Part 8
In the following sentences, instead of the words in italics, use others that have the same general meaning:
I heard these words _ringing_ out from a _room_ so _crowded_ with _people_ that I could _but_ just _see_ the man's _face._ How _fast_ and _steadily_ the present time is _slipping_ away!
Punctuate the following:
Go to the ant thou sluggard consider her ways and be wise.
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_51_
yearn car' ol mus' ing stee' ple mag' ic al
SEVEN TIMES TWO.
You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes, How many soever they be, And let the brown meadowlark's note, as he ranges, Come over, come over to me!
Yet birds' clearest carol, by fall or by swelling, No magical sense conveys; And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days.
"Turn again, turn again!" once they rang cheerily, While a boy listened alone; Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily All by himself on a stone.
Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are over, And mine, they are yet to be; No listening, no longing, shall aught, aught discover: You leave the story to me.
The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather, And hangeth her hoods of snow; She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather: Oh, children take long to grow!
I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late; And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, For some things are ill to wait.
I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, While dear hands are laid on my head, "The child is a woman--the book may close over, For all the lessons are said."
I wait for my story: the birds cannot sing it, Not one, as he sits on the tree; The bells cannot ring it, but long years, O bring it! Such as I wish it to be.
_Jean Ingelow._
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"TURN AGAIN, TURN AGAIN!" Reference is here made to Dick Whittington, a poor orphan country lad, who went to London to earn a living, and who afterwards rose to be the first Lord Mayor of that city.
NOTE.--This poem is the second of a series of seven lyrics, entitled "The Songs of Seven," which picture seven stages in a woman's life. For the first of the series, "Seven Times One," see page 44 of the Fourth Reader. Read it in connection with this. "Seven Times Two" shows the girl standing at the entrance to maidenhood, books closed and lessons said, longing for the years to go faster to bring to her the happiness she imagines is waiting.
[Illustration:]
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_52_
man' i fold do mes' tic pet' tish ly in grat' i tude
MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.
It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred mound beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful period, a great change had come over me. My childish years had passed away, and with them my youthful character. The world was altered, too; and as I stood at my mother's grave, I could hardly realize that I was the same thoughtless, happy creature, whose cheeks she so often kissed in an excess of tenderness.
But the varied events of thirteen years had not effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I had seen her but yesterday--as if the blessed sound of her well-remembered voice was in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind that, had it not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have been gentle and refreshing.
The circumstance may seem a trifling one, but the thought of it now pains my heart; and I relate it, that those children who have parents to love them may learn to value them as they ought.
My mother had been ill a long time, and I had become so accustomed to her pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as children usually are. At first, it is true, I sobbed violently; but when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same, I began to believe she would always be spared to me; but they told me she would die.
One day when I had lost my place in the class, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went to my mother's chamber. She was paler than usual, but she met me with the same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas! when I look back through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must have been stone not to have been melted by it. She requested me to go downstairs and bring her a glass of water. I pettishly asked her why she did not call a domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I shall never forget if I live to be a hundred years old, she said, "Will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor, sick mother?"
I went and brought her the water, but I did not do it kindly. Instead of smiling, and kissing her as I had been wont to do, I set the glass down very quickly, and left the room. After playing a short time, I went to bed without bidding my mother good night; but when alone in my room, in darkness and silence, I remembered how pale she looked, and how her voice trembled when she said, "Will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor, sick mother?" I could not sleep. I stole into her chamber to ask forgiveness. She had sunk into an easy slumber, and they told me I must not waken her.
I did not tell anyone what troubled me, but stole back to my bed, resolved to rise early in the morning and tell her how sorry I was for my conduct. The sun was shining brightly when I awoke, and, hurrying on my clothes, I hastened to my mother's chamber. She was dead! She never spoke more--never smiled upon me again; and when I touched the hand that used to rest upon my head in blessing, it was so cold that it made me start.
