Wings for the angels, but feet for men!

We may borrow the wings to find the way

We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and

pray,

But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; But the dream departs, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at 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. G. Holland.

GOD SAVE THE FLAG.*

Washed in the blood of the brave and the blooming,

Snatched from the altars of insolent foes, Burning with star-fires, but never consuming, Flashed its broad ribbons of lily and rose.

Vainly the prophets of Baal would rend it, Vainly his worshipers pray for its fall; Thousands have died for it, millions defend it, Emblem of justice and mercy to all.

Justice that reddens the sky with her terrors, Mercy that comes with her white-handed

train,

Soothing all passions, redeeming all errors,
Sheathing the saber and breaking the chain.

Born on the deluge of old usurpations,
Drifted our Ark o'er the desolate seas,

Bearing the rainbow of hope to the nations Torn from the storm-cloud and flung to the breeze!

God bless the flag and its loyal defenders While its broad folds o'er the battle-fields

wave,

*Copyrighted by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.

Till the dim star-wreaths rekindle. its splendors

Washed from its stains in the blood of the

brave!

- Oliver Wendell Holmes.

LIFE.*

Forenoon and afternoon and night - Forenoon and afternoon and night,

The empty song repeats itself. No more? Yea, that is life: Make this forenoon sublime, This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer, And Time is conquered and thy crown is won. -Edward Rowland Sill.

*Copyrighted by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Reprinted by permission of the publishers

HYMN TO THE NIGHT.

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!

I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls!

I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o'er me from above;

The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold soft chimes,

That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
Like some old poet's rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;

The fountain of perpetual peace flows there-
From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!

Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,
And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!

Descend with, broad-winged flight,

The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most

fair,

The best beloved Night!

-Longfellow.

THE BUILDERS.

All are architects of Fate,

Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;

Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,

Time is with materials filled;

Our to-days and yesterdays

Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fasten these;

Leave no yawning gaps between;