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GLM5 OF POLTRY 
 
 BY 
 
 Dora J. Carpenter Kenyon 
 

 Auti? ■ - 
 
 SPITS' 
 
 MAS 3 I9tl 
 
SUMMER 
 
 With sunshine and with flowers she came 
 
 In laughing, careless glee, 
 With silvery voice of rippling streams, 
 
 And heart so glad and free. 
 With sylvan songs of sweet-voiced birds, 
 
 With breezes soft and mild, 
 With fleecy clouds and skies of blue. 
 
 She came, this wayward child. 
 
 Her life was short. The starry flowers 
 
 Whose cups were filled with dew. 
 Whose beauty fed the humming bee 
 
 And graced the meadow through, 
 Have drooped at last their wearied heads 
 
 In grief upon their breast. 
 For summer's burial time is near — 
 
 The flowers have gone to rest 
 
 The birds, who cheered those sunny days 
 
 Have flown to southern bowers. 
 All this in nature's sad array 
 
 Brings back September hours. 
 The colored leaf that flutters down 
 
 Along the pebbly way, 
 Speaks in a language all its own 
 
 The end of summer's day. 
 5 
 
LET THE LITTLE SISTER IN 
 
 On the Admission of North Dakota. 
 
 Don't you hear the voices caUing 
 
 From the meadow and the plain, 
 From the prairie and the hillside 
 
 And the fields of golden grain, 
 Ringing out in pleading accents 
 
 With a loud and deafening din, 
 ''We are knocking for admission, 
 
 Won't you let Dakota in ?" 
 
 Won't you welcome her, my sisters. 
 
 Let her in the statehood share, 
 And amid the constellation 
 
 Let her shine a radiant star ? 
 She will come with gorgeous raiment 
 
 Decked with jewels rich and rare, 
 She will bring you wealth and honor, 
 
 Let her proudly enter there. 
 
 Treasured deep within her bosom, 
 
 Bears she wealth of mines untold ; 
 Bright upon her brow a coronet 
 
 Gleams of nature's purest gold. 
 She has charming little lakelets 
 
 Flashing like a thousand gems, 
 Glimmering in the early sunlight, 
 
 Sparkling in her diadem. 
 
She has mighty streams and rivers 
 
 Flowing onward glad and free, 
 Bearing ships upon their bosom, 
 
 With her products toward the sea. 
 In her arms she bears a burden, 
 
 Gleaming rich with Ceres' spoils, 
 Golden sheaves of wheat and plenty 
 
 From Dakota's virgin soil. 
 
 In her hand she brings a chaplet 
 
 Wreathed with bright and fragrant flowers, 
 Intertwined with fruits and grasses 
 
 From Pomona's choicest bowers. 
 Must we then stand ever knocking 
 
 Patiently outside the gate, 
 Pleading for the home she merits. 
 
 Must Dakota longer wait? 
 
IN MEMORY OF ETHEL GRANT OF 
 LAKOTA, N. D. 
 
 Aged 1 Year, 8 Months. 
 
 We miss thee, little Ethel, 
 
 At morning, noon and night; 
 Of all our fireside circle, 
 
 Thou wert our joy and light. 
 No more we'll hear her prattle, 
 
 Or see her smile so fair. 
 We wait in vain her coming, 
 
 And see her vacant chair. 
 But still we know that Jesus, 
 
 Who loves His lambs to meet, 
 Will care for baby Ethel, 
 
 And guide her little feet. 
 'Way up the shining pathway, 
 
 Where angel steps have trod, 
 We know our little darling 
 
 Is safe at home with God. 
 
X '^* 
 
 ^ ^"^ 
 
SOMEBODY'S MOTHER 
 
 Tread lightly, speak softly, no more will she hear 
 The heart sobs of anguish, the sorrowful tear, 
 Fold the pale hands on the cold silent breast, 
 She will not heed us — our mother's at rest ! 
 
 The arm-chair is vacant, the fireside is sad, 
 No more will she greet us and make our hearts glad. 
 In the way of the righteous, her pathway has run. 
 Her mission is ended, her life work is done. 
 
 Rest thee, dear mother, beneath this low mound. 
 Where nature in beauty has strewn flowers around. 
 While the snow-drop and lily in fragrance shall bloom, 
 The tears of thy loved ones shall water the tomb. 
 
