p or feed.
How motionless!--not frozen seas
More motionless!--and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard ground is ours;
My trees they are, my sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now!

_Wordsworth_.

* * * * *

SELF-POISED, balanced.

What is a sanctuary? In the Temple at Jerusalem, what was the Holy of
Holies? Why are the sanctuaries of Catholic churches so supremely holy?

Why are "sweet childish days" as long "As twenty days are now?"

Tell what you know of the author's life.

Memorize the poem.

[Illustration:]

* * * * *

_70_

re tort' ed
quizzed
in cred' i ble
man u fac' ture
sat' ire
vi o lin' ist
com pre hend'
me lo' di ous ly
hu' mor
ex hib' it
a chieve' ments
for' ests

THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND.

In the room of a poet, where his inkstand stood upon the table, it was
said, "It is wonderful what can come out of an inkstand. What will the
next thing be? It is wonderful!"

"Yes, certainly," said the Inkstand. "It's extraordinary--that's what I
always say," he exclaimed to the pen and to the other articles on the
table that were near enough to hear. "It is wonderful what a number of
things can come out of me. It's quite incredible. And I really don't
myself know what will be the next thing, when that man begins to dip
into me. One drop out of me is enough for half a page of paper; and what
cannot be contained in half a page?

"From me all the works of the poet go forth--all these living men, whom
people can imagine they have met--all the deep feeling, the humor, the
vivid pictures of nature. I myself don't understand how it is, for I am
not acquainted with nature, but it certainly is in me. From me all
things have gone forth, and from me proceed the troops of charming
maidens, and of brave knights on prancing steeds, and all the lame and
the blind, and I don't know what more--I assure you I don't think of
anything."

"There you are right," said the Pen; "y