Yet why should I fear death! What is it to die? To leave all disappointment, care, and sorrow, To leave all falsehood, treachery, and unkindness, All ignominy, suffering, and despair,

And be at rest forever! O dull heart,

Be of good cheer! When thou shalt cease to beat, Then shalt thou cease to suffer and complain! The Spanish Student

JUNE TWENTY-SEVENTH

"Blessed be God! for he created Death!"

The mourners said, "and Death is rest and peace;"

Then added, in the certainty of faith,

"And giveth Life that nevermore shall cease." The Jewish Cemetery at Newport

JUNE TWENTY-EIGHTH

The thought of my short-comings in this life
Falls like a shadow on the life to come.

Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find. Poetic Aphorisms

UNDE

And above him the boughs of hemlock-trees Waved, and made the sign of the cross,

And whispered their Benedicites;

And from the ground

Rose an odor sweet and fragrant

Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant

Vines that wandered,

Seeking the sunshine, round and round.

The Golden Legend

JULY SECOND

And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill
The world; and, in these wayward days of youth,
My busy fancy oft embodies it,

As a bright image of the light and beauty
That dwell in nature,-of the heavenly forms
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues

That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds

When the sun sets.

The Spirit of Poetry

Why then are you not contented?
Why then will you hunt each other?
I am weary of your quarrels,
Weary of your wars and bloodshed,
Weary of your prayers for

vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions;

All

your strength is in your union, All your danger is in discord;

Therefore be at peace henceforward,

And as brothers live together.

The Song of Hiawatha

JULY FOURTH

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,
Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly voices,
And jarrest the celestial harmonies?

The Arsenal at Springfield

JULY FIFTH

Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then,

cease;

And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!"

The Arsenal at Springfield

JULY SIXTH

Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals

The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals,

The holy melodies of love arise.

The Arsenal at Springfield

JULY SEVENTH

The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere,
The instinct of whose nature was to kill;
The wrath of God he preached from year to year,
And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will;
His favorite pastime was to slay the deer

In Summer on some Adirondac hill;
E'en now, while walking down the rural lane,
He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane.
The Birds of Killingworth

JULY EIGHTH

The Summer came, and all the birds were dead;
The days were like hot coals; the very ground
Was burned to ashes; in the orchards fed
Myriads of caterpillars, and around
The cultivated fields and garden beds

Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found No foe to check their march, till they had made The land a desert without leaf or shade.

The Birds of Killingworth