4

Days of plenty and years of peace;
March of a strong land's swift increase;
Equal justice, right and law,

Stately honor and reverend awe;

5

Sign of a nation, great and strong
To ward her people from foreign wrong:
Pride and glory and honor,all
Live in the colors to stand or fall.

Hats off!

6

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!

To the Man Behind the Plow

Jake H. Harrison

Note that many of the lines in this poem should be passed without pausing at the end. In the first stanza, for example, no pause should occur after "furrow" and "nature." Note also that the first three stanzas are descriptive and praiseful of the man behind the plow, and require moderate rate in delivery. Stanza 4 begins an exhortation, or appeal, and from this point on increased rate and force are required.

I

WHEN the ground is nice and mellow
And the air is crisp and fine,

And you cut the turning furrow
Like the laying of a line;

While aroma pulses upward

Making glad the vagrant air, There is something sweet in nature That is comforting and rare.

2

There is something in the furrow
As you walk behind the plow,
Giving strength to healthy labor
And your muscles feel it now;
There is pleasure in the turning
Of the fertile, mellow soil,
There is glory in the doing
Of a useful, honest toil.

3

There is honor in the gaining

Of a peaceful livelihood, There is motive in your actions

That will do your country good; While you help to feed the millions And relieve the hunger stress,

You perform a sacred labor

That the Lord will surely bless.

4

Bear the banner proudly forward,
You are working to the van,
Cut the furrow straight, remember,
Though a toiler, be a man;
You must feed-then rule the nations
Though you are a country wight,

Do it with an honest purpose
And the brawny arm of Right.

5

Cease to be like driven cattle,

Turn the tables-take command,
Curb the bloody lords of battle,
Soothe and pacify the land;
Grow no longer "cannon fodder"
For the use of warring kings,
But produce the blessed product
That from justice ever springs.

6

Bid the warring Nations "Stop it!"
You possess the strength-then move,
Stop this devastating conflict,

And your right to govern prove;
Sound the tocsin "Peace and Plenty,"
Wind your trumpet now, and blow!
Starve the war lords to submission,
Say "You Must!" and make it so.

Aspirations

Anonymous

Think of explaining to and impressing upon your hearers the thought of this poem. Render it in a conversational tone, avoiding the sing-song style. Make a special effort to place the emphasis so as to bring out the thought.

I

OUR aims are all too high; we try

To gain the summit at a bound, When we should reach it step by step,

And climb the ladder round by round.

He who would climb the heights sublime,

Or breathe the purer air of life, Must not expect to rest in ease,

But brace himself for toil or strife.

2

We should not in our blindness seek
To grasp alone for grand and great,
Disdaining every smaller good,-
For trifles make the aggregate.
And if a cloud should hover o'er
Our weary path-way like a pall,
Remember God permits it there,

And His good purpose reigns o'er all.

3

Life should be full of earnest work,

Our hearts undashed by fortune's frown;

Let perseverance conquer fate,

And merit seize the victor's crown.

The battle is not to the strong,

The race not always to the fleet; And he who seeks to pluck the stars, Will lose the jewels at his feet.

A Texas Mockingbird

Will P. Lockhart

See and hear the mockingbird as you speak. The rate should be moderate to slow. Note that each odd-numbered line in stanza 1 requires no pause at the end. Bring out the contrast expressed in the first and last four lines of stanza 3, not failing to emphasize "mine."

I

WHEN the hush of night has fallen
Over all the countryside,
And the harvest moon's refulgence
Is a glorious silvery tide,
When the balmy Southern breezes
In the murmurous trees are heard,
Then begins the wondrous carol
Of the Texas mockingbird.

2

Strains so pure, so full of beauty,
Not a discord mars his note;
Like a tide of liquid silver

Pours his medley from his throat.
As designed by his creator,
Nature's king of song is he,
And a bird of various nature-
All his tribe's epitome.

3

Let the painted prima donna
Ply the utmost of her art,
To the roar of fulsome plaudits
That are empty as her heart;