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The age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Time still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.


(In Army and Navy Journal.

It is just beyond the sky-line
With its poppy-fields of rest
Where day's storm-bewildered shallop
Drops its anchor in the west,
Where a silent sea of saffron

Stretches inland toward the streams That go glimmering down the valleys Of the purple port o' dreams.

In the far-off gloom behind it
Earth's dusky bound'ry lies,
And a step beyond its outpost
The hills of heaven rise;

So near that in the glory

Of their mystic haze it seems That the dear dead walk beside us In the peaceful port o' dreams.

Oh, strange and wondrous country, Hiding close the goals of life, Who wins to thee brings courage For the long, dull march's strife, And the prisoner of living

Hope's freedom pledge redeems In thine endless, boundless radiance, Oh, the blissful port o' dreams.

We have called thee Heart's Desire,
Or the Island of the Blest,
And the Land of Finished Stories,
Oh, dreamland in the west.
Yet every heart's the bound'ry
Of thy soul-reposing beams-
Art thou hope or love or heaven,
Oh, happy port o' dreams?


away, oh, weary-hearted, To the bayous of release,

Leave the drums o' life behind you

At the harbor bar of peace.

Come to anchor off the headlands
Where the light of heaven gleams
In the haven where ye would be
Past the purple port o' dreams.



(In Youth's Companion.)

The little country schoolhouse-you
Remember it; of course you do!
Within the angle snugly set,

Where two long yellow highways met,
And saplings planted here and there
About the yard, and boxed with care
As if to typify, in turn,

The youngsters caught and caged, to learn.
Around, the rolling pastures spread,
With woodland patches garlanded,
From which the breezes gladly bore
Sly invitations to the door.

Across the sills the bees' soft hum
Was mingled with the muttered sum,
And from their covert in the vale

In plaintive pleading piped the quail.

With basket and with pail equipped,
Clear-eyed, tan-cheeked and berry-lipped,
Athwart the pastures, down the road,
They trudged to learning's poor abode;
The pink sunbonnet, broad-brimmed straw;
The bare brown feet that knew no law
Of fashion's last; the bundled forms
That laughed aloud at cold and storms.

What tales the scarred desks might relate
Of triumphs gained with book and slate!
What lore the clapboards loose possess
Of feats at noontime and recess!

And doomed how oft the panes to see,
Back up the road, and o'er the lea,
Haste boy and girl, new worlds to find,
The little schoolhouse left behind.

O little country school! In vain
May critics hold you in disdain.
The greatest lessons that you taught
Were not by chalk and pencil wrought.
As oped your door on fields and sky,
So, likewise just as wide and high,
You opened to the eyes of youth
The principles of love and truth.


The sailor 'mid the crashing wreck,
While fiercely blows the gale,
Sings as he treads the lonely deck,
"There's no such word as fail!"

The soldier, as he storms the height
Where death draws back the veil,
Shouts, as he presses to the fight,
"There's no such word as fail!"

Should waves or tempest toss your bark,
As o'er life's sea you sail,
Think, when around you all looks dark,
"There's no such word as fail!"

If e'er misfortunes cloud your life,
Your losses ne'er bewail,

What if the way's with danger rife?
"There's no such word as fail!"

Press onward in your course to fame,
Though cares your path assail,
Remember, would you win a name,

"There's no such word as fail!"

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