CONCERT RECITATIONS.

Meta E. B. Thorne.

[For Four Students.]

SPRING.The king of the day is exerting his power,And night and cold at his bidding depart;All nature in this resurrection hourWill welcome my advent with joyous heart.Then hasten, my children! Ho, March winds wild,O’er mountain and valley, blow, madly blow!Proclaim the glad coming of springtime mild,And speed the departure of frost and snow!Ye clouds of April, drop down your showers,And fill to the brim the rivers and rillsWith liquid laughter; May’s delicate flowersAwait your dripping ’mong valleys and hills.SUMMER.Spring scattered the seed with a lavish hand,Her whispering breezes and magic showersAwoke into life; see the serried ranks standOf fervid July’s lush grasses and flowers.Then August comes with her sultry noonsWhose hot breath gildeth the ripening grain,And the glorious light of her harvest moons;Now the reaper sings as he sweeps the plain:“My gleaming scythe I swing to and fro;Before it is falling the golden wheat—A precious store for the time of the snow;All praise to the Giver of mercies so sweet!”AUTUMN.The plentiful harvest is garnered in;But I bring September’s bounteous storeOf glowing fruitage, all hearts to win;Now the summer’s brilliant reign is o’er.Now, royal October the scepter wields,In whose wealth of rosy and mellow lightSeem glorified even the bare brown fields,With their delicate veil of haze bedight.And e’en when November, dark and chill,In her cloud-robe somber broods o’er the earth,When the birds are hushed ’mid woodland and hill,And the flowers are asleep till the spring’s glad birth,There are blossoms still for the trustful heart,Sweet hopes for what life may yet unfold,And memories precious that will not departWhen fades from the hill-tops the autumn’s gold.WINTER.I bring to the waiting fields the snow,December’s mantle so soft and pure,That covers the sleeping seeds below,To remain, till the spring’s return, secure.Ye think my touch unkind and rudeWhen the bracing frost and cold I bring,Ye chant in a pining, reproachful moodThe praises of summer and dewy spring;Yet oft at my touch the baleful seedsOf pestilence powerless fall in death;New vigor to youth and prime proceedsFrom my clear, keen, purifying breath.But richer delights to you I bring;For mine is the anniversary time,When “Good-will to men!” the angels sing,“Good-will!” the echoing joy-bells chime.

SPRING.

The king of the day is exerting his power,And night and cold at his bidding depart;All nature in this resurrection hourWill welcome my advent with joyous heart.Then hasten, my children! Ho, March winds wild,O’er mountain and valley, blow, madly blow!Proclaim the glad coming of springtime mild,And speed the departure of frost and snow!Ye clouds of April, drop down your showers,And fill to the brim the rivers and rillsWith liquid laughter; May’s delicate flowersAwait your dripping ’mong valleys and hills.

The king of the day is exerting his power,

And night and cold at his bidding depart;

All nature in this resurrection hour

Will welcome my advent with joyous heart.

Then hasten, my children! Ho, March winds wild,

O’er mountain and valley, blow, madly blow!

Proclaim the glad coming of springtime mild,

And speed the departure of frost and snow!

Ye clouds of April, drop down your showers,

And fill to the brim the rivers and rills

With liquid laughter; May’s delicate flowers

Await your dripping ’mong valleys and hills.

SUMMER.

Spring scattered the seed with a lavish hand,Her whispering breezes and magic showersAwoke into life; see the serried ranks standOf fervid July’s lush grasses and flowers.Then August comes with her sultry noonsWhose hot breath gildeth the ripening grain,And the glorious light of her harvest moons;Now the reaper sings as he sweeps the plain:“My gleaming scythe I swing to and fro;Before it is falling the golden wheat—A precious store for the time of the snow;All praise to the Giver of mercies so sweet!”

Spring scattered the seed with a lavish hand,

Her whispering breezes and magic showers

Awoke into life; see the serried ranks stand

Of fervid July’s lush grasses and flowers.

Then August comes with her sultry noons

Whose hot breath gildeth the ripening grain,

And the glorious light of her harvest moons;

Now the reaper sings as he sweeps the plain:

“My gleaming scythe I swing to and fro;

Before it is falling the golden wheat—

A precious store for the time of the snow;

All praise to the Giver of mercies so sweet!”

AUTUMN.

The plentiful harvest is garnered in;But I bring September’s bounteous storeOf glowing fruitage, all hearts to win;Now the summer’s brilliant reign is o’er.Now, royal October the scepter wields,In whose wealth of rosy and mellow lightSeem glorified even the bare brown fields,With their delicate veil of haze bedight.And e’en when November, dark and chill,In her cloud-robe somber broods o’er the earth,When the birds are hushed ’mid woodland and hill,And the flowers are asleep till the spring’s glad birth,There are blossoms still for the trustful heart,Sweet hopes for what life may yet unfold,And memories precious that will not departWhen fades from the hill-tops the autumn’s gold.

The plentiful harvest is garnered in;

But I bring September’s bounteous store

Of glowing fruitage, all hearts to win;

Now the summer’s brilliant reign is o’er.

Now, royal October the scepter wields,

In whose wealth of rosy and mellow light

Seem glorified even the bare brown fields,

With their delicate veil of haze bedight.

And e’en when November, dark and chill,

In her cloud-robe somber broods o’er the earth,

When the birds are hushed ’mid woodland and hill,

And the flowers are asleep till the spring’s glad birth,

There are blossoms still for the trustful heart,

Sweet hopes for what life may yet unfold,

And memories precious that will not depart

When fades from the hill-tops the autumn’s gold.

WINTER.

