Part 1
Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
GOLDEN GRAIN
BY VARIUOS AUTHORS
GARNERED FROM THE
WORLD'S GREAT HARVEST-FIELD OF KNOWLEDGE
COMPRISING
Selections from the ablest Modern Writers.
OF
Prose, Poetry, and Legendary Lore.
Some Books with heaps of chaff are stored And some do Golden Grain afford; Leave then the chaff and spend thy pains In gathering up the Golden Grains.
Elegantly Illustrated.
J. C. CHILTON & COMPANY, DETROIT. MICH., 1884.
COPYRIGHTED 1884. J.C. CHILTON & CO.
PRESS OF RAYNOR & TAYLOR, 75 BATES STREET. DETROIT.
AUTHORS
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. ALFRED TENNYSON. JOHN G. WHITTIER. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. RALPH WALDO EMERSON. OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. PETER CHRISTIAN ASBJORNSEN. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. SIR ISAAC NEWTON. REV. LAURENCE STERNE. HON. JOHN D. LONG. JOHN G. SAXE. PAUL H. HAYNE. CHARLES DICKENS. SIR WALTER SCOTT. THOMAS MOORE. THOMAS GRAY. LORD LYTTON. J. C. F. SCHILLER. GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. MARTIN VAN BUREN. GEORGE WASHINGTON. JAMES A. GARFIELD. REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY. BARRY CORNWALL. PH[OE]BE CARY. SIDNEY DAYRE. LUCIE COBB. PHILA H. CASE. LUCY LARCOM. ROSE HARTWICK THORPE. MARY D. BRINE. ELIZABETH AKERS. MRS. S. M. B. PIATT. GEORGE MCDONALD. EMMA ALICE BROWN. SAMUEL ROGRES. BRET HARTE. GEORGE L. CATLIN. J. T. CHOATE. GEORGE D. PRENTICE. NATHANIEL P. WILLIS. EDWIN P. WHIPPLE. PHILLIP JAMES BAILEY. D. BETHUNE DUFFIELD. WILLIAM L. SMITH. FRIEDERICH GRIMM.
PUBLISHERS' NOTE.
It has been the constant endeavor of the publishers of GOLDEN GRAIN, to produce a book in every respect worthy to be classed among the very best works offered to an intelligent public.
Many of the selections are protected by copyright and for the use of such, special thanks are due to the following publishers, for the courtesies extended.
To Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for selections from Longfellow, Whittier, and Miss Cary; Messrs. D. Lothrop & Co., for use of selections from Mrs. Piatt, Paul Hayne, and Mary D. Brine; and to those authors who have furnished special contributions, we are under many obligations.
The volume is sent forth with the belief that such a work will meet with appreciative readers all over the land.
INTRODUCTION.
GOLDEN GRAIN.
The best introduction to a book is a glance at its pages, an examination of its illustrations and the names of its authors.
In all the essentials which go to make up a work which shall meet with popular favor and a wide range of readers, the Editor and Publishers confidently believe that GOLDEN GRAIN presents a high standard of excellence.
That all tastes might be suited, the literature of all modern nations has been searched and selections of the highest standard made therefrom.
Golden Grain only has been garnered. The great fields of knowledge have been visited, and none but the choicest and ripest kernels have been chosen.
Young Folks must, and will, have something to read--something to feed the mind as well as the body. It therefore becomes a very important duty of parents to make choice of such books as are pure in tone and elevating in sentiment; and it follows also, as night follows day, that if parents fail or neglect this duty the young folks themselves will find something to read, nor will they be so careful in their selections.
In GOLDEN GRAIN will be found a work in every respect worthy of a place in the Family Circle. Its pages lend inspiration to fight life's battles nobly. Those who go out from a home with noble impulses, pure motives, and true hearts will bear the burden of Earth's cares, duties and disappointments with patience and resignation, having
"A heart to resolve, a head to contrive and a hand to execute."
CONTENTS.