 But still in our grief we can look up to God, 
 Whose wisdom has sent us His chastening rod. 
 And trust with that dear one when life's toils are o'er. 
 With joy we shall meet on that glorified shore. 
 
 11 
 
FATHLR 15 DEAD 
 
 Like a ripened sheaf of golden wheat, he is cut 
 down. Long years of life have been granted him; 
 blessed years of toil in service for the Master, and 
 service to mankind. Years of sorrow, and years of 
 joy, ever thoughtful of the suffering poor, and the 
 sorrows of others, doing kindly deeds on every hand. 
 He is called up higher to meet the dear Master he 
 loved so well, as he said: "I shall be satisfied when I 
 awake in His likeness." 
 
 12 
 
3 
 
CHRISTMAS CHIMES 
 
 Christmas is coming, young friends look here, 
 'Tis the merriest month in all the year 
 When friends and neighbors gather together 
 And heed not the cold or stormy weather. 
 Get ready with us to enjoy the ride, 
 As over the fleecy snow we glide; 
 While out on the piercing air there swells, 
 The merry laugh and the jingle of bells. 
 
 Heap high the fire on the old stone hearth! 
 For all our hearts are filled with mirth; 
 Let no one be sad in our homes to-day, 
 While merry Christmas holds its sway. 
 The maid is busy with puddings and pies, 
 And scores of turkeys have closed their eyes; 
 While jellies and cakes and wines so bright, 
 Sparkle and flash in the brilliant light. 
 
 And while we sit by the fire so warm. 
 
 And feel that we are safe from harm. 
 
 We enjoy the bounty and praise the feast, 
 
 And seem not disturbed by our thoughts in the least; 
 
 Do we think of the poor and the hungry who're fed 
 
 On a morsel of meat or a pittance of bread; 
 
 Whose garments together will scarcely meet 
 
 To protect from the cold, from the snow or the sleet? 
 
 15 
 
Do we think of the hearts that are stained with sin, 
 Who are starving without and tortured within ; 
 Who have bartered their souls for filthy gold, 
 And wandered away from their Father's fold? 
 
 O, brothers and Christians, resolve to-day. 
 
 That let other people do as they may. 
 
 We will divide from our bounty and store 
 
 With those that are needy — God's numberless poor; 
 
 And then when the bell from the old church tower 
 
 Shall chime in its beauty and strength and power : 
 
 "Good will to men, and peace on earth," 
 
 As it swings so slowly back and forth. 
 
 If we look up to the deep blue sky. 
 Where the stars in wondrous beauty lie. 
 We can fancy in answer to our prayer 
 We see the glorious Christ-child there; 
 Looking in love from His blazoned throne. 
 Where hunger and cold are never known. 
 Saying in tones of pure delight, 
 "Bless all who have fed my lambs to-night." 
 
 16 
 
THE ORGAN-GRINDER'S 
 CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 We've tramped all day, from dawn till dark. 
 
 In the cold and wintry snow, 
 All up and down in the city's din, 
 
 Not caring where we go. 
 Our feet are cold, our hair is wet, 
 
 Our clothes are worn and thin. 
 And the bitter wind goes sweeping by 
 
 As we come tramping in. 
 
 Chorus. 
 O, God in Heaven pity 
 
 And hear the orphan's cry! 
 Our hands are cold and freezing 
 
 As the blast goes wailing by. 
 Here's Tom and Bess and Lillie, dear, 
 
 And Little Jock and me, 
 Of the organ-grinder's children 
 
 That came from o'er the sea. 
 
 We've seen the light in happy homes, 
 
 And heard their laugh and song. 
 The tear-drops trickle down our cheeks 
 
 As we go hurrying on. 
 The organ-grinder has no home. 
 
 We don't know where we'll stay. 
 But God will guard His children well, 
 
 He'll keep us safe till day. 
 
 17 
 
For up above the starry dome, 
 
 Where all the angels dwell, 
 The Savior has a home prepared 
 
 For those He loves so well ; 
 Though lone and poor, He'll not forget, 
 
 To us it will be given. 
 There'll be no cold or hunger there — 
 
 We'll find a Home in Heaven. 
 