I bring to the waiting fields the snow,December’s mantle so soft and pure,That covers the sleeping seeds below,To remain, till the spring’s return, secure.Ye think my touch unkind and rudeWhen the bracing frost and cold I bring,Ye chant in a pining, reproachful moodThe praises of summer and dewy spring;Yet oft at my touch the baleful seedsOf pestilence powerless fall in death;New vigor to youth and prime proceedsFrom my clear, keen, purifying breath.But richer delights to you I bring;For mine is the anniversary time,When “Good-will to men!” the angels sing,“Good-will!” the echoing joy-bells chime.

I bring to the waiting fields the snow,

December’s mantle so soft and pure,

That covers the sleeping seeds below,

To remain, till the spring’s return, secure.

Ye think my touch unkind and rude

When the bracing frost and cold I bring,

Ye chant in a pining, reproachful mood

The praises of summer and dewy spring;

Yet oft at my touch the baleful seeds

Of pestilence powerless fall in death;

New vigor to youth and prime proceeds

From my clear, keen, purifying breath.

But richer delights to you I bring;

For mine is the anniversary time,

When “Good-will to men!” the angels sing,

“Good-will!” the echoing joy-bells chime.

Wilhelm Müller.

Solo.Up with windows, up with hearts!Concert.Swiftly, swiftly!Solo.Graybeard Winter seeks to go,He wanders troubled to and fro,He beats his breast full fearfullyAnd packs his duds right hastily,Concert.With speed, with speed.Solo.Up with windows, up with hearts!Concert.Swiftly, swiftly!Solo.The Springtime knocks and stamps without—And listen to his joyous shout!—Before the door he takes his stand,With beauteous flower-buds in his hand,Concert.With speed, with speed.Solo.Open windows, open hearts!Concert.Swiftly, swiftly!Solo.The brave young South-wind stands below,With round red cheeks and eyes aglow,And blows that doors and windows rattle,Till Winter yields him in the battle—Concert.With speed, with speed.Concert.Open windows, open hearts!With speed, with speed!Wild birds sound the battle-song—And hark, and hark! an echo long,An echo from my inmost heart—The joys of Spring bid Winter partWith speed, with speed.

Solo.Up with windows, up with hearts!

Concert.Swiftly, swiftly!

Solo.Graybeard Winter seeks to go,

He wanders troubled to and fro,

He beats his breast full fearfully

And packs his duds right hastily,

Concert.With speed, with speed.

Solo.Up with windows, up with hearts!Concert.Swiftly, swiftly!Solo.The Springtime knocks and stamps without—And listen to his joyous shout!—Before the door he takes his stand,With beauteous flower-buds in his hand,Concert.With speed, with speed.

Solo.Up with windows, up with hearts!

Concert.Swiftly, swiftly!

Solo.The Springtime knocks and stamps without—

And listen to his joyous shout!—

Before the door he takes his stand,

With beauteous flower-buds in his hand,

Concert.With speed, with speed.

Solo.Open windows, open hearts!Concert.Swiftly, swiftly!Solo.The brave young South-wind stands below,With round red cheeks and eyes aglow,And blows that doors and windows rattle,Till Winter yields him in the battle—Concert.With speed, with speed.

Solo.Open windows, open hearts!

Concert.Swiftly, swiftly!

Solo.The brave young South-wind stands below,

With round red cheeks and eyes aglow,

And blows that doors and windows rattle,

Till Winter yields him in the battle—

Concert.With speed, with speed.

Concert.Open windows, open hearts!With speed, with speed!Wild birds sound the battle-song—And hark, and hark! an echo long,An echo from my inmost heart—The joys of Spring bid Winter partWith speed, with speed.

Concert.Open windows, open hearts!

With speed, with speed!

Wild birds sound the battle-song—

And hark, and hark! an echo long,

An echo from my inmost heart—

The joys of Spring bid Winter part

With speed, with speed.

Charles Mackay.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.We may not live to see the day,But earth shall glisten in the rayOf the good time coming.Cannon-balls may aid the truth,But thought’s a weapon stronger;We’ll win our battle by its aid—Wait a little longer.Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.The pen shall supersede the sword,And Right, not Might, shall be the lordIn the good time coming.Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind,And be acknowledged stronger;The proper impulse has been given—Wait a little longer.Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.War in all men’s eyes shall beA monster of iniquityIn the good time coming;Nations shall not quarrel then,To prove which is the stronger;Nor slaughter men for glory’s sake—Wait a little longer.Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.Hateful rivalries of creedShall not make their martyrs bleedIn the good time coming.Religion shall be shorn of pride,And flourish all the stronger;And Charity shall trim her lamp—Wait a little longer.Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.Little children shall not toil,Under or above the soil,In the good time coming;But shall play in healthful fieldsTill limb and mind grow stronger;And every one shall read and write—Wait a little longer.Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.The people shall be temperate,And shall love instead of hateIn the good time coming.They shall use, and not abuse,And make all virtue stronger;The reformation has begun—Wait a little longer.Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Let us aid it all we can,Every woman, every man,The good time coming.Smallest helps, if rightly given,Make the impulse stronger;’Twill be strong enough one day—Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming.

Solo.We may not live to see the day,

But earth shall glisten in the ray

Of the good time coming.

Cannon-balls may aid the truth,

But thought’s a weapon stronger;

We’ll win our battle by its aid—

Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.The pen shall supersede the sword,And Right, not Might, shall be the lordIn the good time coming.Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind,And be acknowledged stronger;The proper impulse has been given—Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming.

Solo.The pen shall supersede the sword,

And Right, not Might, shall be the lord

In the good time coming.

Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind,

And be acknowledged stronger;

The proper impulse has been given—

Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.War in all men’s eyes shall beA monster of iniquityIn the good time coming;Nations shall not quarrel then,To prove which is the stronger;Nor slaughter men for glory’s sake—Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming.

Solo.War in all men’s eyes shall be

A monster of iniquity

In the good time coming;

Nations shall not quarrel then,

To prove which is the stronger;

Nor slaughter men for glory’s sake—

Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.Hateful rivalries of creedShall not make their martyrs bleedIn the good time coming.Religion shall be shorn of pride,And flourish all the stronger;And Charity shall trim her lamp—Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming.

