McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader by William Holmes McGuffey

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[Transcriber's Note 1: The correct dates are June, 20 1813 to
June 14, 1883.]

1. A voice from the sea to the mountains,
From the mountains again to the sea;
A call from the deep to the fountains,--
"O spirit! be glad and be free."

2. A cry from the floods to the fountains;
And the torrents repeat the glad song
As they leap from the breast of the mountains,--
"O spirit! be free and be strong."

3. The pine forests thrill with emotion
Of praise, as the spirit sweeps by:
With a voice like the murmur of ocean
To the soul of the listener they cry.

4. Oh! sing, human heart, like the fountains,
With joy reverential and free,
Contented and calm as the mountains,
And deep as the woods and the sea.

CXIII. A PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE.

Samuel Johnson (b. 1709, d. 1784). This remarkable man was born in
Lichfield, Staffordshire, England. He was the son of a bookseller and
stationer. He entered Pembroke College, Oxford, in 1728; but his poverty
compelled him to leave at the end of three years. Soon after his marriage,
in 1736, he opened a private school, but obtained only three pupils, one
of whom was David Garrick, afterwards a celebrated actor. In 1737, he
removed to London, where he resided most of the rest of his life. The most
noted of his numerous literary works are his "Dictionary," the first one
of the English language worthy of mention, "The Vanity of Human Wishes," a
poem, "The Rambler," "Rasselas," "The Lives of the English Poets," and his
edition of Shakespeare. An annual pension of 300 pounds was granted him in
1762.

In person, Johnson was heavy and awkward; in manner, boorish and
overbearing; but his learning and his great powers caused his company to
be sought by many eminent men.

1. Obidah, the son of Abnesina, left the caravansary early in the morning,
and pursued his journey through the plains of Hindostan. He was fresh and
vigorous with rest; he was animated with hope; he was incited by desire;
he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the hills gradually
rising before him.

2. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of
the bird of paradise; he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking
breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices; he sometimes
contemplated towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills; and
sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of
the spring; all his senses were gratified, and all care was banished from
his heart.

3. Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, and the
increasing heat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him
for some more commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that
seemed to wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and
found the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. He did not, however,
forget whither he was traveling, but found a narrow way, bordered with
flowers, which appeared to have the same direction with the main road, and
was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite
pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards of diligence without
suffering its fatigues.

4. He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, without the least
remission of his ardor, except that he was sometimes tempted to stop by
the music of the birds, which the heat had assembled in the shade, and
sometimes amused himself with picking the flowers that covered the banks
on each side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At last, the
green path began to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among the
hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls.

5. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether it was
longer safe to forsake the known and common track; but, remembering that
the heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty
and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed only to
make a few meanders, in compliance with the garieties of the ground, and
to end at last in the common road.

6. Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, though he
suspected he was not gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind inclined
him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every sensation that
might soothe or divert him. He listened to every echo, he mounted every
hill for a fresh prospect, he turned aside to every cascade, and pleased
himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the
trees, and watered a large region, with innumerable circumvolutions.

7. In these amusements, the hours passed away uncounted; his deviations
had perplexed his memory, and he knew not toward what point to travel. He
stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong,
yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus
tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the day
vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest gathered round his head.

8. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance of
his folly; he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is consulted; he
lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter in the
grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle to
trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker and a clap of
thunder broke his meditation.

9. He now resolved to do what remained yet in his power; to tread back the
ground which he had passed, and try to find some issue where the wood
might open into the plain. He prostrated himself upon the ground, and
commended his life to the Lord of nature. He rose with confidence and
tranquillity, and pressed on with his saber in his hand; for the beasts of
the desert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls
of rage, and fear, and ravage, and expiration; all the horrors of darkness
and solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, and the
torrents tumbled from the hills.

10. Thus, forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wild without
knowing whither he was going or whether he was every moment drawing nearer
to safety or to destruction. At length, not fear but labor began to
overcome him; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, and he was on
the point of lying down, in resignation to his fate, when he beheld,
through the brambles, the glimmer of a taper. He advanced toward the
light, and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he
called humbly at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before
him such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed
with eagerness and gratitude.