 18 
 

FOURTH OF JULY POEM— 1880 
 
 Held at O. A. Carpenter's Grove, Forest River, 
 
 N. D., Second Year of Settlement. 
 Here friends, to-day again we meet, 
 
 As oft we've meft before, 
 To celebrate this sacred day 
 
 Our fathers did of yore. 
 This day, so dear to loyal hearts, 
 
 Wherever they may be, 
 From California's golden sands, 
 
 To Maine beside the sea. 
 
 And for this Independence day 
 
 We thank the gracious Giver, 
 And bid you welcome, one and all. 
 
 This day at Forest River. 
 One year ago upon this spot 
 
 A goodly number met, 
 A loyal few, both brave and true, 
 
 'Tis fresh in memory yet. 
 
 And on this prairie, broad and fair. 
 
 Where late the Indian roamed, 
 Where dusky maidens wooed their braves, 
 
 Or made their camp-fires burn; 
 'Twas here our little flag we flung 
 
 Unfettered to the breeze, 
 "The Stars and Stripes," the first e'er seen, 
 
 Unfurled beneath these trees. 
 
 21 
 
And here we met, a little band, 
 
 Our homage true to pay, 
 To those who bought our liberty — 
 
 To Independence Day. 
 And as our anthems, loud and clear, 
 
 Rang out in joyful song, 
 The very breeze in silence hushed 
 
 Or wafted it along. 
 
 The grand old trees took up the strain, 
 
 While echo seemed to say, 
 "Hurrah! Hurrah! let's join the theme, 
 
 'Tis Independence Day." 
 And so all nature caught the song. 
 
 O'er meadow, hill and lea, 
 And Forest River laughing rolled 
 
 Its waters to the sea. 
 
 Again, together now we come, 
 
 Where Fredom's altar stands. 
 From every nation, clime and tongue, 
 
 From many foreign lands ; 
 From Old Ontario's lovely plains. 
 
 From Norway's fir-clad hills. 
 From England's broad and rich domains. 
 
 From sunny southern vales. 
 
 And here we hope to build our homes, 
 Upon Dakota's soil, 
 
 22 
 
And glean the rich and ripen'd grain, 
 
 As souvenirs of toil. 
 As sons of freedom we will take 
 
 A firm, undaunted stand. 
 And wield with strength the plow and pen, 
 
 As patriots of the land. 
 
 Our voices then in thanks we'll raise 
 
 To God above the sky. 
 Who gave us peace beneath this flag 
 
 That proudly floats on high ; 
 This flag our fathers lov'd so dear, 
 
 Our liberty it won; 
 'Twas borne amid the battles' din 
 
 By our own Washington. 
 
 And, later, in the bloody fray. 
 
 When treason reared its head, 
 And sought to desecrate our homes, 
 
 And fill the land with dread. 
 When brothers, girded for the fight. 
 
 Against each other met. 
 And strove to blot the Union out 
 
 Or cause her sun to set; 
 
 Amid the conflict, fierce and wild. 
 
 This flag in glory waved. 
 While deadly shot and shrieking shell 
 
 Filled many a soldier's grave. 
 
 23 
 
And as the tattered Stripes still gleamed 
 
 In the red battles' light, 
 The dying warrior clasped its folds 
 
 And fell for God and right. 
 
 And when, at last, the vict'ry won, 
 
 It waved o'er Richmond's heights, 
 A shout went up from loyal hearts 
 
 In tones of wild delight. 
 All hail! thou emblem of the free, 
 
 O, let it be unfurled. 
 Till Stars and Stripes shall proudly float 
 
 In peace o'er all the world. 
 
 And may the memory of this day 
 
 Be always fraught with joy, 
 To those who've met upon these grounds 
 
 In pleasure's sweet employ. 
 And now we hope none may regret, 
 
 That having passed this way. 
 They spent at Forest River's side 
 
 This Independence Day. 
 
 24 
 
IN MEMORY OF CYNTHIA MALCOMSON 
 DREW 
 
 Ardoch, N. D. 
 
 Beloved, thou hast taken thy departure 
 
 A little while before us, 
 
 To that celestial bourne, from whence 
 
 No traveller e'er returns. 
 
 Thine eyes have early oped 
 
 To heaven's rapturous beauties; 
 
 Thine ear has caught the strains 
 
 Or seraphs song, and the glad greeting 
 
 Of the lov'd ones gone before. 
 