Solo.Hateful rivalries of creed

Shall not make their martyrs bleed

In the good time coming.

Religion shall be shorn of pride,

And flourish all the stronger;

And Charity shall trim her lamp—

Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.Little children shall not toil,Under or above the soil,In the good time coming;But shall play in healthful fieldsTill limb and mind grow stronger;And every one shall read and write—Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming.

Solo.Little children shall not toil,

Under or above the soil,

In the good time coming;

But shall play in healthful fields

Till limb and mind grow stronger;

And every one shall read and write—

Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Solo.The people shall be temperate,And shall love instead of hateIn the good time coming.They shall use, and not abuse,And make all virtue stronger;The reformation has begun—Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming.

Solo.The people shall be temperate,

And shall love instead of hate

In the good time coming.

They shall use, and not abuse,

And make all virtue stronger;

The reformation has begun—

Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,A good time coming.Let us aid it all we can,Every woman, every man,The good time coming.Smallest helps, if rightly given,Make the impulse stronger;’Twill be strong enough one day—Wait a little longer.

Concert.There’s a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming.

Let us aid it all we can,

Every woman, every man,

The good time coming.

Smallest helps, if rightly given,

Make the impulse stronger;

’Twill be strong enough one day—

Wait a little longer.

Sir Walter Scott.

[For Boy’s Recitation.]

On came the whirlwind—like the lastBut fiercest sweep of tempest blast;On came the whirlwind—steel-gleams brokeLike lightning through the rolling smoke:The war was waked anew.Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud,And from their throats with flash and cloudTheir showers of iron threw.In one dark torrent, broad and strong,The advancing onset rolled along.But on the British heart were lostThe terrors of the charging host;For not an eye the storm that viewedChanged its proud glance of fortitude;Nor was one forward footstep stayedAs dropped the dying and the dead.Down were the eagle-banners sent,Down reeling steeds and riders went;Corselets were pierced and pennons rent,And, to augment the fray,Wheeled full against their staggering flanks,The English horsemen’s foaming ranksForced their resistless way.Then to the musket-knell succeedsThe clash of swords, the neigh of steeds;As plies the smith his clanging trade,Against the cuirass rang the blade;And while amid their scattered bandRaged the fierce rider’s bloody brand,Recoiled in common rout and fearLancer and guard and cuirassier,Horsemen and foot—a mingled host—Their leaders fallen, their standards lost.

On came the whirlwind—like the last

But fiercest sweep of tempest blast;

On came the whirlwind—steel-gleams broke

Like lightning through the rolling smoke:

The war was waked anew.

Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud,

And from their throats with flash and cloud

Their showers of iron threw.

In one dark torrent, broad and strong,

The advancing onset rolled along.

But on the British heart were lost

The terrors of the charging host;

For not an eye the storm that viewed

Changed its proud glance of fortitude;

Nor was one forward footstep stayed

As dropped the dying and the dead.

Down were the eagle-banners sent,

Down reeling steeds and riders went;

Corselets were pierced and pennons rent,

And, to augment the fray,

Wheeled full against their staggering flanks,

The English horsemen’s foaming ranks

Forced their resistless way.

Then to the musket-knell succeeds

The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds;

As plies the smith his clanging trade,

Against the cuirass rang the blade;

And while amid their scattered band

Raged the fierce rider’s bloody brand,

Recoiled in common rout and fear

Lancer and guard and cuirassier,

Horsemen and foot—a mingled host—

Their leaders fallen, their standards lost.

James Russell Lowell.

[Abbreviated for Concert Recitation.]

[The following selection is peculiarly effective for concert recitation on account of the great number and variety of vocal changes. The italicized words should be given with abrupt, explosive sounds; the italicized final consonants with extreme distinctness of articulation; the pauses indicated by dashes should be exaggerated, and the time most accurately marked.]

Suddenly—all the sky is hidAs with theshuttingof alid.One—by—one—great—drops—are falling,Doubtful—and—slow.Down the pane they are crookedly crawling,And the wind—breathes low.Now—on the hills—I hear the thunder-mutter,The wind—is gathering in the west.The upturned leaves first whiten and flutterThen droop—to a fitful rest.Nowleapsthewindon the sleepy marsh,Andtramplesthegrasswithterrified feet.Thestartled riverturns leaden and harsh,You canhearthequick heartof the tempestbeat.Look, look!thatlivid flash!And instantly follows the rattling thunderAs if some cloud-crag—split asunder—Fell—splintering with a ruinouscrash.Against the windows, the storm comesdashing;Through tattered foliage, the hail—tears crashing;The bluelightning—flashes,Therapid hail clashes,The white waves are tumbling,And in one baffled roar,The thunder—is rumbling—And crashing and crumbling.(Whisper) Hush! Still as deathThe tempest—holds his breath—As from a sudden will.The rain—stops—short—but from the eavesYou see it dropand hear it—on the leaves,(Half-whisper) All—is—so—still.Gone—gone—so soon!The pale and quiet moonMakes her calm forehead bare.No more my half-crazed fancy there.Can shape—a giant—in the air,And the last fragments of the storm,Like shattered rigging from a fightat sea,Silentand few—are drifting over me.

Suddenly—all the sky is hidAs with theshuttingof alid.One—by—one—great—drops—are falling,Doubtful—and—slow.Down the pane they are crookedly crawling,And the wind—breathes low.

Suddenly—all the sky is hid

As with theshuttingof alid.

One—by—one—great—drops—are falling,

Doubtful—and—slow.

Down the pane they are crookedly crawling,

And the wind—breathes low.

Now—on the hills—I hear the thunder-mutter,The wind—is gathering in the west.The upturned leaves first whiten and flutterThen droop—to a fitful rest.Nowleapsthewindon the sleepy marsh,Andtramplesthegrasswithterrified feet.Thestartled riverturns leaden and harsh,You canhearthequick heartof the tempestbeat.

Now—on the hills—I hear the thunder-mutter,

The wind—is gathering in the west.

The upturned leaves first whiten and flutter

Then droop—to a fitful rest.

Nowleapsthewindon the sleepy marsh,

Andtramplesthegrasswithterrified feet.

Thestartled riverturns leaden and harsh,

You canhearthequick heartof the tempestbeat.

Look, look!thatlivid flash!And instantly follows the rattling thunderAs if some cloud-crag—split asunder—Fell—splintering with a ruinouscrash.Against the windows, the storm comesdashing;Through tattered foliage, the hail—tears crashing;The bluelightning—flashes,Therapid hail clashes,

Look, look!thatlivid flash!

And instantly follows the rattling thunder

As if some cloud-crag—split asunder—

Fell—splintering with a ruinouscrash.

Against the windows, the storm comesdashing;

Through tattered foliage, the hail—tears crashing;

The bluelightning—flashes,

Therapid hail clashes,

The white waves are tumbling,And in one baffled roar,The thunder—is rumbling—And crashing and crumbling.

The white waves are tumbling,

And in one baffled roar,

The thunder—is rumbling—

And crashing and crumbling.

(Whisper) Hush! Still as deathThe tempest—holds his breath—As from a sudden will.The rain—stops—short—but from the eavesYou see it dropand hear it—on the leaves,(Half-whisper) All—is—so—still.

(Whisper) Hush! Still as death

The tempest—holds his breath—

As from a sudden will.

The rain—stops—short—but from the eaves

You see it dropand hear it—on the leaves,

(Half-whisper) All—is—so—still.

Gone—gone—so soon!The pale and quiet moonMakes her calm forehead bare.No more my half-crazed fancy there.Can shape—a giant—in the air,And the last fragments of the storm,Like shattered rigging from a fightat sea,Silentand few—are drifting over me.

Gone—gone—so soon!

The pale and quiet moon

Makes her calm forehead bare.

No more my half-crazed fancy there.

Can shape—a giant—in the air,

And the last fragments of the storm,

Like shattered rigging from a fightat sea,

Silentand few—are drifting over me.

C. B. LeRow.

[This selection is adapted for Solo and Concert recitation. The first two and last two lines of each stanza, andthe whole of the last stanza, are to be given in concert. The other lines can be assigned to one or to six students—the latter arrangement giving greater variety, as the stanzas differ widely in style. As the refrain, or chorus, is to imitate the peculiar beat or rhythm of the engine, the accent must fall upon the third syllable of each line, while each syllable is given withstaccatoeffect, and the whole line on a monotone. The fifth stanza represents two equal beats on the two syllables—the rhythm of the engine when moving in half time on account of danger.]

I.“We are ready for work—We are ready for work—”So says the great engine when we startAnd the steam comes up from its pulsing heart.With its hundred iron arms and handsIt is waiting to take us to foreign lands,And it says in the cheeriest sort of wayWhile our friends are watching us down the bay,“We are ready for work—We are ready for work—”II.“We will carry you over—We will carry you over—”It seems to say on the ocean wideWhen no land can be seen on either side;And we wonder how it can ever beThat we can go straight o’er the trackless sea.And we watch the engine day by day,Encouraged by what it seems to say,“We will carry you over—We will carry you over—”III.“Our work is praying—Our work is praying—”It says on the sunny Sabbath dayWhen the passengers meet to sing and pray;And through the sermon and chanted psalmWe listen with hearts subdued and calmTo the faithful strokes of the engine strongAs over the ocean we sail along;“Our work is praying—Our work is praying—”IV.“Sleep safe till morning—Sleep safe till morning—”Are the words we hear in the dead of nightWhen only the sailors can see a light;And the great ship rushes along as freeAs if the sunshine were on the sea;And we rest secure near the beating heartOf the engine doing its noble part;“Sleep safe till morning—Sleep safe till morning—”V.“Don’t fear—Don’t fear—”It can say no more in the heavy fogWhich seems its very breath to clog;While with hearts grown faint and lips that prayWe think of the friends who are far away,And of hidden perils and sudden deathAlthough the engine pants under breath,“Don’t fear—Don’t fear—”VI.“It is all right now—It is all right now—”Are the words we hear when the sun peeps throughAnd the leaden clouds catch a tint of blue;And the iron arms work hard and fast,For we are in sight of the land at last.And the engine seems as glad as weThat the ship is now from all danger free.“It is all right now—It is all right now—”VII.O brave engine, you little knowWhat to your faithful heart we owe.You did your duty by day and night;As well in the darkness as the light;Never letting an hour go by,Never stopping to question Why—Showing what beauty and grace can beIn honest Toil and Fidelity.

“We are ready for work—We are ready for work—”So says the great engine when we startAnd the steam comes up from its pulsing heart.With its hundred iron arms and handsIt is waiting to take us to foreign lands,And it says in the cheeriest sort of wayWhile our friends are watching us down the bay,“We are ready for work—We are ready for work—”

“We are ready for work—

We are ready for work—”

So says the great engine when we start

And the steam comes up from its pulsing heart.

With its hundred iron arms and hands

It is waiting to take us to foreign lands,

And it says in the cheeriest sort of way

While our friends are watching us down the bay,

“We are ready for work—

We are ready for work—”

II.

“We will carry you over—We will carry you over—”It seems to say on the ocean wideWhen no land can be seen on either side;And we wonder how it can ever beThat we can go straight o’er the trackless sea.And we watch the engine day by day,Encouraged by what it seems to say,“We will carry you over—We will carry you over—”

“We will carry you over—

We will carry you over—”

It seems to say on the ocean wide

When no land can be seen on either side;

And we wonder how it can ever be

That we can go straight o’er the trackless sea.

And we watch the engine day by day,

Encouraged by what it seems to say,

“We will carry you over—

We will carry you over—”

III.

