dull warp Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes Arcadian. Longfellow. [38] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS yix xix x^ x^x y^ y^ >^x y^y^y^y^ Viv viv v^ y^ >?*c w v;^ April Sixth These golden Buttercups are April's seal, — The Daisy stars her constellation be: These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel, Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee ! Hood. April Seventh Violet! dear Violet! Thy blue eyes are only wet With joy and love of him who sent thee, And, for the fulfilling sense Of that glad obedience Which made thee all which Nature meant thee ! LowelL April Eighth Thy heart — thy heart! — I wake and sigh, And sleep to dream till day Of the truth that gold can never buy — Of the baubles that it may. Foe. April Ninth Two things greater than all things are, The first is Love, and the second War. And since we know not how War may prove. Heart of my heart, let us talk of Love ! Kipli/ng. [39] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W 'j^ v*v '/^y^y^Ki^ y(K w W^iV y^ v^ wv wv >i< wv y^ April Tenth Heaven to mankind Impartial we confess, If all are equal in their happiness : But mutual wants this happiness Increase, All nature's difference keeps all nature's peace. Pope. April Eleventh Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth In her fair page ; see, every season brings New change, to her, of everlasting youth; Still the green soil, with joyous living things, Swarms, the wide air is full of joyous wings. And myriads, still, are happj^ in the sleep Of ocean's azure gulfs, and where he flings The restless surge. Eternal Love doth keep In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep. Bryant. April Twelfth Life may bring to you every good Which from a Father's hand can fall; But if true lips have said to me, "I love you," I have known it all ! Phasbe Cary. [40] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS x^x y^ jq< y(< -^ y(K y^ y^ '/^ y^y^y^ y^ yfK y^ '/f< yf< yf< April Thirteenth Like souls that balance joy and pain, With tears and smiles from heaven again The maiden Spring upon the plain Came in a sunlit fall of rain. In crystal vapor everywhere Blue isles ' of heaven laugh'd between, And, far in forest-deeps unseen. The topmost elm-tree gathered green From draughts of balmy air. Termyson. April Fourteenth The sound of the rain Which leaps down to the flower, And dances again In the rhythm of the shower — The murmur that springs From the growing of grass Are the music of things. — Poe. April Fifteenth The rain has spoiled the farmer's day ; Shall sorrow put my books away.'^ Thereby are two days lost: Nature shall mind her own affairs, I will attend my proper cares. In rain, or sun, or frost. — Emerson. [41] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS April Sixteenth Be thou the rainbow to the storms of Hf e ! The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray. Byron. April Seventeenth O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day ; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by-and-by a cloud takes all away ! Shakespeare. April Eighteenth Know thou this truth, which the creeds can not smother, Wherever man is found, there is thy brother; God his blest sire is, earth is his mother — Where most degraded, thy zeal most increase ; Aid him and help him, till, ceasing to falter, He shall come up to humanity's altar, "Bearing white blocks for the city of Peace.'' Alice Gary. April Nineteenth Love's not a flower that grows on the dull earth ; It owns a richer soil, and boasts a quicker seed. You look for it and see it not ; and, lo ! E'en while you look the peerless flower is up, Consummate in its birth. — Sheridan Knowles. [42] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^ w >?< v^ W w w w v^ >joK viv viv viv w >?< w >j< April Twentieth Pray, how comes Love? It comes unsought, unsent. Pray, how goes Love? That was not love that went. Anonymous. April Twenty-first God hath made all things beautiful — the sky. The common earth, the sunshine, and the shade ; And with affections that can never die. Hath gifted every creature He hath made. Alice Cary. April Twenty-second True love is like the ivy green, That ne'er forgetteth what hath been, And so till life itself be gone, Until the end it clingeth on. What though the tree where it may cling Shall hardly know another spring? What though its boughs be dead and bare? The twining ivy climbeth there And clasps it with a firmer hold. With stronger love than that of old. And lends it grace it never had When time was young and life was glad. Eugene Field. [43] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >^x: >^x >tv >ix v^ >tv >^x' >;< v^\ >^v ^^ v^v >^v v^v >^v >;v >^v v^v April Twexty-thied Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, The simple pleasures of the lowly train : To me more dear, cong -:::?.! to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art. Goldsmith. ApHIL TwZNTY-FOrSTH How often we forget all time, when lone, Admiring Nature's universal throne. Her woods, her wilds, her waters, the intense Reply of hers to our intelligence! Live not the stars and mountains? Are the waves Without a spirit? Are the dropping caves Without a feeling in their silent tears? No, no : — they woo and clasp us to their spheres, Dissolve tliis clog and clod of clay before Its hour, and merge our soul in the great shore. Strip off this fond and false identity 1 Who thinks of self when gazing on the sky? And who. though gazing lower, ever thought. In the young moments ere the heart is taught Time's lesson, of man's baseness or his own? All nature is his realm, and love his throne. Byron, Apeil Twzxty-fipth A mind content both crown and kingdom is. Robert Greene. [44] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^K W W >l< W W W W >l< W>J^>?K >^ >*< x^x yf^ >4v Viv Hv viv viv v^ y^ April Twenty-ninth Self-love thus pushed to social, to divine, Gives thee to make thy neighbor's blessing thine. Is this too little for the boundless heart? Extend it, let thy enemies have part : Grasp the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense, In one close system of benevolence : Happier as kinder, in whatever degree, And height of Bliss but height of Charity. Pope. April Thirtieth At last young April, ever frail and fair, Wooed by her playmate with the golden hair, Chased to the margin of receding floods O'er the soft meadows starred with opening buds. In tears and blushes sighs herself away, And hides her cheek beneath the flowers of May. Holmes, T46] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS Viv wv >iv viv V4V w y^ vi< vjv w vjsr viv w >i*c>k w w 5^ MAY May First Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play. Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May ! Wordsworth, May Second "Hark! hark! the lark" sings mid the silvery blue, Behold her flight, proud man ! and lowly bow. She seems the first that does for pardon sue, As though the guilty stain which lurks below Had touched the flowers that drooped above her brow; When she all night slept by the daisies' side ; And now she soars where purity doth flow. Where new-born light is with no sin allied, And, pointing with her wings, heavenward our thoughts would guide. Thomas Miller. [47] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS #y*. ^4* If'*' ^t* '♦» 'f» ',* '♦» '♦» '♦» «♦» '♦■» *♦» *♦» #t» #♦» «♦» #♦». ^Iay Th-i Tis sweet to be awakened bv the lark. Or lull'd bv falling waters ; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls^ the song of birds, The hsp of children and their earliest words. Bifron. ]\Iat Fotbth Here's Daisies for the morn. Primrose for gloom, Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours : — A wight once made a dial of their bloom, — So may thy life be measured out by flowers ! Hood. May Fifth Clear was the heaven and blue, and Mav. with her cap crowned with roses. Stood in her hohday dress in the fields, and ilie wind and the brooklet Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! with Kps rosy-tinted. — Longfdlam. 'SL\r Sixth Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense. Lie in three words — ^Health, Peace, and Com- petence : But Health consists with Temperance alone; And Peace. Virtue I Peace is aU thy own- Pope. [48] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W HV 'A\ ViV W W >^ •A'k HV ViV y^ypi. ViV ViV W ViV >|w; y^ May Seventh Deep this truth impressed my mind Thro' all His works abroad, The heart benevolent and kind The most resembles God. Burns. May Eighth Fair the blossoms opening early ! For the dew Fell upon them cool and pearly, Brightening every hue. Like a little thirsty flower, Lift your face; Seek the gentle holy shower Of the Spirit's grace. Havergal. May Ninth Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st; May life be for thee one summer's day, And all that thou wishest and all that thou lov'st Come smiling around thy sunny way ! If sorrow e'er this calm should break, May even thy tears pass off so lightly. Like spring-showers, they'll only make The smiles that follow shine more brightly. Moore. 149] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS J^ H^K #^ j^ j/^K X^ >>^ >;» >;v >;» V ; r >♦» v,v >;» >;» >»v v^v >;v ]\L\Y Texth Into this Universe, and 117/,?/ not knowing Nor TT''. :..:-. like Water willY-nilly flowing; And out of i", -^ Wind along the Waste^ I know not W?ii:/i,r, willy-nilly blowing. Omar Khayyam, May Eleventh My bonny man. the warld, it's true, Was made for neither me nor you; It's just a place to wrastle throughj As Job confessed o't : And ay the best that we can do Is mak the best o't. Robc-rt Louis Stevenson. May Twelfth Our ills are not so many Xor so hard to bear below. But our suffering in dread of the future Is more than our present woe. When, if we would trust in his wisdom Whose purpose we may not see. We would find, whatever our trials, As our day our strength shall be. Phabe Cary, [50] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >j*c viv viv viv viv 7K7?^ >i^ w y^y^y^ w /^' w w w>?< May Thirteenth Let me live amongst high thoughts, and smiles As beautiful as love ; with grasping hands. And a heart that flutters with diviner life Whene'er my step is heard. Procter. May Fourteenth Through all disguise, form, place, or name, Beneath the flaunting robes of sin, Through poverty and squalid shame. Thou lookest on the man within. Whittier. May Fifteenth Men deal with life as children with their play Who first misuse, then cast their toys away. — Cowper. May Sixteenth How long do you live in Toy-land? This bright, merry, girl-and-boy-land? A few days at best We stay as a guest. Then good-by, forever, to Toy-land! Eugene Field. [51] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS May Seventeenth Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray ! The stars of its winter, the dews of its May ! And when we have done with our life-lasting toys, Dear Father, take care of Thy children, the boys. — Holmes. May Eighteenth Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, Who danced our infancy upon their knee. And told our marvelling boyhood legends store. Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be ! Scott. May Nineteenth Hope is the dupe of future hours, Memory lives in those gone by ; Neither can see the moment's flowers Springing up fresh beneath the eye, Wouldst thou, or thou. Forego what's now. For all that Hope may say? No — Joy's reply. From every eye. Is, "Live we while we may." — Moore. [52] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >^ y^Ky^y^y^ y^ -/i\ y(K y^ y(K ^^y^ >?<>^ ViV W >|<>K May Twentieth Happy the man, and he alone, Who, master of himself, can say. To-day, at least, hath been my own, For I have clearly lived to-day. Horace. May Twenty-first It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; That, after Last, returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched ; That what began best, can't end worst Nor what God blessed once, prove accursed. Browning. May Twenty-second The triumphs that on vice attend Shall ever in confusion end; The good man suffers but to gain. And every virtue springs from pain : As aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance while they grow ; But crush'd, or trodden to the ground. Diffuse their balmy sweets around. Goldsmith, [53] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS <» M.-X *;% *;» »;v ^^ >j*: >Jk :^\. jb^ #^ #^V >ii)C >^ ji^ ji^C j^K J^ ..rts upcMi L:.: ^r»r T Bz G:z'^ ^ I A T T ~ z Vrr-FIFTH I: -T - -7 7; J truth. "rattier. L. [54] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W< xix xix xix y^ v^ viv >;< y^y^Ky^y^^ yjv Vjy viv w -^ y^ May Twenty-seventh Yet, as the needle will forget its aim, Jarred by the fury of the electric flame, As the true current it will falsely feel, Warped from its axis by a freight of steel ; So will thy conscience lose its balanced truth, If passion's lightning fall upon thy youth. Holmes. May Twenty-eighth ^'And everybody praised the Duke, Who this great fight did win." "But what good came of it at lasti^" Quoth little Peterkin. "Why, that I cannot tell," said he ; "But 'twas a famous victory.'' Southey. May Twenty-ninth Deeming it fame to tread where heroes trod. In his career he has not paused, or known That all are children of the self-same God, And that our brother's interest is our own ; For man that hardest lesson has to learn, Still to forgive, and good for ill to return. Phoebe Cary. [55] ^ FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POET? >♦< ^K A^X >;k >^V AiV *iV >^V >^V >^ T^K >^ >iK >^ ^K >^ A^X >^ ]N I A Y T iriE TIE T H A --r;- r--: -::r^ -- I T' \n Hr : : afrn>? even Seraphs insecure? Ciz :ures :: c.j.v — vain dweQers in the dust! The moth siirviTes you, and are ye more just? T : ^^ of a day ! you wither ere the night, Hr 55 a-d blind to Wisd?-:*? wasted li^P Byron. May TsimTT-FEBST If. drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues iJiat have not Thee in awe — Such boasting as the Gentiles use^ Or lesser breeds without the L?w — Lord God of Hosts, be wit:: :^ ' rt. Lest we forget — lest we for« : [56] I FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS A^ x*x xi,\ Mi^ ytK -/i^ /fi. ■/« HV >jy >p: y^ >?<>{< >^ vjojo;^ JUNE June First It is the season now to go About the country high and low, Among the lilacs hand in hand, And two by two in fairy land. The brooding boy, the sighing maid, Wholly fain and half afraid. Now meet along the hazeled brook To pass and linger, pause and look. Stevenson. June Second At the Devil's booth are all things sold. Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; For a cap and bells our lives we pay. Bubbles we earn with a whole soul's tasking ; 'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 'Tis only God may be had for the asking; There is no price set on the lavish summer; And June may be had by the poorest comer. Lowell. [57] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS ^♦X 0^X /^X X^X P^\ ^4X ^^K 0^X M^K 0^\ /^X #^X f^X ^^K g^X X^X M^K X^X June Thied Spirit of Beauty I let thy grace? blend With loveliest Xature all that Art can lend. Come from the bowers where Smnmer's life- blood flows Through the red Hps of June's half-open rose, Dressed in bright hues, the loving sunshine's dower ; For tranquil Xature owns no mourning flower. Holmes. June Foukth What's the best thing in the world? June-rose, by May-dew impearled : Sweet south-wind, that means no rain ; Truth, not cruel to a friend ; Pleasure, not in haste to end; Beauty, not self -decked and curled Till its pride is over-plain; Light, that never maies you wink ; Memory, that gives no pain : Love, when, so, you're loved again. What's the best thing in the world? — Something out of it, I think. Broxcning. June Fifth Reflect that life, like every other blessing, Derives its value from its use alone. Dr, Johnson. [58] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS June Sixth An elegant sufficiency, content, Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, Ease and alternate labor, useful life. Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven. Thomson. June Seventh But human bodies are sic fools. For -a' their colleges and schools. That when nae real ills perplex them. They mak enow themselves to vex them; An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, In like proportion, less will hurt them. Burns. June Eighth O, many a shaft at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant ; And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken. Scott. June Ninth The time of Life is short: To spend that shortness basely, were too long, If life did ride upon a dial's point. Still ending at the arrival of an hour. Shakespeare. [59] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS i^ j^ J^ j^ j^ j^ 5^ j^ i^ j^ j^ >«♦• '^w >^ >i» *^ *^ >iti: Hr3.vei:*s harmonj is uniTersal Iotc Jr>:z Eiz z 7- AQ tlimgs, saTe Man, this Sunz: Swe^t snules the sky, so fair a worid to Tiew ; Unto the earth below the flowers giTe Toice ; Even the wajside weed of homeliest hue. Looks up erect amid the golden bfaie. And thus it speaketh to the thinking mind: — ^'^erliMk me not ! I for a purpose grew. Though long ma jest thon that pnrpose trj to find; Oz us ze fi^Zi! God only is not — Thomas Miller. Jrxz T^zzzTH T 1 of woe? 1^ z - - nome : r ersr D: z:: z- ^rrisM Jz; To z:-: zzr zz^ - ■-■-- ------ -■'-- ' i ^ Ah! thou art lii- zr — -. ■ " - -z- ■ When not a si- Dims the bright smile of Nature^s : Thou loT'st to sigh and mumn:: x. -, [60] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS Wv y^ Vjv Vix Viv yiv y^y viv v^y w^>l^ Viv >iv y^y yjv Viv viv >;< June Thirteenth Thou Great First Cause, least understood : Who all my sense confined To know but this, that Thou art good. And that myself am blind. Pope. June Fourteenth And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days ; Then Heaven tries the 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, grasping blindly above it for light. Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers. Lowell. June Fifteenth For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway, Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness. Longfellow, [61] r AY VrjTR THE PCETS ' *.» *i» »> »i*" *> «5* *^" «>" "i^ft ^ >^ He iliat bu fig^ viOJ Maj A F Ae oenbe an^:: _ MUUm. JTojufi Nix: I - jj 1/ / '^/i« t«] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^yiKy^y^KV^y^y^y^y^?^ w^y^ W W viv viv viv viv June Twentieth Put down the passions that make earth Hell! Down with ambition, avarice, pride. Jealousy, down ! cut off from the mind The bitter springs of anger and fear; Down too, down at your own fireside, With the evil tongue and the evil ear, For each is at war with mankind. TenriT/son. June Twenty-first What is left for us, save, in growth. Of soul, to rise up, far past both. From the gift looking to the Giver, And from the cistern to the River, And from the finite to Infinity, And from man's dust to God's divinity? Browning. June Twenty-second Bright ridges of bees round the full hive were humming, Away in the thick woods the partridge was drumming ; The rush of the sickle, the scythe-stroke serener, Were pleasantly mixed with the song of the gleaner. When under the shadows of full-blowing roses The days of the virginal June had their closes. Alice Cary. [63] PBOII TAT ~: TAY "~T:-I 7 i mSfk *4>" «4>" "»-t« *t* ■^' *t* "<* «4* -«■> *V» Ju:s:s: TwEjrrT'r^: CCMCW Jtt'z _— 33nrr- Is e^T A rei: A : FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 'A\ A< >iv Wv >|v W Viv V4V v^y v;v 5^ Viv Hv viv y^v y^y v^ y^ June Twenty-sixth There's something in the apple-blossom. The greening grass and bobolink's song, That wakes again within my bosom Feelings which have slumbered long. Lowell. June Twenty-seventh The Lord is Lord of might ; In deeds, in deeds, he takes delight ; The plow, the spear, the laden barks The field, the founded city, marks ; He marks the smiler of the streets, The singer upon garden seats. Stevenson. June Twenty-eighth God is good, I know; And though in this bad soil a time we grow Crooked and ugly, all the ends of things Must be in beauty. Love can work no ill ; And though we see the shadow of its wings Only at times, shall we not trust it still ! So, even for the dead I will not bind My soul to grief : Death cannot long divide ; For is it not as if the rose that climbed My garden wall, had bloomed the other side.? Alice Cary. [65] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^y^yiK w >?< y^ viv >^c w >^- w w v^' w v^ W viv w June Twenty-ninth 'Tis always morning somewhere, and above The awakening continents, from shore to shore, Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. Longfellow. June Thirtieth For nature ever faithful is To such as trust her faithfulness. When the forest shall mislead me, When the night and morning lie, When sea and land refuse to feed me, 'Twill be time enough to die ; Then will yet my mother yield A pillow in her greenest field. Nor the June flowers scorn to cover The clay of their departed lover. Emerson. 166-] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS JULY July First One flag, one land, one heart, one hand, One Nation evermore! Holmes. July Second Wisdom is meek sorrow's patient child. And empire over self, and all the deep Strong charities that make men seem like gods ; Good never comes unmixed, or so it seems. Having two faces, as some images Are carved, of foolish gods ; one face is ill. But one heart hes beneath, and that is good. As are all hearts, when we explore their depths. Therefore, great heart, bear up! thou art but type Of what all lofty spirits endure, that fain Would win 'men back to strength and peace through love: Each hath his lonely peak, and on each heart Envy, or scorn, or hatred, tears lifelong With vulture beak ; yet the high soul is left, And faith, which is but hope grown wise, and love. And patience which at last shall overcome. Lowell. [6T] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^K y^ y^ y^v y^ y^Ky^'/^yiK y^ x^k y^K w W W y^y^^y:^ July Thied Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ! Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, •nights of waking. Scott. July Fourth Love thou thy land, with love far-brought From out the storied Past, and used Within the Present, but transfused Thro' future time by power of thought. Tennyson* July Fifth Great is the sun, and wide he goes Through empty heaven without repose; And in the blue and glowing days More thick than rain he showers his rays. . . Above the hills, along the blue, Round the bright air with footing true, To please the child, to paint the rose. The Gardener of the World, he goes. Stevenson. [68] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS yf< >j<>^ xjx >^ >^ >i^7$< w i^y^ w w >j<>?*c v?< w w July Sixth When Friendship or Love our sympathies move, When Truth in a glance should appear, The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile. But the test of affection's a Tear. Byron. July Seventh Should auld acquaintance be forgot. And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' auld lang syne? Burns. July Eighth Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see ; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. Pope. July Ninth Up ! work out the fate of a hero. Or perish at least in the strife; Even we may be builders of bridges For the passage of souls into Life. Alice Cary. [69] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >iX >*X >4X 0^ 0^ 0iK >4X >;x V^V V4V '^JX V^V >^V 0^< /^V >iX /4X y^ JrLY Texth To him who m 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 ghdes Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. Bryant. July Eleventh Contend, my soul, for moments and for hours ; Each is with service pregnant : each reclaimed Is a kingdom conquered, where to reign. Steverisan. July Twelfth Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us, He knows each chord its various tone. Each spring its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. Burns. [TO] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >iv yi< >iv Viv Hv >♦< Hv v^ v^ WT?^ W viy yi^ viv viv W W July Thirteenth Oft does my heart indulge the rising thought. Which still recurs, unlocked for and unsought; My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields, And roams romantic o'er her airy fields. Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view, To which I long have bade a last adieu! Seats of delight, inspiring youthful themes ; Friends lost to me for aye, except in dreams. Byron. July Fourteenth To keep one sacred flame. Thro' life unchilled, unmoved, To love in wintry age the same As first in youth we loved; To feel that we adore To such refined excess, That tho' the heart would break with morCy We could not live with less; This is love, faithful love. Such as saints might feel above. Moore. July Fifteenth Love indeed is light from Heaven, A glory circling round the soul. Byron. FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >*< y9< yfK xix x^x x^ x^x y4< ^4^ x^x^i^^^ >^^ y^y >|v y$^ >l< w v^ >j^ vi*c w >?< July Twentieth I held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things. Tennyson. July Twenty-first O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live. Wordsworth. July Twenty-second Enough that blessings undeserved Have marked my erring track ; — That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, His chastening turned me back ; — That more and more a Providence Of love is understood, Making the springs of time and sense Sweet with eternal good ; — That death seems but a covered way Which opens into light. Wherein no blinded child can stray Beyond the Father's sight. Whit tier. [73] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS vjx >i* 'I't^ vjv v;x 'fix #;-« v;v v^it v;* viv >;■» vjx «jx vjv vjv >jx >j*k July T-z-tv-t-:-: Art buflds on sand: "he works of pride And hnr - r -i::: :'r.-gi ind faU; But that vr].:.: ^ .:r^ z\.