The Project Gutenberg eBook of Voices for the Speechless, by Abraham Firth

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 2
In proving foresight may be bain:
The best laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft a-gley,
And lea'e us nought but grief and vain,
For promised joy.

Burns.

A SEA-SHELL.

See what a lovely shell,
Small and pure as a pearl,
Lying close to my foot.
Frail, but a work divine,
Made so fairily well
With delicate spire and whorl.
How exquisitely minute
A miracle of design!

The tiny cell is forlorn,
Void of the little living will
That made it stir on the shore.
Did he stand at the diamond door
Of his house in a rainbow frill?
Did he push when he was uncurled,
A golden foot or a fairy horn
Through his dim water-world?

Slight, to be crushed with a tap
Of my finger-nail on the sand;
Small, but a work divine:
Frail, but of force to withstand,
Year upon year, the shock
Of cataract seas that snap
The three-decker's oaken spine,
Athwart the ledges of rock,
Here on the Breton strand.

Alfred Tennyson.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main,—
The venturous bark that flings

On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
And every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed,—
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil;
Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft steps its shining archway through,
Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
Child of the wandering sea,
Cast from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!
While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:—

"Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven within a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unwresting sea!"

O. W. Holmes.

HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS.

When he heard the owls at midnight,
Hooting, laughing in the forest,
"What is that?" he cried in terror;
"What is that?" he said, "Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered:
"That is but the owl and owlet,
Talking in their native language,
Talking, scolding at each other."
Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in Summer,
Where they hid themselves in Winter,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."
Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How the beavers built their lodges,
Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
Why the rabbit was so timid,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."
Then Iagoo, the great boaster,
He the marvellous story-teller,
He the traveller and the talker,
He the friend of old Nokomis,
Made a bow for Hiawatha;
From a branch of ash he made it,
From an oak-bough made the arrows,
Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers,
And the cord he made of deer-skin.
Then he said to Hiawatha:
"Go, my son, into the forest,
Where the red deer herd together,
Kill for us a famous roebuck,
Kill for us a deer with antlers!"
Forth into the forest straightway
All alone walked Hiawatha
Proudly, with his bow and arrows;
And the birds sang ruffed him, o'er him,
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"
Sang the robin, the Opechee,
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa,
"Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"
Up the oak-tree, close beside him,
Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo,
In and out among the branches,
Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree,
Laughed, and said between his laughing,
"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"
And the rabbit from his pathway
Leaped aside, and at a distance
Sat erect upon his haunches,
Half in fear and half in frolic,
Saying to the little hunter,
"Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"
But he heeded not, nor heard them,
For his thoughts were with the red deer;
On their tracks his eyes were fastened,
Leading downward to the river,
To the ford across the river,
And as one in slumber walked he.

H. W. Longfellow: Hiawatha.

UNOFFENDING CREATURES.

The Being that is in the clouds and air,
That is in the green leaves among the groves,
Maintains a deep and reverential care
For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.

One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,
Taught both by what He shows, and what conceals,
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

Wordsworth.

SEPTEMBER.

And sooth to say, yon vocal grove
Albeit uninspired by love,
By love untaught to ring,
May well afford to mortal ear
An impulse more profoundly dear
Than music of the spring.

But list! though winter storms be nigh
Unchecked is that soft harmony:
There lives Who can provide,
For all his creatures: and in Him,
Even like the radiant Seraphim,
These choristers confide.

Wordsworth.

THE LARK.

Happy, happy liver,
With a soul as strong as a mountain river,
Pouring out praises to the Almighty Giver.

Wordsworth.

THE SWALLOW.

When weary, weary winter
Hath melted into air,
And April leaf and blossom
Hath clothed the branches bare,
Came round our English dwelling
A voice of summer cheer:
'Twas thine, returning swallow,
The welcome and the dear.

Far on the billowy ocean
A thousand leagues are we,
Yet here, sad hovering o'er our bark,
What is it that we see?
Dear old familiar swallow,
What gladness dost thou bring:
Here rest upon our flowing sail
Thy weary, wandering wing.

Mrs. Howitt.

RETURNING BIRDS.

Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
"We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
From the palms that wave through the Indian sky,
From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby."

Mrs. Hemans.

THE BIRDS.

With elegies of love
Make vocal every spray.

Cunningham.

THRUSH.

Whither hath the wood thrush flown
From our greenwood bowers?
Wherefore builds he not again
Where the wild thorn flowers?

Bid him come! for on his wings
The sunny year he bringeth,
And the heart unlocks its springs
Wheresoe'er he singeth.

Barry Cornwall.

LINNET.

Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Among the fresh green leaves bedewed,
Awake the early morning.

Burns.

NIGHTINGALE.

But thee no wintry skies can harm
Who only needs to sing
To make even January charm
And every season Spring.

Cowper.

SONGSTERS.

Little feathered songsters of the air
In woodlands tuneful woo and fondly pair.

Savage.

MOHAMMEDANISM.

THE CATTLE.3

The "Chapter of the Cattle:" Heaven is whose,
And whose is earth? Say Allah's, That did choose
On His own might to lay the law of mercy.
He, at the Resurrection, will not lose

One of His own. What falleth, night or day,
Falleth by His Almighty word alway.
Wilt thou have any other Lord than Allah,
Who is not fed, but feedeth all flesh? Say!

For if He visit thee with woe, none makes
The woe to cease save He; and if He takes
Pleasure to send thee pleasure, He is Master
Over all gifts; nor doth His thought forsake

The creatures of the field, nor fowls that fly;
They are "a people" also: "These, too, I
Have set," the Lord saith, "in My book of record;
These shall be gathered to Me by and by."

With Him of all things secret are the keys;
None other hath them, but He hath; and sees
Whatever is in land, or air, or water,
Each bloom that blows, each foam-bell on the seas.

E. Arnold: Pearls of the Faith.