With a calm brow, and steady brow, In his look there is no fear, Nor a shadow-trace of gloom; In the long night, the still night, He walks where Christ hath trod. And he mourns that he can lose And in the blue morn, the sunny morn, But his last words, his message-words, With his last words, his dying words, A soldier's battle-cry. From fame-leaf and angel-leaf, From monument and urn, The sad of earth, the glad of heaven, And on fame-leaf and angel-leaf -In Judge. That Game of Quoits BY VICTOR A. HERMANN. [In Judge.] I hev seen them city fellers playin' golf out on the links, An' it looked like you could l'arn the game in four an' twenty winks; An' I've seen the gals in sweaters playin' tennis on the lawn, An' others playin' croquet till their slowness made you yawn. In fact, a game of baseball seems to me to be quite tame When compared with one excitin' an' real good old-fashioned game, Played by Squire Riggsby an', perhaps, a dozen moreYes, a game of quoits with horseshoes in the back of . Peter's store! When the first warm wind of springtime came a-sighin' through the grove, An' it got too warm for checkers in the back of Peter's stove, "Pegleg" Smith an' Grandpap Saunders hung their coats up in a tree, Banked the clay an' druv the pegs home just as true as they could be; Searched aroun' the whole blamed county for old horseshoes, rusty, red (Even stole ol' Peter's horseshoe that was hangin' over head), Started playin' after dinner, with Pap Spruceby keepin' score, In a game of quoits with horseshoes in the back of Peter's store! Through the spring an' through the summer till the late fall came aroun', An' the frost was on the pumpkin an' the snow was on the groun', You could find the same old codgers pitchin' horseshoes every day, Controversin' an' contestin' every game that they would play; Squire Cole would fume an' argue till his face was like a beet, An' his claims would get the others' feelin's up to fever heat, Till you'd think there'd be a riot, but 'twas fun an' noth in' more, In that game of quoits with horseshoes in the back of Peter's store! True Heroism BY MRS. EDWIN N. BROWN. 'T is not an easy thing, my dear, To see our cherished joys depart, To wear the mask of happiness, To calmly watch our ship sail on And know it bears our kindred ties Up, then, and bear thy burden still, Then, though thy trials at thy heart Thy soul shall wear the victor's smile, The Way to Win BY DARIUS EARL MATSON. If ye'r goin' in a race W'y, go in to win; If you lose, it's no disgrace, Ér no partic'lar sin; You jest do yer level best, If ye'r goin' in a race, If you brag ye'r wastin' breath That you'll need fer runnin' with. If ye'r goin' in a race, If you kin, w'y, set the pace, But do it fair; If to win you have to cheat, Let the other feller beat; Love on Deck* BY GEORGE BARLOW. "I never loved you much," she said, The hours pass slow on a ship, you know, Have I hurt you much? Forgive me, then, If I own that I was wrong. Cure the smart, and heal your heart, By writing it all in a song." The waves flowed free and the waves flowed wide, As they sat and whispered side by side. *From "From Dawn to Sunset." 66 "I never cared much for you," he said, 66 But I wanted a subject fit. I'd verses to make, and I thought I could take Have I pained you much? Forgive me, dear, It is wrong to flirt, but you aren't much hurt, The waves flowed free, and the waves flowed strong, Each looked at each. They did not smile: And the cliffs of England rose the while Hand sought for hand-" shall we gravely end Shall we meet once more on the English shore, The cliffs rose white from the sunny seas, Palm Sunday and Easter BY EDWARD EVERETT HALE. A roadway carpeted with palms and flowers Shouts, songs, and psalms! Yet as the week goes by, A cold, dark morning and a new-made tomb; |