~. : ir :i God With him surriveth all. — Whittitr. JtLT T^ZN'TY-FOntTH Pleasures are like poppies spread. You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed ; Or lite the snow-falls in the riTer, A moment white — ^then melts forever ; Or like the boreaUs raee. That flit ere yoa can point their place; Or Hke the rainbow's loTely form Evanishing amid the storm.— Nae man can tether time or tide. Burns. JriY T' The child who see- -.':.z iew of night Upon the spangir ■ i r . ^ : . : : : . . Attempts to catch x ~ - ^ - :: L:^: :. But wounds his finger with the thorn. Thus oft the br:^: :^ * :7s we seek. Are lost when :;.:: ^ . :rA turned to pain; The flush they kicdlr ^ ^ -5 : :e cheek. The tears they waken long remain. JlToor^r. [74] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS f^^yiK/^y^y^ y^K y^K y^ xfK yi^\yfK xjx xix y^x x^x /^\ y^ /f< July Tv/enty-sixth They sin who tell us love can die. With life all other passions fly. All others are but vanity. Southey. July Twenty-sevjenth The clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live. Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears — To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Wordsworth, July Twenty-eighth Oh what a shining revelation of His treasures God has given ! Precious things of grace and glory, precious things of earth and heaven. HavergaL [75] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >i* >tK >4*k xiK >ff*c >iv >;» >;» «t* '♦* *i* '♦* >♦» 't^ '♦'^ '♦^ 'f**^ <♦* JUI-Y TWZXTY-XTN-TK Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth! Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the livincr truth I Tennyson. ■^o July Thietieth Good name, in man or woman. Is the immediate jewel of their souls. Shakespeare. July TKiEXY-riBST Columbia, fairest nation of the world. Sitting in queenly beauty in the west. With all thy banners round about thee furled, Xursing the cherub Peace upon thy breast; Xever did dauo:hter of a kino^lT line Look on a lovelier heritage than thine! Phoebe Cary. [76] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS x+x xix /|V '/pi. viv y|v viv >i;v w viv viv hv >i>c v?>c>;< >j< AUGUST August First A song for the plant of my own native West, Where nature and freedom reside, By plenty still crowned and by peace ever blessed, To the corn ! the green corn of her pride ! In the climes of the East has the olive been sung. And the grape been the theme of their lays ; But for thee shall a harp of the backwoods be strung, Thou bright, ever-beautiful Maize ! William W. Fosdich. August Second In the morning sow thy seed, nor stay thy hand at evening hour, Never asking which may prosper — both may yield thee fruit and flower. Thou shalt reap of that thou sowest, though thy grain be small and bare, God shall clothe it as he pleases, for the harvest full and fair. Havergal, [77] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS August Thibd Honour and shame from no condition rise: Act well jour part — there all the honour lies. Pope. August Fourth If solid happiness we prize, WitJiin our brea^it this jewel lies, And they are fools who roam: The world has nothing to bestow, From our own selves our joys must flow, And that dear hut — our home. Cotton. August Fifth Life liveth best in life, and doth not roam To other realms if all be well at home. Kipling. August Sdcth Home of our childhood! how affection clings And hovers round thee with her seraph wings! O happiest they, whose early love unchanged, Hopes undissolved, and friendship unestranged. Tired of their wanderings, still can deign to see Love, hopes, and friendship, centering all in thee! Holmes. [78] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS August Skventh 'Tis sweet to hear tlie watch-dog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home, 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come. Byroii. August Eighth By every hill whose stately pines Wave their dark arms above The home where some fair being shines. To warm the wilds with love, From barest rock to bleakest shore Where farthest sail unfurls. That stars and stripes are streaming o'er, — God bless our Yankee girls! Holmes. August Ninth But dear girl, both flowers and beauty Blossom, fade and die away ; Then pursue good sense and duty. Evergreens ! which ne'er decay. We find it by experienced fact, Thought nmst ripen into act ; For trees are held in high repute. Not for their blossoms, but tlieir fruit. Nathaniel Cotton. [79] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >^ y^K y^ y^x y^v y^v y^v y^v y^x >^ >4< >^x y^v y^x y+v >^y >jv >^ August Tenth 'Tis Beauty, that doth oft make Women proud ; 'Tis Virtue, that doth make them most admir'd ; 'Tis Modesty, that makes them seem dhine. Shakespeare, August Eleventh Xav, weave sweet fancies as you will, Yet what is cliildish happiness To such great rapture as can fill The heart of womanhood with bliss? And though the trials which years must bring Have come, and left thee what thou art, Tliink what a great and wondrous thing Is victory o'er the human heart! Phoebe Cary, August Twelfth A most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, Right to the heart and brain, tho' undescried. Winning its way with extreme gentleness Thro' all the outworks of suspicious pride ; A courage to endure and to obey ; A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway, Crown'd Isabel, thro' all her placid hfe, The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife. Tennyson. [80] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS w w vi< w viv w vjvMv viv viv >?^ v^ V4V viv viv 'A^y^ir^ August Thirteenth O woman, in thy native innocence, rely On what thou hast of virtue: summon all, For God toward thee hath done His part, do thine. — Milton. August Fourteenth The kindest and the happiest pair Will find occasion to forbear ; And something every day they live To pity, and perhaps forgive. Cowper. August Fifteenth As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman: Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him, yet she follows, Useless each without the other ! Longfellow. August Sixteenth She who only finds her Self-esteem In others' Admiration, begs an alms ; Depends on others for her daily food, And is the very servant of her slaves ; Tho' oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, O'er men she may a childish pow'r exert. Which not ennobles, but degrades her state. Joanna Baillic. [81] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^ 0^ >4X #;* >;» v;v *^ *;% >^ 't^^t^ *♦* *♦* ^4*. *♦> *>*i j*^*^ *4>l August Seventeiinth Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight. Make me a child again, just for to-night! Mother, come back from the echoless shore. Take me again to your heart as of yore. E. A, Allen. August Eighteenth Youth fades ; love droops ; the leaves of friend- ship fall; A mother^s secret hope outlives them all. Holmes. August Nineteenth The mothers of our forest-land! Such were their daily deeds : Their monument! — where does it stand? Their epitaph! — who reads? No braver dames had Sparta, No nobler matrons Rome — Yet who or lauds or honors them. E'en in their own green home? William D. Gallagher, [82] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^ >;y y^ y^ wv v^ viv vivt^c vi^ w v?vv?v >;< y^y^y^yfK August Twentieth Mark her majestic Fabric; she's a Temple Sacred by birth, and built by hands Divine : Her Soul's the Deity that lodges there ; Nor is the Pile unworthy of the God. Dryden. August Twenty-first Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands ; Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might ; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight. — Tennyson. August Twenty-second And I will trust that He who heeds The life that hides in mead and wold. Who hangs yon alder's crimson beads, And stains these mosses green and gold. Will still, as He hath done, incline His gracious care to me and mine ; Grant what we ask aright, from wrong debar, And as the earth grows dark, make brighter every star ! — Whittier. [ 83 ] c FROM DAY TO DAY ^VITH THE POET ***^ «♦* «i* i* '> »;• «> »:» ».« i.» 1 .1 .:> rv ... ,.i ,.» ,.» ,; Tho' Love's o^^":: :: : -..-. / : Disguise our b : ^ t ~ . Tis woman, woman, mies us sr.:.L — Moore, Az&TST XwKXTT-POirmTH What is there in this Tak of fife Half so defig^tf al as a wife. When friendship, loTe, and peac^ T: : the marriage bcmd divine? Camper. August Twxntt-fifth Tis not to make me jealous. To say my wife is fiir. iVrds well, loves com- pany, L? free of spe^::;. ^:::^^. 