Gems for the Young. A PSALM OF LIFE. H. W. LONGFELLOW. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb driven cattle, Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us Footprints that perhaps another, Let us, then, be up and doing, THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. H. W. LONGFELLOW. BETWEEN the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour. I hear in the chamber above me The sound of a door that is opened, From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall-stair, Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair. THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. A whisper, and then a silence: They are plotting and planning together A sudden rush from the stairway, They climb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me : They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, I have you fast in my fortress, And there will I keep you for ever, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 5 |