I bowed down by her side, and sobbed in the bitterness of my heart. I then wished that I might die, and be buried with her; and, old as I now am, I would give worlds, were they mine to give, could my mother but have lived to tell me she forgave my childish ingratitude. But I cannot call her back; and when I stand by her grave, and whenever I think of her manifold kindness, the memory of that reproachful look she gave me will bite like a serpent and sting like an adder.
* * * * *
Memory Gem:
"But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!"
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_53_
chide be dewed' em balmed' be tide' lin' gered wor' shiped
THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.
I love it, I love it; and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old Arm-chair? I've treasured it long as a sainted prize; I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs. 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart; Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would ye learn the spell?--a mother sat there! And a sacred thing is that old Arm-chair.
In Childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed seat with listening ear; And gentle words that mother would give, To fit me to die, and teach me to live. She told me that shame would never betide, With truth for my creed and God for my guide; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer, As I knelt beside that old Arm-chair.
I sat and watched her many a day, When her eye grew dim and her locks were gray; And I almost worshiped her when she smiled, And turned from her Bible to bless her child. Years rolled on; but the last one sped-- My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled: I learned how much the heart can bear, When I saw her die in that old Arm-chair.
'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now With quivering breath and throbbing brow: 'Twas there she nursed me; 'twas there she died; And Memory flows with lava tide. Say it is folly, and deem me weak, While the scalding drops start down my cheek; But I love it, I love it; and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old Arm-chair.
_Eliza Cook._
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SPELL, a verse or phrase or word supposed to have magical power; a charm.
HALLOWED, made holy.
HOLLOWED, made a hole out of; made hollow. Use these two words in sentences of your own.
What is meant by "Memory flows with lava tide?"
Write a two-paragraph description of an old arm-chair. Your imagination will furnish you with all needed details.
Divide the following words into their syllables, and mark the accented syllable of each:
absurd, every, nature, mature, leisure, valuable, safety, again, virtue, ancient, weather, history, poetry, mother, genuine, earliest, fatigued, business.
The dictionary will aid you.
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_54_
crags break tongue thoughts ha' ven sail' or state' ly
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK!
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay!
And the stately ships go on To the haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!
Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
_Tennyson_.
[Illustration: Tennyson]
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_55_
barns deaf en ing i dol' a trous pon' der ca lum' ni ate Be at' i tudes
GOD IS OUR FATHER.
The Old Law, the Law given to the Jews on Mount Sinai, tended to inspire the fear of God, which is the beginning of wisdom. It was given amidst fire and smoke, thunders and lightnings, and whatever else could fill the minds of the Jews with fear and wonder. Compelled, as it were, by the idolatrous acts of His chosen people, by their repeated rebellions, and their endless murmurings, God showed Himself to them as the almighty Sovereign, the King of kings, the Lord of lords, whose holiness, power, majesty, and severity in punishing sin, filled their minds with awe and dread.
It was not thus that the New Law, the Law of grace and love, was given to the world. No dark cloud covered the mount of the Beatitudes from which our Lord preached; no deafening thunders were heard; no angry flashes of lightning were visible. There was nothing forbidding in the voice, words, or appearance of the Divine Lawgiver. In the whole exterior of our Savior there was a something so sweet, so humble, so meek and captivating, that the people were filled with admiration and love.
One of the most remarkable features of this first sermon that Christ preached is the fact that He constantly called God our Father. How beautifully His teachings reveal the spirit of the Law of love! Listen to Him attentively, and ponder upon His words:
"Take heed that you do not your justice before men, to be seen by them: otherwise you shall not have a reward of your FATHER WHO is in heaven.... But when thou dost alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doth; that thy alms may be in secret, and thy FATHER WHO seeth in secret will repay thee.... Love your enemies; do good to them that hate you; and pray for them that persecute and calumniate you; that you may be the children of your FATHER WHO is in heaven, Who maketh His sun to rise upon the good and bad, and raineth upon the just and the unjust.