Harvest Song John G. Whittier 13
Minute Men of Liberty George William Curtis 14
Kind Hearts 16
The Children's Hour Henry W. Longfellow 17
The Brook Alfred Tennyson 21
Eulogy on Garfield James G. Blaine 23
Gems from James A. Garfield 24
At the Fireside John D. Long 25
The Frost Spirit John G. Whittier 26
The Arrow and the Song Henry W. Longfellow 29
The Bridge Henry W. Longfellow 31
The Responsive Chord J. William Jones 34
Grandma's Angel Sidney Dayre 35
Cold, Bitter Cold Hans Christian Andersen 37
Nobody's Child Phila H. Case 42
Snow-White and Rosy-Red Friederich Grimm 45
The Song of the Thrush Lucy Larcom 58
The Fox and the Geese 60
Count That Day Lost 61
The Children in the Moon 62
A Night in a Norwegian Forest P. Chr. Asbjornsen 65
Two Little Kittens 88
Labor of Authorship 90
She Was Somebody's Mother 92
Dot Lambs What Mary Haf Got 94
The Mills of God Henry W. Longfellow 95
Bob Cratchit's Christmas Charles Dickens 96
Full Many a Gem Thomas Gray 103
A Snug Little Island 104
Don't Crowd Charles Dickens 111
The Boys Oliver Wendell Holmes 112
Quarrel Between Mountain and Squirrel Ralph Waldo Emerson 114
For Fathers Sake 116
Backbone 130
A Dog Sheep-Stealer 132
The Best Answer to Calumny George Washington 133
If We Knew Ph[oe]be Cary 134
Holiday Song D. Bethune Duffield 137
A Queer Duckling Hans Christian Andersen 138
Truth James Russell Lowell 156
The Clearin' 157
Prince Willful's Three Lessons J. T. Choate 161
Miss Edith Helps Things Along F. Bret Harte 170
The Giant Who Had No Heart P. Chr. Asbjornsen 173
Beauty Everywhere W. L. Smith 185
Bread on the Waters George L. Catlin 186
The Use of Books 189
The Spring 190
Gem from "Lalla Rookh" Thomas Moore 190
How Bayard Shot the Bear J. T. Choate 191
How We Live Phillip James Bailey 195
New Year's Eve Alfred Tennyson 197
East of the Sun and West of the Moon P. Chr. Asbjornsen 199
Do; Not Dream Charles Kingsley 216
The Baby in the Home George MacDonald 217
Saturday Afternoon N. P. Willis 220
The King of the Night Barry Cornwall 222
A 'Rithmetic Lesson Phillip James Bailey 225
Press on 227
Fairies or Fireflies Mrs. S. M. B. Piatt 228
Speak No Ill 229
The Ambitious Twig Lucie Cobbe 230
Universal Law Samuel Rogers 233
The Turk and the Fiddler Friederich Grimm 234
Sober Second Thought Martin Van Buren 241
Little Lottie's Grievance Paul H. Hayne 242
There is no Death Lord Lytton 245
The Siege of Troy J. C. Chilton 248
Think for Thyself Wilson 251
George Nidiver F. Brete Hart 252
March and the Boys Mary D. Brine 255
The Crusades J. C. Chilton 259
Pride of Native Land Sir Walter Scott 262
The Children's Crusade J. C. Chilton 263
The Soldier's Reprieve Rose Hartwick Thorpe 265
The Maid of Orleans J. C. Chilton 269
'Tis Only Noble to be Good Alfred Tennyson 272
A Bird's Story M. E. B. 274
The Wolf and the Seven Kids Freiderich Grimm 276
There is a Day of Sunny Rest William Cullen Bryant 280
Birdie and Baby Alfred Tennyson 281
The Influence of Books Edwin P. Whipple 282
Rock Me to Sleep Elizabeth Akers 283
Heroism Ralph Waldo Emerson 285
Politeness 285
Measuring the Baby Emma Alice Brown 286
Pearl of Thought Johann Chr. F. Schiller 288
The Noble Roman John G. Saxe 288
The Engineer's Story 289
As He Saw Himself Sir Isaac Newton 293
The Random Shaft Sir Walter Scott 293
Two Brave Boys Pritt's "Border Life" 294
Undoubted Evidence Rev. Laurence Stern 298
The Flight of Years George D. Prentice 299
Airy Nothings William Shakespeare 304
HARVEST SONG.
JOHN G. WHITTIER.
O Painter of the fruits and flowers! We thank Thee for thy wise design Whereby these human hands of ours In Nature's garden work with thine.
And thanks that from our daily need The joy of simple faith is born; That he who smites the summer weed, May trust Thee for the autumn corn.
Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; Who sows a field, or trains a flower, Or plants a tree, is more than all.
For he who blesses most is blest; And God and man shall own his worth, Who toils to leave as his bequest An added beauty to the earth.
And, soon or late, to all that sow, The time of harvest shall be given; The flowers shall bloom, the fruit shall grow, If not on earth, at last in heaven!
