I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth-- On the last verge of mortal being stand.

Close to the realm where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!

The chain of being is complete in me-- In me is matter's last gradation lost, And the next step is spirit--Deity!

I can command the lightning, and am dust!

A monarch and a slave--a worm, a G.o.d!

Whence came I here, and how? so marvelously Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod Lives surely through some higher energy; For from itself alone it could not be!

Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word Created me! Thou source of life and good!

Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!

Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring Over the abyss of death; and bade it wear The garments of eternal day, and wing Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, Even to its source--to Thee--its Author there.

O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest!

Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast.

And waft its homage to Thy Deity.

G.o.d! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar, Thus seek thy presence--Being wise and good!

Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore; And when the tongue is eloquent no more The soul shall speak in tears of grat.i.tude.

_Gabriel Somanovitch Derzhavin._

Casabianca

The boy stood on the burning deck, Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm; A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though childlike form.

The flames roll'd on--he would not go Without his father's word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud: "Say, father, say If yet my task is done?"

He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!"

And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair; And looked from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud, "My father! must I stay?"

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound-- The boy--oh! where was he?

Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea!

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part-- But the n.o.blest thing that perished there Was that young, faithful heart.

_Felicia Hemans._

Monterey

We were not many,--we who stood Before the iron sleet that day; Yet many a gallant spirit would Give half his years if he but could Have been with us at Monterey.

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed In deadly drifts of fiery spray, Yet not a single soldier quailed When wounded comrades round them wailed Their dying shout at Monterey.

And on, still on our column kept, Through walls of flame, its withering way; Where fell the dead, the living stept, Still charging on the guns which swept The slippery streets of Monterey.

The foe himself recoiled aghast, When, striking where he strongest lay, We swooped his flanking batteries past, And braving full their murderous blast, Stormed home the towers of Monterey.

Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play; Where orange boughs above their grave Keep green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey.

We are not many, we who pressed Beside the brave who fell that day; But who of us has not confessed He'd rather share their warrior rest, Than not have been at Monterey?

_Charles Fenno Hoffman._

The Teacher's "If"

If you can take your dreams into the cla.s.sroom, And always make them part of each day's work-- If you can face the countless petty problems Nor turn from them nor ever try to shirk-- If you can live so that the child you work with Deep in his heart knows you to be a man-- If you can take "I can't" from out his language And put in place a vigorous "I can"--

If you can take Love with you to the cla.s.sroom, And yet on Firmness never shut the door-- If you can teach a child the love of Nature So that he helps himself to all her store-- If you can teach him life is what we make it, That he himself can be his only bar-- If you can tell him something of the heavens, Or something of the wonder of a star--

If you, with simple bits of truth and honor, His better self occasionally reach-- And yet not overdo nor have him dub you As one who is inclined to ever preach-- If you impart to him a bit of liking For all the wondrous things we find in print-- Yet have him understand that to be happy, Play, exercise, fresh air he must not stint--

If you can give of all the best that's in you, And in the giving always happy be-- If you can find the good that's hidden somewhere Deep in the heart of every child you see-- If you can do these things and all the others That teachers everywhere do every day-- You're in the work that you were surely meant for; Take hold of it! Know it's your place and stay!

_R.J. Gale._

The Good Shepherd

There were ninety and nine Of a flock, sleek and fine In a sheltering cote in the vale; But a lamb was away, On the mountain astray, Unprotected within the safe pale.

Then the sleet and the rain On the mountain and plain, And the wind fiercely blowing a gale, And the night's growing dark, And the wolf's hungry bark Stir the soul of the shepherd so hale.

And he says, "Hireling, go; For a lamb's in the snow And exposed to the wild hungry beast; 'Tis no time to keep seat, Nor to rest weary feet, Nor to sit at a bounteous feast."