"Behold the birds of the air, for they neither sow, nor do they reap, nor gather into barns: and your heavenly FATHER feedeth them. Are not you of much more value than they?... If you, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your FATHER WHO is in heaven give good things to them that ask Him.... For if you will forgive men their offenses, your heavenly FATHER will forgive you also your offenses. But if you will not forgive men, neither will your FATHER forgive you your offenses.... Thus therefore shall you pray: OUR FATHER Who art in heaven."
From these and many other similar expressions found in the very first sermon which Jesus Christ ever preached, we learn that it is the expressed will of God that we should look upon Him as our loving Father; and that, however unworthy we may be, we should look upon ourselves as His beloved children. There cannot be a possible doubt of this, since it is taught so positively by His only begotten Son, Who is "the Way, the Truth, and the Life."
[Illustration: _Henry le Jeune._]
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Sinai (s[=i]' n[=a]), a mountain in Arabia.
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_56_
HAPPY OLD AGE.
"You are old, Father William," the young man cried; "The few locks that are left you are gray; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man; Now, tell me the reason, I pray."
"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigor at first, That I never might need them at last."
"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death! Now, tell me the reason, I pray."
"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied; "Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth I remembered my God! And He hath not forgotten my age."
_Robert Southey._
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Tell the story of the poem in your own words. What are some of the important lessons it teaches?
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_57_
smit' ing el' o quence mes' mer ize ges' ture vin' e gar un dy' ing ly
KIND WORDS.
Kind words are the music of the world. They have a power which seems to be beyond natural causes, as if they were some angel's song, which had lost its way and come on earth, and sang on undyingly, smiting the hearts of men with sweetest wounds, and putting for the while an angel's nature into us.
Let us then think first of all of the power of kind words. In truth, there is hardly a power on earth equal to them. It seems as they could almost do what in reality God alone can do, namely, soften the hard and angry hearts of men. Many a friendship, long, loyal, and self-sacrificing, rested at first on no thicker a foundation than a kind word.
Kind words produce happiness. How often have we ourselves been made happy by kind words, in a manner and to an extent which we are unable to explain! And happiness is a great power of holiness. Thus, kind words, by their power of producing happiness, have also a power of producing holiness, and so of winning men to God.
If I may use such a word when I am speaking of religious subjects, it is by voice and words that men mesmerize each other. Hence it is that the world is converted by the voice of the preacher. Hence it is that an angry word rankles longer in the heart than an angry gesture, nay, very often even longer than a blow. Thus, all that has been said of the power of kindness in general applies with an additional and peculiar force to kind words.
_Father Faber._
From "Spiritual Conferences."
* * * * *
Explain: Kind words are the music of the world--An angel's song that had lost its way and come on earth--Smiting the hearts of men with sweetest wounds--Putting an angel's nature into us--Hard and angry hearts of men--An angry word rankles longer in the heart than even a blow.
Mention some occasions when kind words addressed to you made you very happy. Which will bring a person more happiness,--to have kind words said to him, or for him to say them to another?
Memorize the first paragraph of the selection.
Memory Gems:
Kindness has converted more sinners than either zeal, eloquence, or learning.
_Father Faber._
You will catch more flies with a spoonful of honey than with a hundred barrels of vinegar.
_St. Francis de Sales._
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_58_
KINDNESS IS THE WORD.
Memorize:
"What is the real good?" I asked in musing mood.
Order, said the law court; Knowledge, said the school; Truth, said the wise man; Pleasure, said the fool; Love, said the maiden; Beauty, said the page; Freedom, said the dreamer; Home, said the sage; Fame, said the soldier; Equity, said the seer;--
Spake my heart full sadly: "The answer is not here."
Then within my bosom Softly this I heard: "Each heart holds the secret: Kindness is the word."
_John Boyle O'Reilly._
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SAGE, a wise man.
SEER, one who foresees events; a prophet.
EQUITY ([)e]k' w[)i] t[)y]), justice, fairness.
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_59_
va' cant joc' und pen' sive spright' ly sol' i tude daf' fo dils con tin' u ous
DAFFODILS.