MINUTE MEN OF LIBERTY.
Delivered on the one-hundredth anniversary of the battle of Lexington, Mass., by GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS, April 19, 1875.
After reviewing the leading incidents of the battle of Lexington, in 1775, and the subsequent victories of Washington; and closing with a brilliant picture of the final triumph of the Colonial troops, Mr. Curtis said:
"NOT such are our enemies to-day. They do not come proudly stepping to the drum-beat, with bayonets flashing in the morning sun. But wherever party spirit shall strain the ancient guarantees of Freedom, or bigotry and ignorance shall lay their fatal hands upon education, or the ignorance of caste shall strike at equal rights, or corruption shall poison the very springs of national life, there, Minutemen of Liberty are _your_ Lexington-Green and Concord-Bridge, and as you love your country and your kind, and would have your children rise up and call you blessed, spare not the enemy! Over the hills, out of the earth, down from the clouds pour in resistless might.
Fire! fire from every rock and tree, from every door and window, from hearthstone and chamber; hang upon his flank and rear from noon to sunset, and so through a land blazing with holy indignation, hurl the hordes of ignorance, corruption and injustice back, back into utter defeat and ruin!"
Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the blossoms, Kind deeds are the fruits.
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
Between the dark and the daylight, When 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 patter of little feet, The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet.
From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair, Grave Alice and laughing Allegra, And Edith with golden hair.
A whisper and then a silence; Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning together, To take me by surprise.
A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall, By three doors left unguarded, They enter my castle wall.
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, Their arms about me intwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen, In his Mouse Tower on the Rhine.
Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a match for you all?
I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin And moulder in dust away.
SONG OF THE BROOK.
ALFRED TENNYSON.
I come from haunts of coot and hern; I make a sudden sally; And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges: By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.
I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles; I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles.
I chatter, chatter as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance, Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses.
And out again I curve and flow, To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
EULOGY ON GARFIELD.
Surely if happiness can ever come from the honors or triumphs of this world, on that quiet July morning, James A. Garfield may well have been a happy man. No foreboding of evil haunted him; no slightest premonition of danger clouded his sky. His terrible fate was upon him in an instant. One moment he stood erect, strong, confident, in the years stretching peacefully out before him. The next he lay wounded, bleeding, helpless, doomed to weary weeks of torture, to silence, and the grave.
Great in life, he was surpassingly great in death. For no cause, in the very frenzy of wantonness and wickedness, by the red hand of murder, he was thrust from the full tide of this world's interest, from its hopes, its aspirations, its victories, into the visible presence of death--and he did not quail. Not alone for the one short moment in which, stunned and dazed, he could give up life, hardly aware of its relinquishment, but through days of deadly languor, through weeks of agony, that was not less agony because silently borne, with clear sight and calm courage, he looked into his open grave. What blight and ruin met his anguished eyes, whose lips may tell! Before him desolation and great darkness! And his soul was not shaken.
Masterful in his mortal weakness, he became the center of a nation's love, enshrined in the prayers of a world. But all the love and all the sympathy could not share with him his suffering. He trod the wine-press alone. With unfaltering front he faced death. With unfailing tenderness he took leave of life. Above the demoniac hiss of the assassin's bullet he heard the voice of God. With simple resignation he bowed to the divine decree.
GEMS FROM JAS. A. GARFIELD.
If there be one thing upon this broad earth that mankind love and admire, better than another, it is a brave man--it is a man who dares look the Devil in the face and tell him he is a Devil.
Be fit for more than the thing you are now doing.
Things don't turn up in this world till somebody turns them up.
AT THE FIRESIDE.
At nightfall by the firelight's cheer My little Margaret sits me near, And begs me tell of things that were When I was little just like her.
Ah, little lips you touch the spring Of sweetest sad remembering, And hearth and heart flash all aglow With ruddy tints of long ago.
I at my father's fireside sit, Youngest of all who circle it, And beg him tell me what did he When he was little just like me.
JOHN D. LONG
THE FROST SPIRIT.
JOHN G. WHITTIER.
He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields, And the brown hill's withered brow. He has smitten the leaves of the gray old trees Where their pleasant green came forth, And the winds which follow wherever he goes, Have shaken them down to earth.
He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! From the frozen Labrador,-- From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, Which the white bear wanders o'er,-- Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, And the luckless forms below In the sunless cold of the lingering night, Into marble statues grow!