1" ^^ :t- —el!; Where virtue :-. : t— - : Nor from mine own vr- irill I draw The smallest fear, or do.: : :>: her revolt; For she had eyes, and chose me. — Shakespeare, ArcrsT Twexty-secth When ance life's day draws near the gioanun*. Then farewed vacant cardess roamin'; An' f areweel cheerf u' tankards f oamin'. An' scxaal ncnse; An' farewed ^ar deluding woman. The joy of joys! — Bmms. [8*] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS yiv Viv Hv '/^ y^ Viv >iv v^ y^v >;oi< v?^ W vi^ y|>c v;*c viv w^k August Twenty-seventh A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness — Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! Omar Khayyam. August Twenty-eighth Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, We who improve his golden hours By sweet experience know That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradise below. Charles Caleb Colton. August Twenty-ninth She Is a woman: one in whom The spring-time of her childish years Hath never lost its fresh perfume. Though knowing well that life hath room For many blights and many tears. And youth in her a home will find, Where he may dwell eternally ; Her soul is not of that weak kind Which better love the life behind Than that which is, or is to be. — Lowell, [ 85 ] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH TKE POETS 1^ fl^ «^ «^ M^*^ »;* k;v i;v »,» »;v .,* i.* t.» k^» «;»; k^», ^^^ ;k^ Atjtst T--Trz7H And Tariahk Bj ilK figU When pain ^ A minisfcering 31 ease, '- ^o please. .row. Scott. -7 T-- Y^oa can BghiTr:. u ve We and erer. :man. forever —Kiptimg. [861 FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >?<>?<>?< vjv >■;«; v{< viv >?< yj<>?<">?ir Wv hv >iK vix ^y ^y >j< SEPTEMBER September First Childhood is the bough, where slumbered Birds and blossoms many-numbered ; — Age, that bough with snows encumbered. Longfellow. September Second The meadow king-cups and the furze Were pretty with the harvest dew, And in the brook the thistle threw The shadows of its many burs. I wis, he lovely was to see, In the gray twilight's pallid shade, As on his willow pipe he played, Crowned with "buds of poesy" — "I would that I were bird or bee, Or anything that I am not — A sound, a breeze, I care not what, So I might live and die with thee.'' Alice Cary. [87] : jilMiMMiUJiJII'y ff JL^-l»BJML.. FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 1^ 1^ 1^ y^ if^ yfK j^ y^ y^ >?Ojx m^ y^ yf< y^K /(< yfK y^ September Thlrd He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all. — Coleridge. September Fourth The child, the seed, the grain of corn, The acorn on the hill, Each for some separate end is born In season fit, and still Each must in strength arise to work the almighty will. . . . — Stevenson. September Fifth Live while you live, the epicure would say. And seize the pleasures of the present day; Live while you live, the sacred preacher cries, And give to God each moment as it flies. Lord, in my views, let both united be : I live in pleasure when I live to thee. Philip Doddridge. 188] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W >l*c >?< w viv 'MiK'j^'M^y^ wTjiTViv vjv w v^ W v^ vi< September Sixth The babe by its mother Lies bathed in joy, GKde its hours uncounted, The sun is its toy ; Shines the peace of all being Without cloud in its eyes. And the sum of the world In soft miniature Hes. — Emerson, September Seventh Weary of the mother's part? My sweet baby, never! I will rock thee on my heart Ever, yes, for ever ! Loveliest of lovely things Pure as the evangel! — O, in everything but wing Is my babe an angel! Alice Gary. September Eighth My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not deck'd with diamonds and Indian stones Nor to be seen: my crown is call'd content; A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy. Shakespeare. [89] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^ >^ jt4< M^K jf^^y^ Mix >♦< >iV >4X>^K jt^\ >vv >;< >^C >♦< Vjopc Septe^ibeb Ninth I look upon the fair blue skies, And naught but empty air I see ; But when I turn me to thine eyes, It seemeth unto me Ten thousand angels spread their wings Within those little azure rings. — Holmes. September Tenth God bless thee, dear . . . With blessings beyond hope or thought, With blessings which no word can find. Tennyson. September Eleventh Women know The way to rear up children (to be just). They know a simple, merry, tender knack Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes. And stringing pretty words that make no sense, And kissing full sense into empty words ; Which things are corals to cut life upon, Although such trifles. — Browning. September Twelfth The truly generous is the truly wise; And he who loves not others, lives imblest. Rev. John Home. [90] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >?<>?< w >j^ w y^y^y^y^ y^Ky^y^^r^ >^ >?k >?v >?<>i»c September Thirteenth Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing boy; But he beholds the light, and whence it flows — He sees it in his joy. The youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is nature's priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the man perceives it die away. And fade into the light of common day. Wordsworth. September Fourteenth God made thee perfect, not immutable ; And good he made thee, but to persevere He left it in thy pow'r. — Milton. September Fifteenth Come to me, O ye children ! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings. And the wisdom of our books. When compared with your caresses. And the gladness of your looks? Longfellow. [91] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS yi^y^ ji^\ MiK/fK /^ vix XiK x^\ x^'^y^yf^ >'i^ >^^> >^^ ^ Septembek Sixteenth Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, Like linnets in the bush, Ye Httle know the ills ye court, When manhood is your wish ! The losses, the crosses, That active man engage ! The fears all, the tears all. Of dim-decHning age. Burns, September Seventeenth I hke the man who faces what he must With step triumphant and a heart of cheer ; Who fights the daily battle without fear ; Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust That God is God. —S. K. Bolton. September Eighteenth I have not seen, I may not see. My hopes for man take form in fact. But God will give the victory In due time; in that faith I act. And he who sees the future sure. The baffling present may endure. And bless, meanwhile, the unseen Hand that leads The heart's desires beyond the halting step of deeds. — Whittier. [92] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^y^Ky^i^y^y^yffKy^y^ y^y^y^K >j< w >^' y^ y^ y;< September Nineteenth You call me still your life — Oh! change the word — Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh: Say rather I'm your soul; more just that name, For, like the soul, my love can never die. Byron. September Twentieth When a man's busy, why, leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure; 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy. Browni/ng. September Twenty-first What you can do, or dream you can, begin it; Boldness has genius, power and magic in it ; Only engage and then the mind grows heated; Begin, and then the work will be completed. Goethe. September Twenty-second What is excellent. As God lives, is permanent. Hearts are dust, hearts' loves remain, Heart's love will meet thee again. Emerson. [93] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >^v >;k >^v >;v >^x >t;K M^K 1^ /^ #q^ /^ >tf^ >tV '0^x >;\ x^x >^v >^ic September Twzxty-tkied I count ir.y^e^i in nothing -.-e so happy. As in a sc^l rememberh:g n.y good friends: And. as my fortune ripc::s vr::h thy love. It shall be still thy true love's recompense: My heart this cove::3.::: iu3.kr^. ir.y h:::;i :hus seals it. — Sh: ' r.re. SePTEMBEE TvTENTY-rOrETH Alas — how light a cause may move Dissension between Hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried. And sorrow but more closely tied: That stood the Storr::. "i.en waves were rough. Yet in a sunny hour i3..i oft. Like ships that have gene down at sea. When Heaven was all tran:;nil::v. — Moore, September Twenty-eieth He that wrongs liis friend Wrongs liimgwlf more, and ever bears about A silent court of jn^^ice in hi^ brea^:. Himself the jna^e and jnry. and nin^sdi The r : i ^ : :: :- r a : : i. e bar. e^' e r c o n d e mn ' d : And that drags down his life. — Ten' '- FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS HV vjv viv Hv Viv Hv w vi*c v^ j^y^K y^ 'm^k y^y '/^ mPk y^ viv September Twenty-sixth Let Friendship's accents cheer our doubtful way, And Love's pure planet lend its guiding ray. Holmes. September Twenty-seventh There is a comfort in the strength of love ; 'Twill make a thing endurable which else Would break the heart. — Wordsworth* September Twenty-eighth As the broad ocean endlessly upheaveth, With the majestic beating of his heart, The mighty tides, whereof its rightful part Each sea-wide gulf and little weed receiveth — So, through his soul who earnestly believeth, Life from the universal Heart doth flow. Whereby some conquest of the eternal woe By instinct of God's nature he achieveth : A fuller pulse of this all-powerful Beauty Into the poet's gulf -like heart doth tide, And he more keenly feels the glorious duty Of serving Truth despised and crucified — Happy, unknowing sect or creed, to rest And feel God flow forever through his breast. LowelL [95] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^K 104K y~^^ y^v y^^ /^k y^ y^ x^v y^\ x^x y^x y+x y^K v^v x^x y^ y^K September Twenty-ninth It becomes no man to nurse despair, But, in the teeth of clench'd antagonisms, To follow up the worthiest till he die. Tejinyson. September Thirtieth Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower. And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles m his ray, On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; Aj, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. Bryant. [96] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS wv yj^ 'MpK >;v vi»c w w W W w>i^ w W v^ W v^ >?