 We see thy vacant chair — 
 Thy lonely home. Here lie 
 
 The dainty works of art, thy hands had fashioned — 
 The open books that thou hast read — 
 The flowers thou hast trained ; 
 Who, Hke thyself, feeling the frost-king's breath. 
 Dropped from the stem in life's most beauteous 
 bloom, 
 
 But still there lingers with us 
 
 The perfume of thy kindly deeds. 
 
 The many loving acts, which leave 
 
 Thy mem'ry ever sacred. 
 
 Rest, weary heart! upon thy gentle Savior's breast. 
 
 For — "There is no sorrow, nor any sighing, 
 
 25 
 
Nor any pain there, nor any dying." 
 
 And on that glad morn, 
 
 When Christ shall claim his own. 
 
 We hope to meet thee clad in bright array 
 
 With God's redeemed. 
 
 26 
 
TAKL ML BACK TO MY SUNNY 
 SOUTHERN HOME 
 
 Take me back to my sunny southern home, 
 Let me hear its gentle zephyrs softly sigh ; 
 
 Where the nightingale is singing and the sweet magno- 
 lia blooms, 
 On the dear old plantation let me lie. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Take me home, take me home, to that little lowly cot, 
 Let me see the darkies dancing on the green; 
 
 Let me hear the banjo tumming, and the wild bees 
 gaily humming. 
 Take me back to my southern home to die. 
 
 Take me back to my sunny southern home, 
 
 Let me see the old brick farm-house in the lane; 
 
 On that dear old southern homestead where the cane 
 and corn will grow, 
 Let me see the cotton waving once again. 
 
 Take me back to my sunny southern home. 
 Let me feel its gentle zephyrs ere I die; 
 
 And beneath the fragrant blossoms of the old magno- 
 lia tree, 
 In the shelter of its branches let me lie. 
 
 29 
 
AT THE FOURTH ANNUAL REUNION OF 
 THE CARPENTER FAMILY, WOOD- 
 HULL, N. Y., JULY 18, 1906 
 
 While nature bright, with sweet delight, 
 
 And earth and air and sky, 
 Lend fragrant flowers and song of bird 
 
 To charm the hours that fly; 
 So we have come this hallowed day, 
 
 From home and far-off lands. 
 To the Carpenter reunion, 
 
 A joyous, happy band. 
 
 We bring our bevy of sweetest girls. 
 
 Our proud and manly boys, 
 To fill the hours with mirth and song, 
 
 And share with us our joys. 
 We've left our homes on this glad day. 
 
 And laid aside all toil. 
 That we may each clasp friendly hands 
 
 On consecrated soil. 
 
 Descendants of the Carpenter tree, 
 
 Our father, James, the head. 
 Who sleeps in yonder church-yard near, 
 
 Among the silent dead. 
 All honor to our grand old sire! 
 
 Who strove with might and main. 
 With brawny arm and sinew strong. 
 
 Nor stopped for sun or rain. 
 
 30 
 
To open up this virgin soil, 
 
 And make the desert bloom, 
 His woodman's ax rang loud and clear 
 
 At morning, night and noon. 
 And often when the winter winds 
 
 Piled high the drifting snow, 
 A deep, unearthly, moaning sound 
 
 Rang from the woods below. 
 
 While through the lonely hemlock trees 
 
 Their stealthy steps were heard, 
 As mother clasped the little ones 
 
 Still closer 'round the board. 
 The wolves would scent with blood-shot eyes 
 
 The meal at evening's close, 
 While father stirred the old log fire 
 
 And showers of sparks arose. 
 
 'Twas thus our honored grandsire lived 
 
 And toiled in life's bright bloom. 
 Aided by his brave, faithful wife. 
 
 Now resting in the tomb. 
 To their beloved sacrifice — 
 
 The labor of their hands. 
 We owe our homes, our hearth-stones proud, 
 
 Our broad and fertile lands. 
 
 Our stately standing cypress trees, 
 Our orchards waving grand, 
 
 31 
 
Were planted in those early days 
 On spots where now they stand. 
 
 But four are left of that old home, 
 Where once eleven stood, 
 
 They're Mary, Otis, Henry, James, 
 With three companions good. 
 
 Otis, at Washington, D. C, 
 
 At Wellsville, Mary thrives, 
 James in his North Dakota home, 
 
 At Troupsburg Henry lives. 
 WilHam and Willis, Thomas dear, 
 
 Eliza, Ellen, Maria, 
 Who shared the hardships of those days. 
 
 Have passed to homes on high. 
 
