And yet, with Him who counts the sands
And holds the waters in His hands,
I know a lasting record stands
Inscribed against my name,
Of all this mortal part has wrought,
Of all this thinking soul has thought,
And from these fleeting moments caught
For glory or for shame.
HANNAH FLAGG GOULD.
[Illustration]
PART VI.
"Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,--
The last of life, for which the first was made."
THE VOICE OF SPRING.
"The Voice of Spring," by Felicia Hemans (1749-1835), becomes
attractive as years go on. The line in this poem that captivated my
youthful fancy was:
"The larch has hung all his tassels forth,"
The delight with which trees hang out their new little tassels every
year is one of the charms of "the pine family." John Burroughs sent us
down a tiny hemlock, that grew in our window-box at school for five
years, and every spring it was a new joy on account of the fine, tender
tassels.
Pages:
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268