“Our work is praying—Our work is praying—”It says on the sunny Sabbath dayWhen the passengers meet to sing and pray;And through the sermon and chanted psalmWe listen with hearts subdued and calmTo the faithful strokes of the engine strongAs over the ocean we sail along;“Our work is praying—Our work is praying—”

“Our work is praying—

Our work is praying—”

It says on the sunny Sabbath day

When the passengers meet to sing and pray;

And through the sermon and chanted psalm

We listen with hearts subdued and calm

To the faithful strokes of the engine strong

As over the ocean we sail along;

“Our work is praying—

Our work is praying—”

IV.

“Sleep safe till morning—Sleep safe till morning—”Are the words we hear in the dead of nightWhen only the sailors can see a light;And the great ship rushes along as freeAs if the sunshine were on the sea;And we rest secure near the beating heartOf the engine doing its noble part;“Sleep safe till morning—Sleep safe till morning—”

“Sleep safe till morning—

Sleep safe till morning—”

Are the words we hear in the dead of night

When only the sailors can see a light;

And the great ship rushes along as free

As if the sunshine were on the sea;

And we rest secure near the beating heart

Of the engine doing its noble part;

“Sleep safe till morning—

Sleep safe till morning—”

“Don’t fear—Don’t fear—”It can say no more in the heavy fogWhich seems its very breath to clog;While with hearts grown faint and lips that prayWe think of the friends who are far away,And of hidden perils and sudden deathAlthough the engine pants under breath,“Don’t fear—Don’t fear—”

“Don’t fear—

Don’t fear—”

It can say no more in the heavy fog

Which seems its very breath to clog;

While with hearts grown faint and lips that pray

We think of the friends who are far away,

And of hidden perils and sudden death

Although the engine pants under breath,

“Don’t fear—

Don’t fear—”

VI.

“It is all right now—It is all right now—”Are the words we hear when the sun peeps throughAnd the leaden clouds catch a tint of blue;And the iron arms work hard and fast,For we are in sight of the land at last.And the engine seems as glad as weThat the ship is now from all danger free.“It is all right now—It is all right now—”

“It is all right now—

It is all right now—”

Are the words we hear when the sun peeps through

And the leaden clouds catch a tint of blue;

And the iron arms work hard and fast,

For we are in sight of the land at last.

And the engine seems as glad as we

That the ship is now from all danger free.

“It is all right now—

It is all right now—”

VII.

O brave engine, you little knowWhat to your faithful heart we owe.You did your duty by day and night;As well in the darkness as the light;Never letting an hour go by,Never stopping to question Why—Showing what beauty and grace can beIn honest Toil and Fidelity.

O brave engine, you little know

What to your faithful heart we owe.

You did your duty by day and night;

As well in the darkness as the light;

Never letting an hour go by,

Never stopping to question Why—

Showing what beauty and grace can be

In honest Toil and Fidelity.

Mrs. E. Charles.

[Recitation for Two Students.]

FIRST.Where hast thou been toiling all day, sweetheart,That thy brow is burdened and sad?The Master’s work may make weary feet,But it leaves the spirit glad.SECOND.No pleasant garden-toils were mine;I have sat on the judgment-seatWhere the Master sits above, and callsThe children around His feet.FIRST.How camest thou on the judgment-seat?Sweetheart, who set thee there?’Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee,And well might fill thee with care.SECOND.I climbed on the judgment-seat myself,I have sat there alone all day,For it grieved me to see the children aroundIdling their life away.FIRST.And what didst thou on the judgment-seat,Sweetheart, what didst thou there?Would the idlers heed thy childish voice?Did the garden mend for thy care?SECOND.Nay, that grieved me more; I called and I cried,But they left me there forlorn;My voice was weak, and they heeded not,Or they laughed my words to scorn.FIRST.Ah, the judgment-seat was not for thee,The servants were not thine,And the eyes which fix the praise and the blameSee farther than thine or mine.SECOND.Should I see the Master’s treasures lost,The gifts that should feed his poor,And not lift my voice—be it weak as it may—And not be grievèd sore?FIRST.But how fared thy garden-plot, sweetheart,Whilst thou sat on the judgment-seat?Who watered thy roses and trained thy vines,And kept them from careless feet?SECOND.Nay, that is saddest of all to me,That is the saddest of all.My vines are trailing, my roses are parched.My lilies droop and fall.FIRST.Go back to thy garden-plot, sweetheart,Go back till the evening falls,And bind thy lilies and train thy vinesTill for thee the Master calls.Go make thy garden fair as thou canst,Thou workest never alone;Perchance he whose plot is next to thineWill see it and mend his own.And the next shall copy his, sweetheart,Till all grows fair and sweet;And when the Master comes at eveHappy faces His coming shall greet.Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart,In thy garden so fair to see,In the Master’s voice of praise for all,In a look of His own for thee.

FIRST.

Where hast thou been toiling all day, sweetheart,That thy brow is burdened and sad?The Master’s work may make weary feet,But it leaves the spirit glad.

Where hast thou been toiling all day, sweetheart,

That thy brow is burdened and sad?

The Master’s work may make weary feet,

But it leaves the spirit glad.

SECOND.

No pleasant garden-toils were mine;I have sat on the judgment-seatWhere the Master sits above, and callsThe children around His feet.

No pleasant garden-toils were mine;

I have sat on the judgment-seat

Where the Master sits above, and calls

The children around His feet.

FIRST.

How camest thou on the judgment-seat?Sweetheart, who set thee there?’Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee,And well might fill thee with care.

How camest thou on the judgment-seat?

Sweetheart, who set thee there?

’Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee,

And well might fill thee with care.

SECOND.

I climbed on the judgment-seat myself,I have sat there alone all day,For it grieved me to see the children aroundIdling their life away.

