N.

THE VIOLET.

"The Violet," by Jane Taylor (1783-1824), is another of those dear
old-fashioned poems, pure poetry and pure violet. It is included in
this volume out of respect to my own love for it when I was a child.

Down in a green and shady bed
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,
As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
No colours bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused its sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go,
This pretty flower to see;
That I may also learn to grow
In sweet humility.

JANE TAYLOR.

THE RAINBOW.

(A FRAGMENT.)

"The Rainbow," by William Wordsworth (1770-1850), accords with every
child's feelings. It voices the spirit of all ages that would love to
imagine it "a bridge to heaven."

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS.

"A Visit From St. Nicholas," by Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863) is the
most popular Christmas poem ever written. It carries Santa Claus on
from year to year and the spirit of Santa Claus.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eig