 Emily and Lib, and Miriam, too, 
 
 Dear sisters, kind and true, 
 Have travelled down that silent road 
 
 That we must surely go. 
 Of generations third and fourth, 
 
 A goodly company stand; 
 In halls of state and busy marts. 
 
 They're scattered o'er the land. 
 
 We hope our children will compare 
 
 With others wise and good. 
 Who hewed their homes in pioneer days 
 
 From out the New York woods. 
 
 32 
 
And let us live that we may meet, 
 And with our loved ones stand, 
 
 Around God's throne, with saints above, 
 A grand, unbroken band. 
 
 And to the friends who've met us here, 
 
 In pleasures' sweet employ. 
 We trust the hours you've spent with us 
 
 Have passed without alloy. 
 And as we bid a fond good-by 
 
 To each and every one. 
 We'll hasten to our Western home. 
 
 Toward the setting sun. 
 
 33 
 
IN MEMORY OF MISS ALBERTA COUTT5, 
 OF PETERBOROUGH, ONT., CAN. 
 
 And thou art gone, dear friend, 
 
 From out our midst, 
 
 To dwell in that mysterious realm 
 
 From whence the voice of loved ones 
 
 Never reach us more. 
 
 It is like some dark, haunting dream 
 
 To think thee dead, with pale hands 
 
 Folded on thy pulseless, silent breast, 
 
 And waxen eye-lids closed 
 
 In death's cold beauty. 
 
 It seems but yesterday that thou wert here, 
 
 With sparkling eye, and merry laugh, 
 
 And blooming roses on thy cheek. 
 
 And youth's free springing footstep 
 
 On the walk, and when with outstretched hands 
 
 We bade thee fond good-by. 
 
 Till we should meet again. 
 
 But though in choral songs 
 
 We miss thy voice and lyre, 
 
 There clings a host of tender memories sweet, 
 
 Or kindly words to all. 
 
 Of courteous speech, of malice toward none, 
 
 Of meek forgiveness for all wrongs. 
 
 34 
 
Rest thee in peace, dear one, 
 On old Ontario's lovely shores. 
 Where waving grasses o'er thy tomb 
 Shall sigh a soft and silent requiem, 
 And spring-time showers mourn 
 With sobbing tears, the loss of one 
 So good and true. 
 
 And summer birds will chant a dirge 
 
 Of music sweet, 
 
 And soft-eyed violets bloom 
 
 In fragrant beauty 'round thy grave. 
 
 Farewell, dear friend, until that morn 
 
 When Christ shall claim His own. 
 
 We hope to meet thee 
 
 'Mid that bright angelic throng. 
 
 Clad in celestial robes 
 
 At God's right hand. 
 
 35 
 
MY HOMELAND, DAKOTA 
 
 Dedicated to North Dakota. 
 
 Down where the Red River's flowing 
 
 In a vine-covered cot near the shore, 
 There blooms the Rose of Dakota — 
 
 There Hves my sweet Ellenore. 
 Lowly the willows are bending 
 
 Branches now kissing the stream, 
 Gaily the wild birds are singing, 
 
 Nesting 'mid bowers of green. 
 
 See the rich grasses now waving 
 
 O'er the broad prairie so fair. 
 Decked with the loveliest wild flowers, 
 
 Scenting the soft summer air. 
 Lily-bells nodding their blossoms, 
 
 Dipping their cups in the stream, 
 Wavelets are dancing in chorus, 
 
 Catching the morning's bright gleam. 
 
 Rich purple grapes in the woodland 
 
 Gracefully swing from the trees. 
 And the gold glint of the wild plum 
 
 Calls to the wandering bees. 
 Great golden grain fields are glowing, 
 
 Stretching o'er valley and glen. 
 All join in framing the jewels 
 
 Set in our fair diadem. 
 
 36 
 
God bless our homeland, Dakota! 
 
 Star of the Northland so fair, 
 Set like a gem in our banner, 
 
 Floating so proudly afar. 
 She will bring riches and honor, 
 
 She will bring hearts brave and true. 
 Defending the flag of our fathers, 
 
 The glorious Red, White and Blue. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 This is my homeland, Dakota, 
 
 Dearer than ever before. 
 She is the pride of the Northland — 
 
 Here lives my sweet Ellenore. 
 
 .37 
 
OUR NATION'5 HLROL5 
 
 At the 30th National Encampment, G. A. R., 
 St. Paul, Minn. 
 See the ranks of veterans marching, 
 
 Onward still they come, 
 With the piercing blare of trumpets 
 
 And the stirring drum. 
 See "Old Glory" proudly waving, 
 
 As it did of yore, 
 Borne aloft by valiant freemen, 
 
 'Mid the battles' roar. 
 
 And the tattered flags are coming, 
 
 Rent with shot and shell, 
 Relics of victorious battles. 
 
 Where our brave boys fell. 
 Years ago, in glorious manhood, 
 
 In youth's strength and pride. 
 These, to save our nation's honor. 
 
 Suffered, bled, and died. 
 
 Watch them now with halting footsteps, 
 
 Many bowed with years. 
 Empty sleeves and wooden crutches, 
 
 Bought with wounds and tears. 
 Though they starved in pen and prison 
 
 For the dear old flag, 
 No deep pain or direst anguish 
 
 Made their ardor lag. 
 
Honor to these noble veterans! 
 
 Shout o'er hill and lea ! 
 Let Columbia's cannons thunder 
 
 Loud from sea to sea. 
 Now our country reunited, 
 
 Loyal hearts and true, 
 Here's our hand in friendly greeting 
 
 For the gray and blue. 
 
MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 It is right and fitting that a grateful nation should 
 desire to perpetuate the memory of our heroic dead 
 who have given their lives in defense of their flag 
 and country, whether they have fallen during the 
 war of the rebellion, upon the soil of the Southland, 
 in the jungles of the Philippines, or in the trenches 
 at Santiago. No honor bestowed upon them can be 
 too great for the sacrifice rendered, and it is due to 
 their immortal deeds of valor that we enjoy to-day 
 the union and prosperity of this great nation. Let 
 our hearts turn with gratitude to an all-wise Provi- 
 dence, who has watched over and blest this nation, 
 and brought together, after many years, the brother- 
 hood of the Blue and the Gray. And while on the 
 30th day of May, the children and citizens of a proud 
 and grateful country, from every village and hamlet 
 where sleep the brave, shall strew sweet flowers upon 
 their resting place, as we have no soldiers buried 
 here, we have brought these beautiful flowers as a 
 tribute to our fallen heroes — to the soldier, who fell 
 amid the sulphurous smoke of battle, or died a prey 
 to disease ; to the sailors, who gallantly stood by their 
 ships, only to find a watery grave, whose only dirge 
 is the lapping of the waves upon the shore; whose 
 winding-sheet is the tangled vines of the seaweed. 
 
 And let us seek to implant in the heart of every 
 child the love of country, and reverence for her de- 
 fenders, whose deeds shall be honored by the Amer- 
 ican nation while time shall last. 
 
 40 
 
CHILDREN'S DAY 
 
 While all nature rejoices let the children sing. As 
 the children on this glad day all over the land are 
 gathered to sing songs of love and praise to the 
 Creator, all nature joins in one grand triumphant 
 chorus to laud and glorify and honor the Lord of 
 Hosts. 
 
 Every leaf that flutters in the breeze, every flower 
 that opens its face to the sunshine, throws out its 
 fragrance on the air, and sings in its own way a 
 song of praise to the Great Creator. The little 
 streams flowing from their mountain fastness, as they 
 go rippling on to join the mighty ocean, murmur in 
 soft cadences a tribute of praise. Then the grand 
 old ocean takes up the chorus, and the great waves 
 surging and foaming on the beach will chant in sub- 
 limest melody. 
 
 The little rain-drops, pattering softly on the bosom 
 of mother earth, lend their gentle echo to the voices 
 of nature. 
 
 The birds in their leafy bowers may be heard on a 
 summer's morning warbling forth in sweetest melody 
 their early devotions. 
 
 It is said there is a music of the spheres, that the 
 "morning stars sang together, and the sons of God 
 shouted for joy." Let the children sing! It is right 
 and meet that their young voices should be trained to 
 join in praise to their Maker, who has said: "Suffer 
 
 41 
 
the children to come unto me, for of such is the 
 Kingdom of Heaven." 
 
 So while sea and air and earth and sky shall join 
 with angels and archangels, let our voices arise to 
 swell the chorus of adoration to Him who hath cre- 
 ated and redeemed us. 
 
 42 
 
..LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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