I climbed on the judgment-seat myself,

I have sat there alone all day,

For it grieved me to see the children around

Idling their life away.

FIRST.

And what didst thou on the judgment-seat,Sweetheart, what didst thou there?Would the idlers heed thy childish voice?Did the garden mend for thy care?

And what didst thou on the judgment-seat,

Sweetheart, what didst thou there?

Would the idlers heed thy childish voice?

Did the garden mend for thy care?

SECOND.

Nay, that grieved me more; I called and I cried,But they left me there forlorn;My voice was weak, and they heeded not,Or they laughed my words to scorn.

Nay, that grieved me more; I called and I cried,

But they left me there forlorn;

My voice was weak, and they heeded not,

Or they laughed my words to scorn.

FIRST.

Ah, the judgment-seat was not for thee,The servants were not thine,And the eyes which fix the praise and the blameSee farther than thine or mine.

Ah, the judgment-seat was not for thee,

The servants were not thine,

And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame

See farther than thine or mine.

SECOND.

Should I see the Master’s treasures lost,The gifts that should feed his poor,And not lift my voice—be it weak as it may—And not be grievèd sore?

Should I see the Master’s treasures lost,

The gifts that should feed his poor,

And not lift my voice—be it weak as it may—

And not be grievèd sore?

FIRST.

But how fared thy garden-plot, sweetheart,Whilst thou sat on the judgment-seat?Who watered thy roses and trained thy vines,And kept them from careless feet?

But how fared thy garden-plot, sweetheart,

Whilst thou sat on the judgment-seat?

Who watered thy roses and trained thy vines,

And kept them from careless feet?

SECOND.

Nay, that is saddest of all to me,That is the saddest of all.My vines are trailing, my roses are parched.My lilies droop and fall.

Nay, that is saddest of all to me,

That is the saddest of all.

My vines are trailing, my roses are parched.

My lilies droop and fall.

FIRST.

Go back to thy garden-plot, sweetheart,Go back till the evening falls,And bind thy lilies and train thy vinesTill for thee the Master calls.Go make thy garden fair as thou canst,Thou workest never alone;Perchance he whose plot is next to thineWill see it and mend his own.And the next shall copy his, sweetheart,Till all grows fair and sweet;And when the Master comes at eveHappy faces His coming shall greet.Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart,In thy garden so fair to see,In the Master’s voice of praise for all,In a look of His own for thee.

Go back to thy garden-plot, sweetheart,

Go back till the evening falls,

And bind thy lilies and train thy vines

Till for thee the Master calls.

Go make thy garden fair as thou canst,

Thou workest never alone;

Perchance he whose plot is next to thine

Will see it and mend his own.

And the next shall copy his, sweetheart,

Till all grows fair and sweet;

And when the Master comes at eve

Happy faces His coming shall greet.

Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart,

In thy garden so fair to see,

In the Master’s voice of praise for all,

In a look of His own for thee.

C. B. A.

[Recitation for Two Students.]

FIRST.There sat two glasses filled to the brimOn a rich man’s table, rim to rim;One was ruddy and red as blood,And one was as clear as the crystal flood.Said the glass of wine to the paler brother:SECOND.“Let us tell the tales of the past to each other;I can tell of a banquet and revel and mirth,Where the proudest and grandest souls on earthFell under my touch as though struck by blight;For I was a king, and I ruled in might;From the heads of kings I have torn the crown,From the height of fame I have hurled men down,I have blasted many an honored name;I have taken virtue and given shame;I have made the arm of the driver fail,And sent the train from the iron rail;I have made good ships go down at sea,And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me;For they said, ‘Behold, how great you be!Fame, strength, wealth, genius before you fall,And your might and power are over all.’Ho! ho! pale brother,” laughed the wine,“Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?”FIRST.Said the water-glass: “I cannot boastOf a king dethroned, or a murdered host;But I can tell of a heart once sad,By my crystal drops made light and glad;Of thirsts I’ve quenched, and brows I’ve laved;Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved;I have slept in the sunshine and dropped from the sky,And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye;I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain,I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain;I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,That ground out the flour and turned at my will;I can tell of manhood debased by you,That I have lifted and crowned anew.I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid;I gladden the heart of man and maid;I set the chained wine-captive free,And all are better for knowing me.”SECOND.These are the tales they told each other,The glass of wine and its paler brother,As they sat together, filled to the brim,On the rich man’s table, rim to rim.

FIRST.

There sat two glasses filled to the brimOn a rich man’s table, rim to rim;One was ruddy and red as blood,And one was as clear as the crystal flood.Said the glass of wine to the paler brother:

There sat two glasses filled to the brim

On a rich man’s table, rim to rim;

One was ruddy and red as blood,

And one was as clear as the crystal flood.

Said the glass of wine to the paler brother:

SECOND.

“Let us tell the tales of the past to each other;I can tell of a banquet and revel and mirth,Where the proudest and grandest souls on earthFell under my touch as though struck by blight;For I was a king, and I ruled in might;From the heads of kings I have torn the crown,From the height of fame I have hurled men down,I have blasted many an honored name;I have taken virtue and given shame;I have made the arm of the driver fail,And sent the train from the iron rail;I have made good ships go down at sea,And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me;For they said, ‘Behold, how great you be!Fame, strength, wealth, genius before you fall,And your might and power are over all.’Ho! ho! pale brother,” laughed the wine,“Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?”

“Let us tell the tales of the past to each other;

I can tell of a banquet and revel and mirth,

Where the proudest and grandest souls on earth

Fell under my touch as though struck by blight;

For I was a king, and I ruled in might;

From the heads of kings I have torn the crown,

From the height of fame I have hurled men down,

I have blasted many an honored name;

I have taken virtue and given shame;

I have made the arm of the driver fail,

And sent the train from the iron rail;

I have made good ships go down at sea,

And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me;

For they said, ‘Behold, how great you be!

