We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray;

And we think that we mount the air on wings Beyond the recall of earthly things,

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings are for angels, but feet for men!

We may borrow the wings to find the way; We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray, But our feet must rise or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; But the dreams depart and the ladder falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound,

But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round.

The Blue and the Gray

Francis M. Finch

As early as 1867, following our Civil War, the women of Columbus, Miss., on Decoration Day placed flowers impartially upon the graves of Confederate and Union soldiers. This incident inspired the following poem. The author was a resident of Ithaca, N. Y., and for a long time was judge in the highest court of his native state. An appreciation of the meaning of this poem, and of the beauty of its sentiment and its expression, will result in sympathetic, musical tones, with due emphatic pauses and moderate rate.

By the flow of the inland river,

Whence the fleets of iron have fled,

Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the one, the Blue;

Under the other, the Gray.

These, in the robings of glory;
Those, in the gloom of defeat;
All, with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the laurel the Blue;

Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours,

The desolute mourners go,

Lovingly laden with flowers,

Alike for the friend and the foe.-
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the roses, the Blue;

Under the lilies, the Gray.

So, with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all.-
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue;

Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Wet with the rain, the Blue,
Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done;
In the storm of the years that are fading
No braver battle was won.—
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue;
Under the garlands, the Gray.

No more shall the war cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever,

When they laurel the graves of our dead:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Love and tears, for the Blue,

Tears and love, for the Gray.

The House by the Side of the Road

Sam Walter Ross

Aside from the standard requirement of thought-grasp and earnest. ness, these two suggestions will suffice as to the delivery of this oft-quoted poem: (1) pass the lines without pausing that do not require a pause; (2) vary the emphasis on the phrases repeated in the last two lines of the stanzas.

I

THERE are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;

There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths

Where highways never ran;

But let me live by the side of the road

And be a friend to man.

2

Let me live in a house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by,

The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.

I would not sit in the scorner's seat,

Or hurl the cynic's ban;

Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

3

I see from my house by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.

But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears,

Both parts of an infinite plan;

Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.

4

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height;

That the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night.

But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,

And weep with strangers that moan,

Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

5

Let me live in my house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by;

They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,

Wise, foolish-so am I.

Then why should I sit in the scorner's seat,

Or hurl the cynic's ban?

Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man.