"No" if you can, only take care you make it clear to yourselves why you say "No." It's a proof of the highest courage if done from true Christian motives. It's quite right and justifiable, if done from a simple aversion to physical pain and danger. But don't say "No" because you fear a licking, and say or think it's because you fear God, for that's neither Christian nor honest. And if you do fight, fight it out; and don't give in while you can stand and see. CASABIANCA. MRS. HEMANS. THE boy stood on the burning deck, Yet beautiful and bright he stood, A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form. The flames roll'd on-he would not go That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He call'd aloud-"Say, father, say He knew not that the chieftain lay "Speak, father!" once again he cried, Upon his brow he felt their breath, And look'd from that lone post of death, And shouted but once more aloud, 66 My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, There came a burst of thunder sound · With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, But the noblest thing that perish'd there, HOME. ALFRED TENNYSON. HOME they brought him, slain with spears, Echoes in his empty hall, Sounding on the morrow. The sun peep'd in from open field, "O hush, my joy, my sorrow." SOLDIER, REST! WALTER SCOTT. SONG FROM "THE LADY OF THE LAKE." SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battle-fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing; Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking. No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armor's clang, or war-steed's champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here, Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come, At the day-break, from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guard's nor warder's challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping. Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumb'rous spells assail ye, Dream not with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveillé. Sleep! the deer is in his den; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep! nor dream, in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying. SONG OF MARION'S MEN. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. OUR band is few but true and tried, As seamen know the sea. Its safe and silent islands Woe to the English soldiery, And they who fly in terror, dream And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind. Then sweet the hour that brings release From danger and from toil; |