AN ITALIAN BOAT SONG.
The morn shines bright,
And the bark bounds light
As the stag bounds o'er the lea We love the strife Of the sailor's life,
And we love our dark-blue sea,
Now high, now low, To the depths we go,
Now rise on the surge again; We make a track On the Ocean's back,
And play with his hoary mane.
The landsman may quail
 At the shout of the gale Which perils the sailor's joy  But wild as the 
waves  Which his vessel braves
Is the lot of the sailor-boy.
-SIR E. B. LYTTON.

HOME.
I would leave this great city, so brilliant and gay, For a peep at my home 
on this fair summer day.
I have friends whom I love and would leave with regret, But the love of my 
home is the tenderest yet.

THE LIGHTHOUSE.
The tide comes up, and the tide goes down, Over the rocks so rugged and 
brown, And the cruel sea, with a hungry
roar, Dashes its breakers along the shore; But steady and clear, with a 
constant ray, The star of the lighthouse
shines away.
The ships come sailing across the main, But the harbour-mouth is hard 
to gain, For the treacherous reef lies close
beside, And the rocks are bare at the ebbing tide, And the blinding fog 
comes down at night, Shrouding and hiding
the harbour light.
The sailors, sailing their ships along, Will tell you a tale of the 
lighthouse strong - How once, when the keeper was far
away, A terrible storm swept down the bay, And two little children were 
left to keep Their awesome watch o'er the
angry deep.
The fair little sister wept, dismayed, But the brother said, " I am not 
afraid; There's One who ruleth on sea and land,
And holds the waves in His mighty hand; For mercy's sake I will watch 
to-night, And feed, for the sailors, the beacon
light."
So the sailors heard, through the murky shroud, The fog- bell sounding 
its warning loud; While the children, up in the
lonely tower, Tended the lamp in the midnight hour, And prayed for any 
whose souls might be In deadly peril by land
or sea.
Ghostly and dim, when the storm was o'er, The ships rode safely, far off 
the shore, And a boat shot out from the town
that lay, Dusk and purple, across the bay; She touched her keel to the 
lighthouse strand, And the eager keeper
leaped to land,
And, swiftly climbing the lighthouse stair, He called to his children, 
young and fair; But, worn with their toilsome
watch, they slept, While slowly o'er their foreheads crept The golden 
light of the morning sun, Like the victor's crown
when his palm is won.
" God bless you, children! " the keeper cried; " God bless thee, father!" the boy 
replied. " I dreamed that there stood
beside my bed A beautiful angel, who smiled and said, Blessed are they 
whose love can make Joy of labour, for
mercy's sake."'

THE FLAG GOES BY.*
 Hats off! Along the street there comes
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums,
A flash of colour beneath the sky Hats off! The Flag is passing by !
Blue, and crimson, and white it shines Over the steel-tipped, ordered 
lines  Hats off! The colours before us fly ; But
more than the Flag is passing by – 

For the story of the Union Jack, see School Journal, Part II, May, 1908, 
page 54.

Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, Fought to make and to save the 
State; Weary marches and sinking ships;
Cheers of victory on dying lips;
Days of plenty and years of peace; March of a strong land's swift 
increase, Equal justice, right, and law; Stately
honour and reverend awe;
Sign of a nation, great and strong To ward her people from foreign wrong; 
Pride, and glory, and honour - all Live in the
colours to stand or fall.
Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums 
And loyal hearts are beating high: Hats off!
The Flag is passing by!
-Henry Holcomb Bennett, in "Life."

LITTLE BY LITTLE.
"Little by little," an acorn said, As it slowly sank in its mossy bed " I 
am improving day by day, Hidden deep in the
earth away." Little by little each day it grew; Little by little it 
sipped the dew; Downward it sent a thread-like root; Up
in the air sprang a tiny shoot. Day after day, and year after year, 
Little by little the leaves appear; And the slender
branches spread far and wide, Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride.
Far down in the depths of the dark-blue sea The insects labour 
ceaselessly; Grain by grain, 'neath the rolling swell,
Each is building a tiny cell; Moment by moment, and day by day, Never 
stopping to rest or to play. Rocks upon rocks
they are rearing high, Till the top looks out on the sunny sky; The 
gentle wind and the balmy air Little by little bring
verdure there; Till the summer sunbeams gaily smile On the leaves and 
buds of the coral isle.
" Little by little," says Thoughtful Boy, " Moment by moment I'll well 
employ, Learn a little every day, And not spend
all my time in play. This rule in my mind shall always dwell: 'Whatever I 
do, I'll do it well.' Little by little I'll learn to
know The treasured wisdom of long ago; And one of these days perhaps 
we'll see That the world will be the better for
me." And do you not think that this simple plan Would make him a wise and 
a useful man ?