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of the bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company. I gazed,--and gazed,--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
_William Wordsworth._
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MILKY WAY, the belt of light seen at night in the heavens, and is composed of millions of stars.
1st stanza: Explain, "I wandered lonely." To what does the poet compare his loneliness?
What did the poet see "all at once?" Where? What were the daffodils doing?
What picture do the first two lines bring to mind? Describe the picture contained in the remaining lines of this stanza.
2d stanza: How does the poet tell what a great crowd of daffodils there were? How would you tell it?
How does he say the daffodils were arranged? What does _margin_ mean?
How many daffodils did he see? In this stanza, what does he say they were doing?
3d stanza: What is said of the waves? In what did the daffodils surpass the waves?
What do the third and fourth lines of this stanza mean?
4th stanza: What does "in vacant mood" mean? "In pensive mood?" "Inward eye?"
How does this inward eye make bliss for us in solitude?
What feelings did the thought of what he saw awaken in the heart of the poet?
What changed the wanderer's loneliness, as told at the beginning of the poem, to gayety, as told towards the end?
Commit the poem to memory.
[Illustration:]
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_60_
hos' tile en dowed' tu' mult ac' o lyte ep' i taph grav' i ty com' bat ants pref' er ence a maz' ed ly ath let' ic Vi at' i cum in her' it ance cem' e ter y re tal' i ate un flinch' ing ly ir re sist' i ble un vi' o la ted con temp' tu ous ly
THE STORY OF TARCISIUS.
At the time our story opens, a bloody persecution of the Church was going on, and all the prisons of Rome were filled with Christians condemned to death for the Faith. Some were to die on the morrow, and to these it was necessary to send the Holy Viaticum to strengthen their souls for the battle before them. On this day, when the hostile passions of heathen Rome were unusually excited by the coming slaughter of so many Christian victims, it was a work of more than common danger to discharge this duty.
The Sacred Bread was prepared, and the priest turned round from the altar on which it was placed, to see who would be its safest bearer. Before any other could step forward, the young acolyte Tarcisius knelt at his feet. With his hands extended before him, ready to receive the sacred deposit, with a countenance beautiful in its lovely innocence as an angel's, he seemed to entreat for preference, and even to claim it.
"Thou art too young, my child," said the kind priest, filled with admiration of the picture before him.
"My youth, holy father, will be my best protection. Oh! do not refuse me this great honor." The tears stood in the boy's eyes, and his cheeks glowed with a modest emotion, as he spoke these words. He stretched forth his hands eagerly, and his entreaty was so full of fervor and courage, that the plea was irresistible. The priest took the Divine Mysteries, wrapped up carefully in a linen cloth, then in an outer covering, and put them on his palms, saying--
"Remember, Tarcisius, what a treasure is intrusted to thy feeble care. Avoid public places as thou goest along; and remember that holy things must not be delivered to dogs, nor pearls be cast before swine. Thou wilt keep safely God's sacred gifts?"
"I will die rather than betray them," answered the holy youth, as he folded the heavenly trust in the bosom of his tunic, and with cheerful reverence started on his journey. There was a gravity beyond the usual expression of his years stamped upon his countenance, as he tripped lightly along the streets, avoiding equally the more public, and the too low, thoroughfares.
As he was approaching the door of a large mansion, its mistress, a rich lady without children, saw him coming, and was struck with his beauty and sweetness, as, with arms folded on his breast, he was hastening on. "Stay one moment, dear child," she said, putting herself in his way; "tell me thy name, and where do thy parents live?"
"I am Tarcisius, an orphan boy," he replied, looking up smilingly; "and I have no home, save one which it might be displeasing to thee to hear."
"Then come into my house and rest; I wish to speak to thee. Oh, that I had a child like thee!"
"Not now, noble lady, not now. I have intrusted to me a most solemn and sacred duty, and I must not tarry a moment in its performance."
"Then promise to come to me tomorrow; this is my house."