Fourth Reader

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
There is ever a something sings alway:
There’s the song of the lark when the skies are clear,
And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.
The sunshine showers across the grain,
And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;
And in and out, when the eaves drip rain,
The swallows are twittering carelessly.

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair;
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear —
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear —
There is ever a song somewhere!

There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
In the midnight black or the midday blue:
The robin pipes when the sun is here,
And the cricket chirrups the whole night through;
The buds may blow and the fruit may grow,
And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sere:
But whether the sun or the rain or the snow,
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.

    – James Whitcomb Riley.
    By permission of the publishers, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. Copyright, 1898.

BETTER THAN GOLD

Better than grandeur, better than gold,
Than rank and title a thousand fold,
Is a healthy body, a mind at ease,
And simple pleasures that always please;
A heart that can feel for a neighbor’s woe,
And share his joys with a genial glow;
With sympathies large enough to enfold
All men as brothers, is better than gold.

Better than gold is a thinking mind,
That in the realm of books can find
A treasure surpassing Australian ore,
And live with the great and good of yore: —
The sage’s lore and the poet’s lay,
The glories of empires passed away.
The world’s great dream will thus unfold
And yield a pleasure better than gold.

Better than gold is a peaceful home,
Where all the fireside charities come, —
The shrine of love and the haven of life,
Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife.
However humble the home may be,
Or tried with sorrow by Heaven’s decree,
The blessings that never were bought or sold
And centre there, are better than gold.

    – Mrs. J. M. Winton.

THE TIGER, THE BRAHMAN, AND THE JACKAL

Once upon a time a tiger was caught in a trap. He tried in vain to get out through the bars, and rolled and bit with rage and grief when he failed.

By chance a poor Brahman came by. “Let me out of this cage, O pious one!” cried the tiger.

“Nay, nay, my friend,” replied the Brahman, mildly. “You would probably eat me up if I did.”

“Not at all!” declared the tiger, with many vows; “on the contrary, I should be forever grateful, and would serve you as a slave!”

Now, when the tiger sobbed and sighed and wept, the pious Brahman’s heart softened, and at last he consented to open the door of the cage. At once, out sprang the tiger, and seizing the poor man, cried: —

“What a fool you are! What is to prevent my eating you now? After being cooped up so long I am terribly hungry.”

In vain the Brahman pleaded for his life. All that he could gain was a promise from the tiger to abide by the decision of the first three things that he chose to question concerning the tiger’s action.

So the Brahman first asked a tree what it thought of the matter, but the tree replied coldly: —

“What have you to complain about? Don’t I give shade and shelter to all who pass by, and don’t they in return tear down my branches and pull off my leaves to feed their cattle? Don’t complain, but be a man!”

Then the Brahman, sad at heart, went further afield till he saw a buffalo turning a water-wheel. He laid his case before it, but he got no comfort, for the buffalo answered: —

“You are a fool to expect gratitude! Look at me! Do you not see how hard I work? While I was young and strong they fed me on the best of food, but now when I am old and feeble they yoke me here, and give me only the coarsest fodder to eat!”

The Brahman, still more sad, asked the road to give him its opinion of the tiger’s conduct.

“My dear sir,” said the road, “how foolish you are to expect anything else! Here am I, useful to everybody, yet all, rich and poor, great and small, trample on me as they go past, giving me nothing but the ashes of their pipes and the husks of their grain!”

On hearing this the Brahman turned back sorrowfully. On his way he met a jackal, who called out: —

“Why, what’s the matter, Mr. Brahman? You look as miserable as a fish out of water!”

Then the Brahman told him all that had occurred.

“How very confusing!” said the jackal, when the recital was ended; “will you tell it over again, for everything has got mixed up in my mind?”

The Brahman told his story all over again, but the jackal shook his head in a distracted sort of way, and still could not understand.

“It’s very odd,” said he, sadly, “but it all seems to go in at one ear and out the other! Take me to the place where it all happened, and then, perhaps, I shall be able to understand it.”

So the cunning jackal and the poor Brahman returned to the cage, and there was the tiger waiting for his victim, and sharpening his teeth and claws.