< >?< OCTOBER October First Autumn has come — like Spring returned to us, Won from her girlishness — like one returned A friend that was a lover — nor forgets The first warm love, but full of sober thoughts Of fading years ; whose soft mouth quivers yet With the old smile — ^but yet so changed and still. Browning. October Second As the drained fountain, filled with autumn leaves. The field swept naked of its garnered sheaves ; So wastes at noon the promise of our dawn, The springs all choking, and the harvest gone. Yet hear the lay of one whose natal star Still seemed the brightest when it shone afar; Whose cheek, grown pallid with ungracious toil, Glows in the welcome of his parent soil ; And ask no garlands sought beyond the tide. But take the leaflets gathered at your side. Holmes. [97] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >^K »ij^ 't-»^ i.y '.* ».* *.»'.» '.* /.» '.^ '♦» ».» '.» '.I 1.1 f,\ *^\ That rock ^ Tliat witfa Sow g^julne' And still ^: ^ ':. ::^ .\~^.:. -: Spin the giz about. Stcunuouim :z F:tlt: Tliere is ?. :iimg now ItsmeDow : : : t^^ . i stered trees, AndyfitKT -7^^ -yes, Poming rr - ~oods, Anddipp:::^ : - : L_ : ^ red clouds. Owlimta g : - For liim "^ : . ~ : :.-:.:'.. ^ : e 5 forth Undo* the :_ : -- - ^^ oks On duties wdi performec 0:r:izL Fifth I: :*f: ::.i:r 1: 5 : "::: glance thej cast, 1 - :^ 7 J 7 3 CAD praise the Past; 1 - ben past its bloom, J-^: : . - ^ : : i - s V r "Derfume. ^ Shemskme. FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^KV^y^i^ y^K y^ >?< y^ y^K y^y^ y^y^y^Ki^ y^y^ y^ October Sixth Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts nobly ; Angels could no more. Yoimg. October Seventh Circles are praised, not that abound In largeness, but th' exactly round; So life we praise that does excel. Not much in time, but acting well. Edmund Waller. October Eighth No perfect whole can our nature make; Here or there the circle will break; The orb of life as it takes the light On one side leaves the other in night. Whittier. October Ninth There shall never be one lost good ! What was, shall live as before ; The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound ; What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more; On earth the broken arcs ; in heaven, a perfect round. — Browning. [99] FRO:\I DAY TO DAY WITH THE P0ET5 X^K A^\ >^V >i< >^V /;v >;v >^V >^V >^K ^iK >iV >EiV XiV >^K >Ei,V *iX >^K OcTOBZH Tenth Lord, what :? :: ::. "^- e :::.::-. ^: --ri'e?, Up to thy SrVr :: ^^ ::^'::; — : ::s. While still: 5 ^ 5 : 5:: gs To e -rth, like other cr^ ::i/^ : ;g5 I WhUtier. OcTOBZr. ElLEVKNTH Th'zk. "hf:; :ur ::\z : S. •-ir.ierstands Th- ^:--: W:rd -:u:h ::-"krS a" "^^-gs W:-:: ^-•-:; ":-;.;- v,:: ;.:;:: H-v-; ,xr-:is— OCTOZZZ TwKUTH B u: - -i : :". t i :':. : : f ^ : .=. : r 1 v mansioiLs , n: v s col, As :h. ^-::: ....: ;s rJU! Leave ::.v low-Yaolted past! Lt: t \ h ::ew temple, nobler than the !a>-. Sau: ::-rr from heaven with a doiir ia::e V5,5:, Tin thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unrest- ing sea. — Holmes. £100] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >iX X jX X4X X4X >^4X X4X X^X X4X >|>C >^ >?< V^ >|< W >J< >|*C W >?< October Thirteenth What we have we prize not to the worth Whiles we enjoy it; but being lack'd and lost, Why, then we rack the value, then we find The virtue that possesssion would not show us. While it was ours. — Shakespeare. October Fourteenth The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another's need ; \ Not what we give, but what we share, — \ For the gift without the giver is bare ; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me. Lowell. October Fifteenth He gives nothing but worthless gold Who gives from a sense of duty ; But he who gives but a slender mite. And gives to that which is out of sight, That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty Which runs through all and doth all unite, — The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms. The heart outstretches its eager palms. For a god goes with it and makes it store To the soul that was starving in darkness before. Lowell. [ 101 ] FRO:\I DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS *;v >^V >^V >4X >^V >^X >^ >^ ^^\ ff\ '^\ ffX f^X PfK *^X >♦< f'fX OcTOBZE Sixteenth Suppose a neighbor should desire To li^ht a candle at vour fire. Would it deprive vour flame of light Because another profits by 't r Robert Lloyd. October Seventeenth The rain comes when the wind calls, The river knows the way to the sea, Without a pilot it runs and falls. Blessing all lands with its charity. Emerson, October Eighteenth God's free sunshine on the hills. Soft mists hanging o'er the rills. Blushing flowers of loveliness Trembling with the light wind's kiss, — 0, the soul forgets its care. Looking on a world so fair 1 — Phctbe Cary. October Xineteenth The world's no blot for us, Xor blank: it means intensely, and means good; To find its meanino: is mv meat and drink. Broicning, [102] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >;y viv y^y^yiK y^y^y^y^ y^y^M^\ m^\ a< v^v w viv j^s. October Twentieth Life hath its memories lovely, That over the heart are blown, As over the face of the Autumn The light of the summer flown ; Rising out of the midst so chilling That oft life's sky enshrouds, Like a new moon sweetly filling Among the twilight clouds. — Alice Cary. October Twenty-first From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd. Thus much I at least may recall, It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd Deserved to be dearest of all: In the desert a fountain is springing. In the wide waste there still is a tree. And a bird in the solitude singing. Which speaks to my spirit of thee. — Byron, October Twenty-second Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control. These three alone lead life to sovereign power. Yet not for power, (power of herself Would come uncalPd for,) but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear ; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence. Termyson. X103] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^ yf^ >^X y^ y^ y^ X^X yfK Mf< XjXT'iV VjV V^V HV V^V W^/^y^ October Twenty-third A verse may find him who a sermon flies, And turn delight into a sacrifice. George Herbert. October Twenty-fourth They talk of short-lived pleasure — ^be it so — Pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured pain Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go. The fiercest agonies have shortest reign ; And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace. Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain. Makes the strong secret pangs of shame to cease : Remorse is virtue's root ; its fair increase Are fruits of innocence and blessedness : Thus joy, o'erborne and bound, doth still release His young limbs from the chains that round him press. Weep not that the world changes — did it keep A stable changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep. — Bryant. October Twenty-fifth Be true and thou shalt fetter time with ever- lasting chain. — Schiller. 1.10*]. FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W >j< W w v^ y^/^ W >^ y^Ky^y^ v^ v^ >i< hv w >;< October Twenty-sixth Autumn melancholy dwells, And sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. She sits and reckons up the dead and gone. With the last leaves for a love-rosary, Whilst all the withered world looks drearily. Hood. October Twenty-seventh Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all. Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. Longfellow. October Twenty-eighth Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Gray. October Twenty-ninth Walk on, my soul, nor crouch to agony. Turn cloud to light, and bitterness to joy. And dross to gold with glorious alchemy. Basing thy throne above the world's annoy. Tennyson. [ 105 ] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS x^ >^\ v^v v^K #;x >;v v^v <;v tf< v^v 'ix 'ix 0^ t^x '-^x *^v i;x *;v OCTOBES ThIETIETH Sadly bend the flowers In the heavy rain; After beating showers Sunbeams come again. Little birds are silent All the dark night through; When the morning dawneth. Their songs are sweet and new. Hazergal. OCTOBEB ThIRTY-FIKST Whai a sudden sorrow Comes like cloud and night. Wait for God's to-morrow. All will then be bright. Only wait and trust Him Just a Httle while ; After evening teardrops Shall come the momincr smile. HavergaiL [106] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >?< >?>c>?«c >?< >jt«c >?< >jv Viv Viv>t«^ /♦v xfi xixTiy x|y x*«i. /^ NOVEMBER November First Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's. — Shakespeare. November Second This fine old world of ours is but a child Yet in the go-cart. Patience ! give it time To learn its limbs : there is a Hand that guides. Tennyson. November Third Can thy style-discerning eye The hidden-working Builder spy. Who builds, yet makes no chips, no din. With hammer soft as snow-flake's flight; Knowest thou this? Emerson. [107] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS November Fourth Were I so tall to reach the pole, Or grasp the ocean with my span, I must be measured by my soul: The mind's the standard of the man. Dr. Isaac Watts. November Fifth What matter though earth's pathways glow No more with spring-time gladness? What if each June has flown too soon And left a look of sadness? No real love so true will prove, No tones one-half so tender, No lips so pure as those which lure The soul to visioned splendor. Eugene Field. November Sixth How feels the stone the pang of birth, Which brings its sparkling prism forth? The forest tree the throb which gives The life-blood to its new-born leaves? Do bird and blossom feel, like me. Life's many-folded mystery, — The wonder which it is to he? — Whittier. [108] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS November Seventh Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive! Scott. November Eighth O ye whose living is not Life, Whose dying is but death, Song, empty toil and petty strife. Rounded with loss of breath! Go, look on Nature's countenance. Drink in the blessing of her glance; Look on the sunset, hear the wind, The cataract, the awful thunder ; Go, worship by the sea; Then, and then only, shall ye find, With ever-growing wonder, Man is not all in all to ye. Lowell. November Ninth Go with a meek and humble soul, Then shall the scales of self unroll From off your eyes — the weary packs Drop from your heavy-laden backs; And ye shall see, With reverent and hopeful eyes, Glowing with new-born energies. How great a thing is to be! — Lowell, [ 109 ] y^x «;»: f.» i.v /> /,» *;*«.» #,» *.* T,v 1,1 i.v <^^ >^ At«v v^ vMf>C NOTILI^: Z Z Z. T Z > : 7 H ?:-.::z.z r.:" :^-^t frwn the : : ::.i:.:. : :; ^zz Ir-lj — H : :t5 :: : : l before thee liare trod; E - r - -: h^ - : T*r blessed exaonple, V^'::'^ :::. — :: t z^i h T*^ labor is ample — Tr 5 :-g H - 7 g in God! JUceCarg. X: Z2:zzL Euttexth: T'.TrT ? 1.ZI J. ipjj:r::ir or a ^ren, E T T 5 not a blade of ant z^n z g r ?. in . V - i four seasons d : z : - - ^ z z . F.^ zr.i7i be A Izi*: tT : . Z- :.ZrT sez. — jt cr/rift/ii/ri. FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS yt^ y^ y^ 'M^ y^ 'j^ y^ 'j^ y^ y^y^y^K y^KW^y^KV^yiKy^K November Fourteenth / have been happy, though in a dream. I have been happy — and I love the theme: Dreams ! in their vivid coloring of life As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife Of semblance with reality which brings To the delirious eye, more lovely things Of Paradise and Love^ — and all my own ! — Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known. — Poe. November Fifteenth We shall start up, at last awake From Life, that insane dream we take For waking now, because it seems. Browning. November Sixteenth Oh, would we rouse from slumber. Life hath something to be done ; We may lose the prize by faltering, Which exertion might have won ; And when we strive to help ourselves, The Lord will aid us on. Phoebe Gary. [Ill] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS v;v v^" V :3^BZE ^: T - A'/s well that ends well yet, Tiiougfa time seems so adverse, and means imfit. Shukfspeare. Xoria£BEE Eic-Hnm^xTH I would not always reasoii. The straight path Wearies us with its never-Tarring lines. And we grow mdancholj. I ~ :_' :.\±:r Reason my guide, but she s: Patiently by the way-side^ ^'. The mazes of the pleasant ^ Around me. She should be But not my tyrant. For the sjpir:-. :. TTi_- Impulses from a deeper source than ri s. And there are motions, in the ziind of man. That she mus: ': :": it: ::. ~:-: ~r I bow Reverently to uti oJtCi^i'ei, ;: u: . : es? Hold to the fair fflasions of :^£ -:::.i — Illusions that shed brightness over life,. And glory over nature. — Bryaml. NoVEItBEa NrXETOKEKTH O for one hour of youthful joy! Give back my twoitieth spring! Fd rather laogfa a bright-haired boy Than reign a gray-beard king! Holms. FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS i^yfKy^y^y^y^y^yj^y^ y^y^ >?< W w >^ y^ v^ v;^ November Twentieth Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll ; the s Pope. Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll ; s. f Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul. I November Twenty-first What is beauty? Not the Show Of shapely Limbs and Features. No. These are but flowers That have their dated hours To breathe their momentary Sweets, then go. 'Tis the stainless Soul within That outshines the fairest Skin. Sir A. Hunt. November Twenty-second Thank God ! that I have lived to see the time When the great truth begins at last to find An utterance from the deep heart of man- kind, Earnest and clear, that all Revenge is Crime! That man is holier than a creed, — that all Restraint upon him must consult his good, Hope's sunshine linger on his prison wall. And Love look in upon his solitude. Whit tier. [113] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >4X y^x >tx >;v Mix >♦* >♦< >t* >♦* >f^ 'i^ 'f^ >*^ '♦v ^A ^♦^ ^♦'*^ ^f^ XOVEMBEE TwEXTY-THIED Let US. then, be up and doing. With a heart for anv fate : Still achieving, still pursuing. Learn to labor and to wait. Longfello'x. XOTEMBEE TwEXTY-EOUETH Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowu'd, Where all the ruddv family round Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale. Or press the bashful stranger to his food, Ana icarn the luxury of doino" ^ood I Goldsmith. XoVEMBEE TWENTY-EIETH Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! Who. hopeless, lays his dead away, Xor looks to see the breaking day Across the nioumful marbles play! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith. The truth *o f.esh :'.::! sense unknown, — That Life is ever lord of Death. And Love can never lose its own I Whitti^r. [114] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS November Twenty-sixth Meet is it changes should control Our being, lest we rust in ease. We all are changed by still degrees. All but the basis of the soul. Tennyson. November Twenty-seventh Cowards die many times before their deaths ; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard. It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. — Shakespeare, November Twenty-eighth So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that 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. Bryant. [115] r FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W w >?< wv viv vjv y^ >;v >?<>?*( W >^ v^r >;< v?v w >?< v^ November Twenty-ninth When the fight begins within himself, A man's worth something. Browning. November Thirtieth If I have faltered more or less In my great task of happiness ; If I have moved among my race And shown no glorious morning face ; If beams from happy hmnan eyes Have moved me not ; if morning skies, Books, and my food, and summer rain Knocked on my sullen heart in vain : — Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take And stab my spirit broad awake; Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, Choose thou, before that spirit die A piercing pain, a killing sin. And to my dead heart run them in! Stevenson. [116] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W vj< Viv v^ y(K vjv wit< v?