{457}{458} [Illustration] JESUS IN THE TEMPLE By William Holman Hunt (1827-1910) One of the famous English school of so called pre-Raphaelite painters. This picture, "Jesus in the Temple," is one of his most celebrated paintings [End illustration] {459} CHILDREN Come to me, O ye children! For I hear you at your play, And the questions that perplexed me Have vanished quite away. Ye open the eastern windows, That look toward the sun, Where thoughts are singing swallows And the brooks of morning run. In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine, In your thoughts the brooklet's flow, But in mine is the wind of autumn And the first fall of the snow. Ah! what would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. What the leaves are to the forest, With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices Have been hardened into wood,-- That to the world are children; Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate Than reaches the trunks below. {460} Come to me, O ye children! And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing In your sunny atmosphere. For what are all our contrivings, And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses, And the gladness of your looks? Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead. --_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_. By permission of Houghton. Mifflin & Co. {461} ONE BY ONE One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going; Do not strive to grasp them all. One by one thy duties wait thee, Let thy whole strength go to each; Let no future dreams elate thee, Learn thou first what these can teach. One by one (bright gifts from heaven) Joys are sent thee here below; Take them readily when given,-- Ready, too, to let them go. One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, Do not fear an armed band; One will fade as others greet thee-- Shadows passing through the land. Do not look at life's long sorrow; See how small each moment's pain; God will help thee for to-morrow; So each day begin again. Every hour, that fleets so slowly, Has its task to do or bear; Luminous the crown and holy, When each gem is set with care. {462} Do not linger with regretting, Or for passing hours despond; Nor, the daily toil forgetting, Look too eagerly beyond. Hours are golden links, God's token, Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken, Ere the pilgrimage be done. --_Adelaide Ann Procter_. {463} TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW