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Oh, what a fitting time to teach
A sweet and holy truth,

To leave its impress deep engraved
Upon the mind of youth!

I took the little hand in mine,

Gazed in that childish face,

And told how He, whose watchful look,
Abides in every place,

Could bless our school.

And how not e'en a sparrow's fall,

Not e'en a raven's cry,

Though small they seem, could e'er escape
The notice of His eye.

The child-face glowed with happy smiles,
"Ah! now I know," said she,
"If God loves e'en the little birds,
He surely cares for me

And all our school."

O ye unto whose tender care
These little ones are given,

Spurn not the thoughtful questionings,
But turn their hearts to Heaven;

And when ye twine about your rooms
The rich festoons of green,

There place among those graceful vines
These golden words to gleam-

"God bless our school."


[Tenderly and with expression.]

Beautiful is old age-beautiful is the slow drooping, mellow autumn of a rich and glorious summer. In the old man Nature has fulfilled her work; she loads him with the fruits of a well spent life; and, surrounded by his children's children, she rocks him softly

away to a grave to which he is followed with blessings. God forbid that we should not call it beautiful, but not the most beautiful. There is another life, hard, rough and thorny, trolden with bleeding feet and aching brow; the life of which the cross is the symbol; a battle which no peace follows this side of the grave, which the grave gapes to finish before the victory is won; and, strange that it should be so, this is the highest life of man. Look along the great names of history; there are none whose life has been other than this.



[Give in a simple, expressive style.]

It was a summer's evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he, before his cottage door,
Was sitting in the sun:

And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild, Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,

Which he beside the rivulet,

In playing there, had found.

He came to ask what he had found,

That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kasper took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by,

And then the old man shook his head,

And, with a natural sigh,

"Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory!

"I find them out in the garden,

For there's many here about; And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory."

"Now, tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder waiting eyes.
"Now, tell us all about the war,
And what they killed each other for."

"It was the English," Kasper cried,
"Who put the French to rout:
But what they killed each other for
I could not well make out.
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory!

"My father lived at Blenheim then

Yon little stream hard by;

They burned his dwelling to the ground,

And he was forced to fly.

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide;

And many a childing mother then

And new-born baby died.

But things like that, you know, must be

At every famous victory."

Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won,

And our good Prince Eugene."

"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,

"It was a famous victory!

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And everybody praised the Duke

Who this great fight did win;"
"But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 'twas a famous victory?"


The idle man is an annoyance-a nuisance. He is of no benefit to anybody. He is an intruder in the busy thoroughfare of everyday life. He stands in our path, and we push him contemptously aside! He is of no advantage to anybody. He annoys busy men. He makes them unhappy. He is a cipher in society. He may have an income to support him in idleness, or may sponge" on his good natured friends; but in either case he is despised. Young man, do something in this busy, bustling, wide-awake world Move about for the benefit of mankind, if not for yourself. Do not be idle. God's law is, that by the sweat of our brow we shall earn our bread. That law is a good one, and the bread we earn is sweet. Do not be idle. Minutes are too precious to be squandered thoughtlessly. Every man and every woman, however exalted or however humble, can do good in this short life, if so inclined; therefore, do not be idle.



[Boldly and with force.]
Not to the man of dollars,
Not to the man of deeds;
Not to the man of cunning,

Not to the man of creeds;
Not to the one whose passion
Is for the world's renown;
Not in the form of fashion

Cometh a blessing down.

Not to the folly blinded,

Not to the steeped in shame;
Not to the carnal minded,

Not to unholy fame;
Not in neglect of duty,

Not in the monarch's crown;
Not at the smile of beauty
Cometh a blessing down.

But to the one whose spirit
Yearns for the great and good,
That's the one whose storehouse
Yieldeth the hungry food;
That's the one who labors

Fearless of foe or frown

Unto the kindly hearted

Cometh a blessing down.



[Recite in a bold, vigorous manner.]

They drive home the cows from the pasture,
Up thro' the long shady lane,

Where the quail whistles loud in the wheat fields,

That are yellow with ripening grain.

They find in the thick waving grasses

Where the thick-lipped strawberry grows;

They gather the earliest snowdrops

And the first crimson buds of the rose.

They toss the new hay in the meadow;
They gather the elder bloom white;
They find where the dusky grapes purple
In the soft-tinted October light.
They know where the apples hang ripest,
And are sweeter than Italy's wines;

They know where the fruit hangs the thickest
On the long, thorny blackberry vines.

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