One Thousand Secrets of Wise and Rich Men Revealed, C. A. Bogardus [reader novel txt] 📗
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How languidly the autumn wind doth stir the withered leaves,
As on the field the reapers sing, while binding up the sheaves!
A solemn proverb strikes my mind, and as a spell is cast,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."
The summer winds revive no more leaves strewn o'er earth and main,
The sickle never more will reap the yellow garnered grain;
The rippling stream flows on, aye tranquil, deep, and still,
But never glideth back again to busy water-mill.
The solemn proverb speaks to all, with meaning deep and vast,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."
Oh! clasp the proverb to thy soul, dear loving heart and true,
For golden years are fleeting by, and youth is passing, too;
Ah! learn to make the most of life, nor lose one happy day,
For time will ne'er return sweet joys neglected, thrown away;
Nor leave one tender word unsaid, thy kindness sow broadcast—
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."
Oh! the wasted hours of life, that have swiftly drifted by,
Alas! the good we might have done, all gone without a sigh;
Love that we might once have saved by a single kindly word,
Thoughts conceived but ne'er expressed, perishing unpenned, unheard.
Oh! take the lesson to thy soul, forever clasp it fast,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."
Work on while yet the sun doth shine, thou man of strength and will,
The streamlet ne'er doth useless glide by clicking watermill;
Nor wait until to-morrow's light beams brightly on thy way.
For all that thou canst call thine own, lies in the phrase, "to-day;"
Possessions, power, and blooming health, must all be lost at last—
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."
Oh! love thy God and fellow man, thyself consider last,
For come it will when they must scan dark errors of the past;
Soon will this fight of life be o'er, and earth recede from view,
And heaven in all its glory shine where all is pure and true.
Ah! then thou'lt see more clearly still the proverb deep and vast,
"The mill will never grind again with water that is past."
D. C. McCallum.
Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but for me, give me liberty or give me death.
Patrick Henry.
The law is a sort of hocus-pocus science, that smiles in yer face while it picks yer pocket; and the glorious uncertainty of it is of mair use to the professors than the justice of it.
Macklin.
OUR MISSION.
In calm and stormy weather
Our mission is to grow;
To keep the angle paramount
And bind the brute below.
We grow not all in sunshine,
But richly in the rain;
And what we deem our losses
May prove our final gain.
The snows and frosts of winter
A richer fruitage bring;
From battling with the anvil
The smith's grand muscles spring.
'Tis by the law of contrast
That fine effects are seen;
As thus we blend in colors
The orange with the green.
By action and reaction
We reach our perfect growth;
Nor by excess of neither,
But equipoise of both.
The same code binds the human.
That governs mother earth;
God cradled her in tempest
And earthquakes from her birth.
Our life is but a struggle
For perfect equipoise;
Our pains are often jewels,
Our pleasures gilded toys.
Between the good and evil
The monarch will must stand,
To shape the final issue
By God's divine command.
Our mission is to battle
With ill in every form—
To borrow strength and volume
From contact with the storm.
In the beautiful hereafter
These blinding mortal tears
Shall crystalize in jewels
To sparkle in the spheres.
With weak and moldish vision
We work our way below;
But sure our souls are building
Much wiser than we know.
And when the work is finished
The scaffolding then falls;
And lo! a radiant temple,
With pearl and sapphire walls.
A temple far transcending
The grandest piles below,
Whose dome shall blaze with splendor,
In God's eternal glow.
Wealth is necessary; let us not disclaim against it; every nation needs it to attain the highest achievements in civilization. But it is a blessing only as a servant, and is destructive as a master.
John P. Altgeld.
If I were a young man I should ally myself with some high and at present unpopular cause, and devote my every effort to accomplish its success.
John G. Whittier.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates and men decay.
Princes and lords may flourish and may fade;
A breath can make them, as breath has made;
But an honest peasantry, a country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.
War preys on two things—life and property: but he preys with a partial appetite. Feasting on life, he licks his jaws and says, "More, by your leave!" Devouring property, he says, between grin and glut, "This is so good that it ought to be paid for!" Into the vacuum of wasted life rush the moaning winds of grief and desolation; in to the vacuum of wasted property rushes the goblin of debt. The wasted life is transformed at length into a reminiscent glory; the wasted property becomes a hideous nightmare. The heroes fallen rise from their bloody cerements into everlasting fame; the property destroyed rises from the red and flame-swept field as a spectral vampire, sucking the still warm blood of the heroic dead and of their posthumous babes to the tenth generation! The name of the vampire is Bond.
John Clark Ridpath.
TO A WATERFOWL.
Whither, mid'st falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast—
The desert and illimitable air—
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shall thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given
And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone
Will lead my steps aright.
William Cullen Bryant.
ROBERT BURNS
(Considered by many the world's greatest Song writer and natural Poet.)
While Burns was yet a plow boy he was challenged by two highly educated gentlemen, who were seated awaiting their dinner to be served at an Inn in the town of Ayr.
The terms of the challenge was for each to write a verse on the event of their first acquaintance, the one writing the best and most appropriate short rhyme was to have his dinner paid for by the other two.
Burns wrote as follows:
I Jonnie Peep,
Saw two sheep.
Two sheep saw me.
Half a crown apiece
Will pay for their fleece.
And I Jonnie Peep go free.
On another occasion while drinking at a Bar a hanger on who was notorious for his much drinking and was dubbed the Marquis, asked Burns to write an appropriate epitaph for his grave stone.
Burns, quick as flash and without any apparent effort, wrote:
Here lies a faulse Marquis:
Whose title is shamed
If ever he rises
It will be to be damned.
TO A MOUSE.
Wee, sleekit, cowrin' tim'rous beastie.
Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou needna start awa' sae hasty.
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin and chase thee,
Wi murd'ing prattle!
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor earth-born companion
And fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' o' request
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,
And never miss 't!
Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!
And naething now to big a new ane
O' foggage green!
And bleak December's winds ensuin'
Baith snell and keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste
And weary winter comin' fast.
And cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell;
Till, crash! the cruel coulter past
Out through thy cell.
That wee bit heap o'leaves and stibble
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble,
But house or hauld,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble
And cranreuch cauld.
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The bes laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley,
And lea 'e us naught but grief and pain
For promised joy.
Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee,
But, och! I backward cast my ee
On prospects drear!
And forward, though I canna see,
I guess and fear.
Robert Burns.
CHAPTER XI.
ORATORICAL DEPARTMENT.
The author believes he is here presenting such selections as will be accepted as masterpieces.
Mr. Bryan's speech at New Haven, where he was disturbed by students is taken from his book, the First Battle, and is here offered to show the wonderful composure of the speaker, rather than to present a fine or eloquent speech.
The New York Sun's editorial, and the resolution of the council of Indians will show the difference of opinion that exists between commercial editors and the men of nature. It is obvious that these students were disturbing a public meeting, and to justify them is to wink at crime, scorn at justice, mock at the freedom of speech and excuse ignorance.
Certainly the Indian presents the idea of advancing forward, while the New York Sun man is advancing (?) backward.
PATRICK HENRY'S SPEECH.
VIRGINIA MUST PREPARE FOR WAR.
There is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason toward my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings. It is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of Hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that Siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes see not, and having ears hear not the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and provide for it.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of
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