Fame, strength, wealth, genius before you fall,

And your might and power are over all.’

Ho! ho! pale brother,” laughed the wine,

“Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?”

FIRST.

Said the water-glass: “I cannot boastOf a king dethroned, or a murdered host;But I can tell of a heart once sad,By my crystal drops made light and glad;Of thirsts I’ve quenched, and brows I’ve laved;Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved;I have slept in the sunshine and dropped from the sky,And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye;I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain,I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain;I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,That ground out the flour and turned at my will;I can tell of manhood debased by you,That I have lifted and crowned anew.I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid;I gladden the heart of man and maid;I set the chained wine-captive free,And all are better for knowing me.”

Said the water-glass: “I cannot boast

Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host;

But I can tell of a heart once sad,

By my crystal drops made light and glad;

Of thirsts I’ve quenched, and brows I’ve laved;

Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved;

I have slept in the sunshine and dropped from the sky,

And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye;

I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain,

I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain;

I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,

That ground out the flour and turned at my will;

I can tell of manhood debased by you,

That I have lifted and crowned anew.

I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid;

I gladden the heart of man and maid;

I set the chained wine-captive free,

And all are better for knowing me.”

SECOND.

These are the tales they told each other,The glass of wine and its paler brother,As they sat together, filled to the brim,On the rich man’s table, rim to rim.

These are the tales they told each other,

The glass of wine and its paler brother,

As they sat together, filled to the brim,

On the rich man’s table, rim to rim.

Concert.I stood on the shore of the beautiful sea,And the billows were rolling wild and free;Onward they came with unfailing force,Then backward turned in their restless course.Ever and ever they rose and fell,With heaving and surging and mighty swell:Ever and ever sounded their roar,Foaming and dashing against the shore.Solo.Oh, when shall the ocean’s troubled breastCalmly and quietly sink to rest?When shall the waves’ wild murmurs ceaseAnd the mighty waters be hushed in peace?Concert.It cannot be quiet; it cannot rest.There must be heaving on ocean’s breast,The tide must ebb and the tide must flowWhile the changing seasons come and go.Oh, strangely glorious, beautiful sea,Sounding forever mysteriously,Why are thy billows still rolling onWith that wild and sad and musical tone?Why is there never repose for theeO mighty, murmuring, sounding sea?Solo.Then the ocean’s voice I seemed to hear,Mournfully, solemnly sounding near,Telling of loved ones buried there,Of the dying shriek and the dying prayer;Telling of hearts still watching in vainFor those who shall never come back again;Oh, no! the ocean can never restWith such secrets hidden within its breast.But a day shall come, a blessed day,When earthly sorrow shall pass away,When the hour of anguish shall turn to peace,And even the roar of the waves shall cease.Concert.But, oh! thou glorious, beautiful sea,There is health, and joy, and delight in thee.Solemnly, sweetly, I hear thy voiceBidding me weep and yet rejoice:Weep for the loved ones buried beneath,Rejoice in Him who has conquered death;Weep for the sorrowing, tempest-tossed,Rejoice in Him who has saved the lost;Weep for the sin and sorrow of strife,Rejoice in the hope of eternal life!

Concert.I stood on the shore of the beautiful sea,

And the billows were rolling wild and free;

Onward they came with unfailing force,

Then backward turned in their restless course.

Ever and ever they rose and fell,

With heaving and surging and mighty swell:

Ever and ever sounded their roar,

Foaming and dashing against the shore.

Solo.Oh, when shall the ocean’s troubled breastCalmly and quietly sink to rest?When shall the waves’ wild murmurs ceaseAnd the mighty waters be hushed in peace?

Solo.Oh, when shall the ocean’s troubled breast

Calmly and quietly sink to rest?

When shall the waves’ wild murmurs cease

And the mighty waters be hushed in peace?

Concert.It cannot be quiet; it cannot rest.There must be heaving on ocean’s breast,The tide must ebb and the tide must flowWhile the changing seasons come and go.Oh, strangely glorious, beautiful sea,Sounding forever mysteriously,Why are thy billows still rolling onWith that wild and sad and musical tone?Why is there never repose for theeO mighty, murmuring, sounding sea?

Concert.It cannot be quiet; it cannot rest.

There must be heaving on ocean’s breast,

The tide must ebb and the tide must flow

While the changing seasons come and go.

Oh, strangely glorious, beautiful sea,

Sounding forever mysteriously,

Why are thy billows still rolling on

With that wild and sad and musical tone?

Why is there never repose for thee

O mighty, murmuring, sounding sea?

Solo.Then the ocean’s voice I seemed to hear,Mournfully, solemnly sounding near,Telling of loved ones buried there,Of the dying shriek and the dying prayer;Telling of hearts still watching in vainFor those who shall never come back again;Oh, no! the ocean can never restWith such secrets hidden within its breast.But a day shall come, a blessed day,When earthly sorrow shall pass away,When the hour of anguish shall turn to peace,And even the roar of the waves shall cease.

Solo.Then the ocean’s voice I seemed to hear,

Mournfully, solemnly sounding near,

Telling of loved ones buried there,

Of the dying shriek and the dying prayer;

Telling of hearts still watching in vain

For those who shall never come back again;

Oh, no! the ocean can never rest

With such secrets hidden within its breast.

But a day shall come, a blessed day,

When earthly sorrow shall pass away,

When the hour of anguish shall turn to peace,

And even the roar of the waves shall cease.

Concert.But, oh! thou glorious, beautiful sea,There is health, and joy, and delight in thee.Solemnly, sweetly, I hear thy voiceBidding me weep and yet rejoice:Weep for the loved ones buried beneath,Rejoice in Him who has conquered death;Weep for the sorrowing, tempest-tossed,Rejoice in Him who has saved the lost;Weep for the sin and sorrow of strife,Rejoice in the hope of eternal life!

Concert.But, oh! thou glorious, beautiful sea,

There is health, and joy, and delight in thee.

