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There's many a precious cargo
Comes safe to British sands;
About our British lands;
Are men with names unknown, Who save a priceless freight of lives,
And never heed their own.
Now bear those weary wanderers
From the dark shores below, And warm them at the hearths whose light,
They watched an hour ago; And call the fishers and sailors
Gravely to see, and say, “ Our turn may come to-morrow,
As theirs has come to-day.”
Among the fishers and sailors
There came a sunburnt man,
Lying so white and wan;
They thought his days were done: And the sailor stared and wrung his hands,
And cried, “ It is my son !
« Oh! I was bound for Plymouth,
And he for the coast of Spain,
How we should meet again.
And who will tell his mother
How he is come ashore ?
I know she loved him more.
“I'll kiss his lips full gently
Before they are quite cold, And she shall take that kiss from mine
Ere this moon waxes old.” “ Father !” the pale lips murmur,
“Is mother with you here?” The answer to these welcome words
Was a sob and then a cheer!
The captain spoke at midnight,
When he saw the tossing sky, “ Alas! a woeful night is this,
And a woeful man am I.
“And glad for my true men ; But, alas for my little schooner,
She'll never sail agen!”
Now all you life-boat heroes,
Who reckon your lives so cheap, You banish tears from other homes,
Make not your own to weep! You cannot die like lions,
For all you are so strong ; While you are saving other lives,
God keep your own from wrong
Why are the blossoms
Such different hues ? And the waves of the sea
Such a number of blues ? So many soft green:
Flit on the trees ?
Fly out on the breeze?
Why are the insects
So wondrously fair, Illumining grasses
And painting the air ? You dear little shells,
Oh, why do you shine! And, feathery sea-weed,
Grow fragile and fine ?
Why are the meadows
Such garlands of grace, With infinite beauty
In definite space ? Each separate grass
A world of delight ? Oh, food for the cattle,
Why are you so bright?
Why are our faces,
Such lovable things, With lips made for kisses,
And laughter that sings ? With eyes full of love,
That sparkle and gleam,
That change like a dream?
Think for a moment,'
Look up to the sky;
Will answer the Why!
Of beauty unfurl'd-
Has fashioned the world!
I ALWAYS like to see children fond of a garden, and I think that most children do like to see plants grow. But I fancy that you will like them all the better if you know a little more about them. So I am going to try and tell you something about the different parts of a plant.
First, about the root, which you will say is turning things topsy-turvy. You would begin with the flower. But I had rather begin with the root, the most useful part of the plant. Indeed, I ought almost say, the needful part. The root is the life of the plant. Did you ever cut some flowers, and stick them into the ground ? If you ever did, do you remember how soon they died ? Although every
one knows that the root is the life of the plant, I doubt whether every one believes it; or else boys, when they weed, would not so often pull a weed off instead of rooting it up. Why do gardeners prune and cut down plants ? To make them grow stronger; and so I conclude that boys wish the weeds to grow stronger, and therefore snap them off, instead of rooting them up.
Now the root of a plant has two things to do. First, to feed the plant; secondly, to keep it firmly in the ground. Well, it sometimes happens that stupid people put plants into soil which does not suit them. No one would think of feeding different sorts of beasts on the same food. Fancy how vexed a horse would be if his master brought him a slice of roast mutton; or a cat, if she were offered a feed of oats ; or a donkey, if he were handed a cup of good tea. Now animals are not much more different in their tastes about what they eat than plants are. But very often, it is thought odd that all plants will not do well in the same soil.
What should you do if you found nothing you could eat at the first shop to which you went to buy a dinner? Why, if you had any sense, and were not lazy, you would go to another. And that is what the poor plant does. If a plant is put into ground that does not suit it, it pushes its roots out along the ground until they meet with something better. But I advise you, if you have gardens, to try and find out what plants suit the soil, and to grow only those. There is little pleasure to be got out of half-starved, stunted plants.