OUR HEROES.
Here's a hand to the boy who has courage
To do what he knows to be right;
When he falls in the way of temptation
He has a hard battle to fight.
He who strives against self and companions
Will cope with a powerful foe;
All honour to him if he conquers
A cheer for the boy who says " No."
There are battles fought daily about us
That we can know nothing about;
There's many a brave, unknown hero
Whose valour puts legions to rout.
He who struggles with wrong and o'ercomes it
Is more of a hero, I say,
Than he who leads soldiers to glory,
And conquers by arms in the fray.
Be steadfast, my boy, when you're tempted,
And do what you know to be right;
Stand firm by your manhood, my hero,
And you will o'ercome in the fight.
"The Right " be your battle-cry ever, As you share in the conflict of life,
And God, who knows who are the heroes, Will strengthen your arm for the 
strife.
-Eben E. Rexford, in the " Boy's Own Paper."

'Tis the idle that grow weary;
Gaily rings each busy sound; 'Tis a pleasure to be active;
There's a joy in labour found.

WHY WE KEEP ARBOR DAY.  21ST JULY.
[Six pupils are selected to recite in turn the verse indicated for each. 
The rest of the class recite the first verse.]
Trees of the fragrant forest, With leaves of green unfurled,
Through summer's heat, through winter's cold, What do you for our world ?
First- Our green leaves catch the raindrops That fall with soothing sound,
Then drop them slowly, slowly down - 'Tis better for the ground.
Second -  When, rushing down the hillside, A mighty freshet foams,
Our giant trunks and spreading roots Defend your happy homes.
Third- From burning heat in summer We offer cool retreat,
Protect the land in winter's storm from cold, and wind, and sleet.
Fourth- Our falling leaves in autumn,
By breezes turned and tossed,
Will make a carpet deep and warm
To save the ground from frost.
Fifth- We give you shade in summer,
Our fuel gives you heat;
We furnish timber for your homes,
And nuts and fruit to eat.
Sixth- With strong and graceful outline,
With branches green or bare,
We fill the land through all the year
With beauty everywhere.
All- So, listen, from the forest
Each tree a message sends
To children on this Arbor Day,
"We trees are faithful friends."
-Primary Education.

THE NEW WORLD DISCOVERED.
They sailed, they sailed. Then spoke the mate,
" This mad sea shows his teeth to-night;
He curls his lip, he lies in wait
With lifted teeth, as if to bite.
Brave admiral, say but one good word
What shall we do when life is gone ?"
The words leaped as a flaming sword,
" Sail on, sail on, sail on, and on."
Then pale and worn he kept his deck
And peered through darkness. Ah ! that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck
" A light! A light! A light! A light
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled;
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson, " On! and on! "
---JOAQUIN MILLER.

WELCOME TO ARBOR DAY.
Welcome to Arbor Day! Gladly we sing,
Nature from sleep awakes, Greeting the Spring!
Blossoms with odours rare Make earth a garden fair
Sound we they praises with notes loud and clear,
Welcome to Arbor Day! Bright words of cheer.
Welcome to Arbor Day! Come one and all,
Join in our merry glee, List to our call.
Woods with their tribute ring, Birds cheerful off'rings bring;
Swelilng the chorus in one gladsome song,
Welcome to Arbor Day Echoes along.

TO THE CUCKOO.
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing.
What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path Or mark the rolling year
Delightful visitant, with thee I hail the time of flowers
And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers.
The schoolboy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay,
Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, And imitates thy lay.
What time the pea puts on the bloom  Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail.
Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song No winter in thy year.
Oh ! could I fly, I'd fly with thee  We'd make, with joyful wing, Our 
annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring.
MICHAEL BRUCE.

The friendly cow, all red and white, I love with all my heart;
She gives me cream with all her might, To eat with apple tart.

