THE DAY IS DONE

T

ward

HE day is done, and the
darkness

Falls from the wings of
Night,

As a feather is wafted down

From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village

Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only

As the mist resembles rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor,
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,

Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction

That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,

And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And as silently steal away.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

T

LIGHT

HE night has a thousand

eyes,

And the day has but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies

With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

-Francis W. Bourdillon.

WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE?

W

HAT constitutes a state?

Not high-raised battlement or labored mound,

Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud with spires

and turrets crowned;

Not bays and broad-armed ports, Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;

Not starred and spangled courts,

Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.

No:-men, high-minded men,

With powers as far above dull brutes endued

In forest, brake or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and bram

bles rude,

Men who their duties know,

But know their rights, and, knowing,

dare maintain,

Prevent the long-aimed blow,

And crush the tyrant while they rend

the chain;