The charcoal frescoes on the wall, The feet that, creeping slow to school, Long years ago a winter's sun It touched the tangled golden curls, For near her stood the little boy Where pride and shame were mingled Pushing with restless feet the snow The blue-checked apron fingered. He saw her lift her eyes; he felt And heard the tremble of her voice, "I'm sorry that I spelt the word, I hate to go above you, Because the brown eyes lower fell -"Because, you see, I love you." Still memory to a gray-haired man He lives to learn in life's hard school, Whittier TAKE CARE. Little children, you must seck If you think that you can be You are quite mistaken there. Go and stand before the glass, And some ugly thought contrive, What you have and what you lack, And not only in the glass Will your secrets come to view; All beholders, as they pass, Will perceive and know them, too. Goodness shows in blushes bright, Out of sight, my boys and girls, More about your minds and hearts Cherish what is good, and drive For, as sure as you're alive, You will show for what you are. A LIFE LESSON.* There! little girl; don't cry! They have broken your doll, I know; And your tea-set blue, And your play-house, too, But childish troubles will soon pass by. There! little girl; don't cry! They have broken your slate, I know; And the glad wild ways Of your school-girl days Are things of the long ago; But life and love will soon come by. There little girl; don't cry! They have broken your heart, I know; And the rainbow gleams Of your youthful dreams Are things of the long ago; But heaven holds all for which you sigh James Whitcomb Riley. From "After whiles," copyrighted 1887, by Bowen-Merrill C FIFTH GRADE THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long; His brow is wet with honest sweat; And looks the whole world in the face, Week in, week out, from morn to night, Like a sexton ringing the village bell -3 |