GENERAL CUSTER AND THE BIRD'S NEST.
I've plucked the berry from the bush,
 The brown nut from the tree But heart of happy little bird  Ne'er broken was by me. I 
passed them 
by, and blessed
them all;  I felt that it was good
To leave unmoved the creatures small Whose home was in the wood.
 Not many soldiers have proved so daring in fight as was  a brave American general 
named Custer. Though so dashing and brave when he met an enemy in arms, General 
Custer was gentle and tender to helpless dumb creatures.
Once he was riding over the wide western plains, and behind him came his troops. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
went the feet
of the horses. At a certain point the general's sharp eyes suddenly caught sight of a 
frightened 
little bird. He saw her
nest and the young birds in it. It was directly in the pathway along which he was 
leading his men. 
Should those little
lives be crushed out by the feet of the horses ?
No; he would not bring sorrow to the harmless mother bird. He would save her young 
from the iron 
tread of the horses
that were following. He well knew that - 
The wise and strong should seek The welfare of the weak.
Instantly reining his horse aside, he commanded a change in the line of march. The 
troops obeyed, of 
course, but
wondered. They soon understood. As they advanced they saw the nest on the ground, 
and the helpless pretty creatures in it.
Then the soldiers knew what a tender heart was beating in the breast of their brave 
leader.

COOK AND NELSON.
On the 8th of October, 1769, Captain Cook landed at Poverty Bay on his 
first visit to New Zealand.
On the 21st of October, 1805, Lord Nelson was killed at the Battle of 
Trafalgar
During the present month children might read the articles on Cook and 
Nelson which have already appeared in the
School Journal. For stories of the life of Cook see Part II, October, 
1907, pages 81 and 89 ; and also the series of articles on Taieto's travels, published in 
1908, beginning on page 23: and for stories of Nelson's life see Part II,
October, 1907, pages 85 and 91 ; and October, 1908, page 139. Attention is 
drawn also to the note in Part III.
Here is another incident that occurred in one of Nelson's battles. In 1798 
he totally defeated a French fleet in the
Battle of the Nile. During the battle the French ship " Orient " caught 
fire, and the powder in her magazine exploded. 
Among the many hundreds that perished were Commodore Casabianca and his 
young son, a brave boy of only ten
years old. The following lines tell the story of the French lad's heroism:
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

THE BATTLE OF THE NILE.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud though childlike form.
The flames rolled on - he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud, " Say, father, say,
If yet my task is done?"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
"Speak, father," once again he cried,
" If I may yet be gone."
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair;
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair;
And shouted but once more aloud,
" My father! must I stay ? " 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapped the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder-sound - 
The boy - oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part;
But the noblest thing that perished there
Was that young faithful heart.
-Mrs. Hemans.

THE FIREMAN.
Hark! 'tis the clang of the bell! And the fireman springs to his feet (Like 
a faithful hound at his masters word) The very
moment the stroke is heard, In jacket and belt complete.
He speeds, like the rush of the wind, With ladder and rope and reel, 'Mid 
the shriek of the whistle and hurrying beat Of
sparkling hoofs, through the ruddy street, And the ring of brass and steel.
 Up, now, through the raging fire  He clambers with panting breath Through 
the stifling smoke and the furnace glow;
And falters his foot for an instant ? No;  What terror for him has Death
 Flashes the axe in his hand,  And his blows fall fast and true; In a 
second the shattered wall gives way, And, quick
as a tiger after its prey,
 With a bound he dashes through.
 But, oh! from the clamouring crowd  What shrieks would rise at his doom, 
Should he fall, 'mid the horrid crackle and
glare, With them that he seeks to save, and share  Their fate of a fiery 
tomb
 Fireman! give me your hand,  You with the iron breast, With the iron arm 
and the sinews of steel,
And the big bold heart that the world shall feel Is manliest heart and 
best!
I have scanned the roll of men, The records of human strife ;
And where is the hand with a prouder claim To the grasp of a king and the 
kiss of Fame  Than the hand that saves a
life?
-CHARLES UMBERS.

THE BROKEN WING.
In front of my pew sits a maiden A little brown wing in her hat,
With its touches of tropical azure,
And the sheen of the sun upon that.
Through the bloom-coloured pane shines a glory,
By which the vast shadows are stirred;
But I pine for the spirit and splendour
That painted the wing of that bird.
The organ rolls down its great anthem,
With the soul of a song it is blent;
As for me, how I long for the singing
Of one little song that is spent.
The voice of the preacher is gentle:
"No sparrow shall fall to the ground"; But the poor broken wing on the 
bonnet
Is mocking the merciful sound.