< v?< Vi< >?< w >^: v}< >{< >t< v;;<>t? DECEMBER December First The Sun will run his orbit, and the Moon Her circle. Wait, and Love himself will bring The drooping flower of knowledge changed to fruit Of wisdom. Wait: my faith is large in Time, And that which shapes it to some perfect end. Tennyson. December Second Spring still makes spring in the mind, When sixty years are told ; Love wakes anew this throbbing heart, And we are never old. Over the winter glaciers, I see the summer glow And through the wild-piled snowdrift The warm rosebuds below. Emerson. [117] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS w w w w Hv 'M^^^y^i^ Hv w w >?< w yi< w viv w w December Third What's the earth With all its art, verse, music worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept? Browning. December Fourth Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But, though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. George Herbert, December Fifth How happy is he, born or taught, That serveth not another's will ; Whose armor is his honest thought. And simple truth his utmost skill ! Sir Henry Wotton. December Sixth Would you be happy, be the thing you seem, And sure you now possess the world's esteem; For know — ^the bliss in our judgment lies, And none are happy but the good and wise. Horace. [118] 1 FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS 1^ y^ }^ y^ 1^ 1^ }^ y^K /^ y^ }^ 1^ y^ '^ December Seventh Men should be what they seem ; Or, those that be not, would they might seem none. — Shakespeare. December Eighth Onward its course the present keeps, Onward the constant current sweeps. Till life is done; And, did we judge of time aright. The past and future in their flight Would be as one. — Longfellow. December Ninth Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain And luxury possess the hearts of men. Thus is it with the noon of human life. We, in our fervid manhood, in our strength Of reason, we, with hurry,,noise, and care. Plan, toil, and strive, and pause not to refresh Our spirits with the calm and beautiful Of God's harmonious universe, that won Our youthful wonder ; pause not to inquire Why we are here; and what the reverence Man owes to man, and what the mystery That links us to the greater world, beside Whose borders we but hover for a space. Bryant. .l^'^*^V-T-^ --^ FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS yiK>l<'MPKj^ yjv )4< ViV x^\ y(< x^\ y^ y^x >^ x^x xif< mIk y^ y^K December Tenth Good nature and good sense must ever join — To err is human; to forgive, divine. Pope. December Eleventh Did we but use it as we ought, This world would school each wandering thought To its high state. Faith wings the soul beyond the sky. Up to that better world on high. For which we wait. — Longfellow. December Twelfth Why stretch beyond our proper sphere And age for that which lies so near? Why climb the far-off hills with pain, A nearer view of heaven to gain ? In lowliest depths of bosky dells The hermit Contemplation dwells. A fountain's pine-hung slope his seat, And lotus-twined his silent feet. When, piercing heaven with screened sight. He sees at noon the stars, whose light Shall glorify the coming night. Whit tier, [ 120 ] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >jir>K W y^wr^ff^y^y^ w^ Wt^ >^ y^ w W w v^c v^' December Thirteenth Give me a staff of honor for mine age, But not a sceptre to control the world. Shakespeare. December Fourteenth O Father ! grant Thy love divine To make these mystic temples Thine ! When wasting age and wearying strife Have sapped the leading walls of life, When darkness gathers over all, And the last tottering pillars fall, Take the poor dust Thy mercy warms. And mould it into heavenly forms ! Holmes. December Fifteenth Life ! we've been long together. Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear. Perhaps will cost a sigh, a tear; Then steal away, give little warning ; Choose thine own time; Say not "Good-night" ; but in some brighter clime Bid me "Good-morning.'' Anna Letitia Barbauld. [121] \ FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS W W W V^V >?v y^ >?K >?x yjK >?^>^c W >^• W >;< W W W Decembee Sixteenth If I stoop Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud. It is but for a time ; I press God's lamp Close to my breast; its splendor, soon or late. Will pierce the gloom : I shall emerge one day. Browning. December Seventeenth Within each heart there lies apart From all its cares and sorrows, A paradise which knows no sighs, A world of happy morrows; A heaven of light, unknown to blight Of winter, bleak and dreary, Whose days are long and sweet with song, Whose hours are never weary. Eugene Field, December Eighteenth Evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed. And feeds the green earth with its swift decay, Leaving it richer for the growth of truth; But Good, once put in action or in thought. Like a strong oak, doth from its boughs shed do^ra The ripe germs of a forest. — Lowell. [ 122] \ FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >ix x^x y]^\ xix x^x x^x y^x y^K x^ x?k xi< x^ >?^ >?*c x*k x^ x*x )*^ December Nineteenth O thriftlessness of dream and guess! O wisdom which is f ooHshness ! Why idly seek from outward things The answer inward silence brings. Whit tier. December Twentieth Speak to Him, thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet — Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet. — Tennyson. December Twenty-first Revere thy Maker; fetch thine eye Up to His style, and manners of the sky. Emerson. December Twenty-second Oh, they but mock us with a hollow lie. Who made this goodly land a vale of tears ; For if the soul hath immortality, This is the infancy of deathless years. And if we live as God has given us power, Heaven is begun: no blind fatality Can shut the living soul from its high dower Of shaping out a glorious destiny ! Alice Cary. [ 123 ] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS >tx x^\ >4X y^v xt< >*^ ^fV >fV y^y >+v y+v /^x y^v y^y >4V v^v >^x >^ Dece?.ibee Twexty-thied Call him not old, whose visionary brain Holds o'er the past its undivided reign. For him in vain the en^-ious seasons roll Who bears eternal summer in his soul. Hohius, December TwEXTY-EoruxH We call our sorrows destmy. but ought Rather to name our high successes so. Only the instincts of great souls are Fate, And have predestined sway : all other things, Except by leave of us, could never be. For Destiny is but the breath of God Still moving in us, the last fragment left Of our unfallen nature, waking oft Within our thought to beckon us beyond The narrow circle of the seen and known, And always tending to a noble end. Loivell, December Twexty-eifth Christ is come to be my Friend, Leading, losing to the end; Christ is come to be my King, Ordering, ruling everything. Christ is come! Enough for me. Lonely though the pathway be. Haver gal, [124] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^ y|< >l*c HV v^y >|< 'a\ x^x x^x >^>i^viv y|< y^v y^y y^y >;< >;5c December Twenty-sixth Subsists no law of life outside of life. No perfect manners without Christian souls ; The Christ himself had been no law-giver Unless he had given the life, too, with the law. E. B. Browning. December Twenty-seventh Thee, dear friend, a brother soothes, Not with flatteries, but truths. Which tarnish not, but purify To light which dims the morning's eye. Emerson. December Twenty-eighth O Love Divine, that stooped to share Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear. On Thee we cast each earth-born care. We smile at pain while Thou art near. Holmes. December Twenty-ninth Lo ! I have given thee To understand my presence, and to feel My fulness: I have filled thy lips with power. I have raised thee nigher to the spheres of heaven, Man's first, last home. — Tennyson. [ 125 ] FROM DAY TO DAY WITH THE POETS y^j^/^y^y^'MlK >?irw w W A^ /|x xiv yjv v|y v^ w >|< December Thirtieth When Time who steals our years away Shall steal our pleasures too, The memory of the past will stay, And half our joys renew. Then talk no more of future gloom; Our joys shall always last; For Hope shall brighten days to come, And Memory gild the past. Moore. December Thirty-first Hope, like the glimmering taper's light. Adorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. Goldsmith. Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new ; the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven. Shall journey onward in perpetual peace. Bryant. THE END [126] -MMfem^diyi^iy JUl 13 1911 One copy del. to Cat. Div. ^^l 13 19//