n-tide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me!--LYTE.

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state
Is kingly: thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."--MILTON.

NOTE

In addition to these selections the student might classify, as far as
possible, the poetical extracts previously given. In some cases, owing
to brevity, this classification will be difficult. Furthermore, the
teacher might assign particular didactic, descriptive, satirical, or
lyric poems for special study as to form, content, and mood. The special
criteria of this chapter should be applied. A comparative study of
Pope's "Windsor Forest," Goldsmith's "Deserted Village," and
Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey" would be specially instructive, as showing
the different ways of treating nature.

CHAPTER IX

EPIC AND DRAMATIC POETRY

+59. The Epic.+ The _epic_ is a long poem celebrating in stately verse
some important and heroic event of the past. It may be based either on
history or tradition, though in our greatest epics there is a
commingling of the two. The method of the epic is chiefly narrative and
descriptive. The theme is generally stated in the beginning, and the
narrative, frequently interspersed with episodes, pursues an even
course. Homer thus begins the "Iliad":

"Of Peleus' son Achilles, sing, O Muse,
The direful wrath, which sorrows numberless
Brought on the Greeks, and many mighty souls
Of youthful heroes, slain untimely, sent
To Pluto's dark abode, their bodies left
A prey to dogs and all the fowls of heav