He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! On the rushing Northern blast, And the dark Norwegian pines have bowed As his fearful breath went past. With an unscorched wing he has hurried on, Where the fires of Hecla glow On the darkly beautiful sky above, And the ancient ice below.
He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! And the quiet lake shall feel The torpid touch of his glazing breath, And ring to the skater's heel; And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, Or sang to the leaning grass, Shall bow again to their winter chain, And in mournful silence pass.
He comes,--he comes,--the Frost Spirit comes! Let us meet him as we may, And turn with light of the parlor-fire His evil power away; And gather closer the circle round, When that fire-light dances high, And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend, As his sounding wing goes by.
THE ARROW AND THE SONG.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air, It fell to earth, I know not where; For who has sight so keen and strong, That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak I found the arrow, still unbroke; And the song, from beginning to end, I found again in the heart of a friend.
THE BRIDGE.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
I stood on the bridge at midnight, As the clocks were striking the hour, And the moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church-tower.
I saw her bright reflection In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea.
And far in the hazy distance Of that lovely night in June, The blaze of the flaming furnace Gleamed redder than the moon.
Among the long, black rafters The wavering shadows lay, And the current that came from the ocean Seemed to lift and bear them away;
As, sweeping and eddying through them. Rose the belated tide, And, streaming into the moonlight, The sea-weed floated wide.
And like those waters rushing Among the wooden piers, A flood of thoughts came o'er me, That filled my eyes with tears.
How often; Oh! how often, In the days that had gone by, I had stood on that bridge at midnight, And gazed on that wave and sky!
How often; Oh! how often, I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide!
For my heart was hot and restless, And my life was full of care, And the burden laid upon me, Seemed greater than I could bear.
But now it has fallen upon me, It is buried in the sea; And only the sorrow of others Throws its shadow over me.
Yet whenever I cross the river On its bridge with wooden piers, Like the odor of brine from the ocean, Comes the thought of other years.
And I think how many thousands Of care-encumbered men, Each bearing his burden of sorrow, Have crossed the bridge since then.
I see the long procession Still passing to and fro, The young heart hot and restless, And the old subdued and slow!
And forever and forever, As long as the river flows, As long as the heart has passions, As long as life has woes;
The moon and its broken reflection And its shadows shall appear, As the symbol of love in Heaven, And its wavering image here.
THE RESPONSIVE CHORD.
J. WILLIAM JONES.
One evening in 1863, when the Confederate and Union armies were both near Spottsylvania, two bands chanced, at the same hour, to begin to play on either bank of the river.
The soldiers of both armies gathered to listen, and soon the bands began to answer each other. First the Federal band would play "Hail Columbia" or some other national air, and at its close the "boys in blue" would cheer most lustily. Then the Confederate band would respond with "Dixie" or "Bonnie Blue Flag," and the "boys in gray" would yell their approval. But presently one of the bands struck up, in sweet and sad tones, the grand old tune "Home, Sweet Home." It was caught up by the other band, and at its close there went up a shout _from both sides of the river_--cheer followed cheer and the hills re-echoed the glad acclaim. A chord had been struck to which all hearts could beat in unison; and, for the time being, their enmity was forgotten.
GRANDMA'S ANGEL.
Mamma said; 'Little one, go and see If Grandmother's ready to come to tea.' I knew I must'nt disturb her, so I stepped as gently along, tiptoe, And stood a moment to take a peep-- And there was Grandmother, fast asleep.
"I knew it was time for her to wake; I thought I'd give her a little shake, Or tap at her door, or softly call; But I had'nt the heart for that at all-- She looked so sweet and so quiet there, Lying back in her high arm-chair, With her dear white hair and a little smile, That means she's loving you all the while.
"I did'nt make a speck of a noise; I knew she was dreaming of little boys And girls who lived with her, long ago, And then went to Heaven--she told me so.
"I went up close, and I did'nt speak One word, but I gave her on her cheek The softest bit of a little kiss, Just in a whisper, and then said this; 'Grandmother dear it's time for tea.'
"She opened her eyes and looked at me, And said: 'Why, Pet, I have just now dreamed Of a little angel who came, and seemed To kiss me lovingly on my face.' She pointed right at the very place.
"I never told her 'twas only me; I took her hand and we went to tea."
SYDNEY DAYRE in St. Nicholas.
COLD--BITTER COLD.
It was dreadfully cold, it snowed, and was getting quite dark, for it was evening--yes, the last evening of the year.