'T DE DAISY

"Know yourself," said the Greeks. "Be yourself," bade Marcus Aurelius.
"Give yourself," taught the Master. Though the third precept is the
noblest, the first and second are admirable also. The second is violated
on all hands. Yet to be what nature planned us--to develop our own
natural selves--is better than to copy those who are wittier or wiser or
otherwise better endowed than we. Genuineness should always be preferred
to imitation.

De sunflower ain't de daisy, and de melon ain't de rose;
Why is dey all so crazy to be sumfin else dat grows?
Jess stick to de place yo're planted, and do de bes yo knows;
Be de sunflower or de daisy, de melon or de rose.
Don't be what yo ain't, jess yo be what yo is,
If yo am not what yo are den yo is not what you is,
If yo're jess a little tadpole, don't yo try to be de frog;
If yo are de tail, don't yo try to wag de dawg.
Pass de plate if yo can't exhawt and preach;
If yo're jess a little pebble, don't yo try to be de beach;
When a man is what he isn't, den he isn't what he is,
An' as sure as I'm talking, he's a-gwine to get his.

_Anonymous_.

THE DAFFODILS

The poet in lonely mood came suddenly upon a host of daffodils and was
thrilled by their joyous beauty. But delightful as the immediate scene
was, it was by no means the best part of his experience. For long
afterwards, when he least expected it, memory brought back the flowers
to the eye of his spirit, filled his solitary moments with thoughts of
past happiness, and took him once more (so to speak) into the free open
air and the sunshine. Just so for us the memory of happy sights we have
seen comes back again to bring us pleasure.

I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:--
A Poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought;

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon