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Fourth Reader
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The giant dwelt content
Upon the bank, and back and forth
Across the stream he went;
And on his giant shoulders bore
All travellers who came,
By night, by day, or rich or poor,
All in King Jesus’ name.
But much he doubted if the King
His work would note or know,
And often with a weary heart
He waded to and fro.
One night, as wrapped in sleep he lay,
He sudden heard a call, —
“O Christopher, come, carry me!”
He sprang, looked out, but all
Was dark and silent on the shore.
“It must be that I dreamed,”
He said, and laid him down again;
But instantly there seemed
Again the feeble, distant cry, —
“Oh, come and carry me!”
Again he sprang and looked; again
No living thing could see.
The third time came the plaintive voice,
Like infant’s, soft and weak;
With lantern strode the giant forth,
More carefully to seek.
Down on the bank a little child
He found, – a piteous sight, —
Who, weeping, earnestly implored
To cross that very night.
With gruff good-will he picked him up,
And on his neck to ride
He tossed him, as men play with babes,
And plunged into the tide.
But as the water closed around
His knees, the infant’s weight
Grew heavier and heavier,
Until it was so great
The giant scarce could stand upright,
His staff shook in his hand,
His mighty knees bent under him,
He barely reached the land.
And, staggering, set the infant down,
And turned to scan his face;
When, lo! he saw a halo bright
Which lit up all the place.
Then Christopher fell down, afraid
At marvel of the thing,
And dreamed not that it was the face
Of Jesus Christ, his King,
Until the infant spoke, and said:
“O Christopher, behold!
I am the Lord whom thou hast served.
Rise up, be glad and bold!
“For I have seen, and noted well,
Thy works of charity;
And that thou art my servant good
A token thou shalt see.
Plant firmly here upon this bank
Thy stalwart staff of pine,
And it shall blossom and bear fruit,
This very hour, in sign.”
Then, vanishing, the infant smiled.
The giant, left alone,
Saw on the bank, with luscious dates,
His stout pine staff bent down.
I think the lesson is as good
To-day as it was then —
As good to us called Christians
As to the heathen men, —
The lesson of Saint Christopher,
Who spent his strength for others,
And saved his soul by working hard
To help and save his brothers!
– Helen Hunt Jackson.
Who sows his corn in the fields trusts in God.
GENERAL BROCK
One voice, one people, – one in heart
And soul, and feeling, and desire!
Relight the smouldering martial fire,
Sound the mute trumpet, strike the lyre.
The hero-deed cannot expire;
The dead still play their part.
Raise high the monumental stone!
A nation’s fealty is theirs,
And we are the rejoicing heirs,
Upon the bank, and back and forth
Across the stream he went;
And on his giant shoulders bore
All travellers who came,
By night, by day, or rich or poor,
All in King Jesus’ name.
But much he doubted if the King
His work would note or know,
And often with a weary heart
He waded to and fro.
One night, as wrapped in sleep he lay,
He sudden heard a call, —
“O Christopher, come, carry me!”
He sprang, looked out, but all
Was dark and silent on the shore.
“It must be that I dreamed,”
He said, and laid him down again;
But instantly there seemed
Again the feeble, distant cry, —
“Oh, come and carry me!”
Again he sprang and looked; again
No living thing could see.
The third time came the plaintive voice,
Like infant’s, soft and weak;
With lantern strode the giant forth,
More carefully to seek.
Down on the bank a little child
He found, – a piteous sight, —
Who, weeping, earnestly implored
To cross that very night.
With gruff good-will he picked him up,
And on his neck to ride
He tossed him, as men play with babes,
And plunged into the tide.
But as the water closed around
His knees, the infant’s weight
Grew heavier and heavier,
Until it was so great
The giant scarce could stand upright,
His staff shook in his hand,
His mighty knees bent under him,
He barely reached the land.
And, staggering, set the infant down,
And turned to scan his face;
When, lo! he saw a halo bright
Which lit up all the place.
Then Christopher fell down, afraid
At marvel of the thing,
And dreamed not that it was the face
Of Jesus Christ, his King,
Until the infant spoke, and said:
“O Christopher, behold!
I am the Lord whom thou hast served.
Rise up, be glad and bold!
“For I have seen, and noted well,
Thy works of charity;
And that thou art my servant good
A token thou shalt see.
Plant firmly here upon this bank
Thy stalwart staff of pine,
And it shall blossom and bear fruit,
This very hour, in sign.”
Then, vanishing, the infant smiled.
The giant, left alone,
Saw on the bank, with luscious dates,
His stout pine staff bent down.
I think the lesson is as good
To-day as it was then —
As good to us called Christians
As to the heathen men, —
The lesson of Saint Christopher,
Who spent his strength for others,
And saved his soul by working hard
To help and save his brothers!
– Helen Hunt Jackson.
Who sows his corn in the fields trusts in God.
GENERAL BROCK
One voice, one people, – one in heart
And soul, and feeling, and desire!
Relight the smouldering martial fire,
Sound the mute trumpet, strike the lyre.
The hero-deed cannot expire;
The dead still play their part.
Raise high the monumental stone!
A nation’s fealty is theirs,
And we are the rejoicing heirs,
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Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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