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SONGS FOR GIRLHOOD. |
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SANTA FILOMENA. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,
Our hearts in glad surprise
To higher levels rise.
The tidal-wave of deeper souls Into our inmost being rolls,
And lifts us unawares
Out of all meaner cares.
Honor to those whose words or deeds Thus help us in our daily needs, And by their overflow Raise us from what is low!
Thus thought I, as by night I read Of the great army of the dead; The trenches cold and damp, The starved and frozen camp;
The wounded from the battle-plain, In dreary hospitals of pain ;
The cheerless corridors,
The cold and stony floors.
Lo! in that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see
Pass through the glimmering gloom, And flit from room to room.
And slow, as in a dream of bliss, The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Upon the darkening walls.
As if a door in heaven should be Opened, and then closed suddenly, The vision came and went, The light shone and was spent.
On England's annals, through the long Hereafter of her speech and song,
That light its rays shall cast
From portals of the past.
A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land,
A noble type of good,
Heroic womanhood. |
Nor even shall be wanting here The palm, the lily, and the speai,
The symbols that of yore
Saint Filomena bore. |
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THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.
Alfred Tennyson.
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dyiug. Old year, you must not die : You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year, you shall not die.
He lieth still: he doth not move:
He will not see the dawn of day. He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend, and a true, true love, And the new year will take 'em away. Old year, you must not go;
So long as you have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us, Old year, you shall not go.
He frothed his bumpers to the brim ;
A jollier year we shall not see. But though his eyes are waxing dim, And tho' his foes speak ill of him, He was a friend to me.
Old year, you shall not die;
We did so laugh and cry with you, I've half a mind to die with you, Old year, if you must die.
He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er. To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste ', But he'll be dead before. Every one for his own.
The night is starry and cold, my
friend; And the new year, blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. |
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