Solemnly, sweetly, I hear thy voice

Bidding me weep and yet rejoice:

Weep for the loved ones buried beneath,

Rejoice in Him who has conquered death;

Weep for the sorrowing, tempest-tossed,

Rejoice in Him who has saved the lost;

Weep for the sin and sorrow of strife,

Rejoice in the hope of eternal life!

Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.

[Selection for Twelve Students.]

January.Darkness and light reign alike. Snow is on the ground, cold is in the air. The winter is blossoming in frost-flowers. Old sounds are silent in the forest and in the air. Insects are dead, birds are gone, leaves have perished. So hath God wiped out the past; so hath he spread the earth, like an unwritten page, for a new year.

February.As the month wears on its silent work begins, though storms rage. The earth is hidden yet, but not dead. The sun is drawing near. He whispers words of deliverance into the ears of every sleeping seed and root that lies beneath the snow. The day opens, but the night shuts the earth with its frost-lock; but day steadily gains upon the night.

March.The conflict is more turbulent, but the victory is gained. The world awakes. There come voices from long-hidden birds. The smell of the soil is in the air. The sullen ice, retreating from open field and all sunny places, has slunk to the north of every fence and rock. The knolls and banks that face the east or south sigh for release, and begin to lift up a thousand tiny palms.

April.The singing month. Many voices of many birds call for resurrection over the graves of flowers, and they come forth. Go, see what they have lost. What have ice, and snow, and storm done unto them? How did they fall into the earth, stripped and bare? How did they come forth, opening and glorified? Is it,then, so fearful a thing to lie in the grave? In its wild career, shaking and scourged of storms through its orbit, the earth has scattered away no treasures. The Hand that governs in April governed in January. You have not lost what God has only hidden. You lose nothing in struggle, in trial, in bitter distress.

May.O Flower-month! perfect the harvests of flowers. Be not niggardly. Search out the cold and resentful nooks that refused the sun, casting back its rays from disdainful ice, and plant flowers even there. There is goodness in the worst. There is warmth in the coldest. The silent, hopeful, unbreathing sun, that will not fret or despond, but carries a placid brow through the unwrinkled heavens, at length conquers the very rocks, and lichens grow and inconspicuously blossom. What shall not Time do, that carries in its bosom Love?

June.Rest! This is the year’s bower. Sit down within it. The winds bring perfume, the forests sing to thee, the earth shows thee all her treasures. The air is all sweetness. The storms are but as flocks of mighty birds that spread their wings and sing in the high heaven. The earth cries to the heavens, “God is here!” The heavens cry to the earth, “God is here!” The land claims him, and his footsteps are upon the sea. O sunny joys of sunny June, how soon will you be scorched by the eager months coming burning from the equator!

July.Rouse up! The temperate heats that filled the air are raging forward to glow and overfill the earth. There are deep and unreached places for whose sake the probing sun pierces down its glowing hands. The earth shall drink of the heat before she knows her nature orher strength. Then shall she bring forth to the uttermost the treasures of her bosom. For there are things hidden far down, and the deep things of life are not known till the fire reveals them.

August.Reign, thou Fire-month! Neither shalt thou destroy the earth which frosts and ice could not destroy. The vines droop, the trees stagger, but every night the dew pities them. This is the rejoicing month for joyful insects, the most populous and the happiest month. The air is resonant of insect orchestras, each one carrying his part in nature’s grand harmony. August, thou art the ripeness of the year, the glowing center of the great circle.

September.There are thoughts in thy heart of death. Thou art doing a secret work, and heaping up treasures for another year. The unborn infant-buds which thou art tending are more than all the living leaves. Thy robes are luxuriant, but worn with softened pride. More dear, less beautiful than June, thou art the heart’s month. Not till the heats of summer are gone, while all its growths remain, do we know the fullness of life. Thy hands are stretched out, and clasp the glowing palm of August, and the fruit-smelling hand of October. Thou dividest them asunder, and art thyself molded of them both.

October.Orchard of the year! Bend thy boughs to the earth, redolent of glowing fruit! Ripened seeds shake in their pods. Apples drop in the stillest hours. Leaves begin to let go when no wind is out, and swing in long waverings to the earth, which they touch without sound, and lie looking up, till winds rake them and heap them in fence-corners. When the gales come through the trees, the yellow leaves trail, like sparks atnight behind the flying engine. The woods are thinner, so that we can see the heavens plainer, as we lie dreaming on the yet warm moss by the singing spring. The days are calm. The nights are tranquil. The year’s work is done. She walks in gorgeous apparel, looking upon her long labor, and her serene eye saith, “It is good.”

November.Patient watcher, thou art asking to lay down thy tasks. Life to thee, now, is only a task accomplished. In the night-time thou liest down, and the messengers of winter deck thee with hoar-frosts for thy burial. The morning looks upon thy jewels, and they perish while it gazes. Wilt thou not come, O December?

December.Silently the month advances. There is nothing to destroy, but much to bury. Bury, then, thou snow, that slumberously fallest through the still air, the hedgerows of leaves! Muffle thy cold wool about the feet of shivering trees! Bury all that the year hath known, and let thy brilliant stars, that never shine as they do in thy frostiest nights, behold the work! But know, O month of destruction, that in thy constellation is set that Star whose rising is the sign, for evermore, that there is life in death! Thou art the month of resurrection. In thee the Christ came. Every star that looks down upon thy labor and toil of burial knows that all things shall come forth again. Storms shall sob themselves to sleep. Silence shall find a voice. Death shall live, Life shall rejoice, Winter shall break forth and blossom into Spring, Spring shall put on her glorious apparel and be called Summer. It is life! it is life! through the whole year!

[The following can be read by a class in concert, or by two sections of a class. It is a fine exercise in transition from soft to loud Force, slow to quick Time, low to high Pitch, minor to major Inflection.]

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