11. When the repast was over, "Tell me," said the hermit, "by what chance
thou hast been brought hither; I have been now twenty years an inhabitant
of this wilderness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah then
related the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or
palliation.

12. "Son," said the hermit, "let the errors and follies, the dangers and
escapes, of this day, sink deep into your heart. Remember, my son, that
human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full
of vigor, and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit and hope,
with gayety and with diligence, and travel on awhile in the straight road
of piety toward the mansions of rest. In a short time we remit our fervor,
and endeavor to find some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means
of obtaining the same end.

13. "We then relax our vigor, and resolve no longer to be terrified with
crimes at a distance, but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to
approach what we resolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease,
and repose in the shades of security. Here the heart softens, and
vigilance subsides; we are then willing to inquire whether another advance
can not be made, and whether we may not at least turn our eyes upon the
gardens of pleasure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation; we
enter them, but enter timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass
through them without losing the road of virtue, which we for a while keep
in our sight, and to which we propose to return.

14. "But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us
for another; we, in time, lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our
disquiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees we let fall the
remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate object
of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves
in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy till the
darkness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct
our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, with sorrow, and
with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not
forsaken the paths of virtue.

15. "Happy are they, my son, who shall learn, from thy example, not to
despair, but shall remember that though the day is past, and their
strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort to be made; that
reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavors ever unassisted; that
the wanderer may at length return after all his errors; and that he who
implores strength and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty
give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose: commit thyself to the
care of Omnipotence; and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew
thy journey and thy life."

DEFINITIONS.--1. Car-a-van sa-ry, a kind of inn in the East, where
caravans (or large companies of traders) rest at night. 5. Me-an'ders,
windings, turnings. 6. Cir-cum-vo-lu'tions, windings or flowings around.
7. De-vi-a'tions, wanderins from one's course. 9. Ex-pi-ra'tion, death.
11. Pal-li-a'tion, concealment of the most blamable circumstances of an
offence. 12. Mit-i-ga'tion, abatement, the act of rendering less severe.
14. Ad'e-quate, fully sufficient. Lab'y-rinth, a place full of winding
passages.

CXIV. A SUMMER LONGING.

George Arnold (b. 1834, d. 1865) was born in New York, but removed with
his parents to Illinois while yet an infant. There he passed his boyhood,
being educated at home by his parents. In 1849 the family again removed to
Strawberry Farms, Monmouth County, N.J. When eighteen years old he began
to study painting, but soon gave up the art and devoted himself to
literature. He became a journalist of New York City, and his productions
include almost every variety of writings found in the literary magazines.
After his death, two volumes of his poems, "Drift: a Seashore Idyl," and
"Poems, Grave and Gay," were edited by Mr. William Winter.

1. I must away to the wooded hills and vales,
Where broad, slow streams flow cool and silently
And idle barges flap their listless sails.
For me the summer sunset glows and pales,
And green fields wait for me.

2. I long for shadowy founts, where the birds
Twitter and chirp at noon from every tree;
I long for blossomed leaves and lowing herds;
And Nature's voices say in mystic words,
"The green fields wait for thee."

3. I dream of uplands, where the primrose shines
And waves her yellow lamps above the lea;
Of tangled copses, swung with trailing vines;
Of open vistas, skirted with tall pines,
Where green fields wait for me.

4. I think of long, sweet afternoons, when I
May lie and listen to the distant sea,
Or hear the breezes in the reeds that sigh,
Or insect voices chirping shrill and dry,
In fields that wait for me.

5. These dreams of summer come to bid me find
The forest's shade, the wild bird's melody,
While summer's rosy wreaths for me are twined,
While summer's fragrance lingers on the wind,
And green fields wait for me.

CXV. FATE.

Francis Bret Harte (b. 1839,--) was born in Albany, N.Y. When seventeen
years old he went to California, where he engaged in various employments.
He was a teacher, was employed in government offices, worked in the gold
mines, and learned to be a compositor in a printing office. In 1868 he
started the "Overland Monthly," and his original and characteristic poems
and sketches soon made it a popular magazine. Mr. Harte has been a
contributor to some of the leading periodicals of the country, but
principally to the "Atlantic Monthly."

1. "The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare;
The spray of the tempest is white in air;
The winds are out with the waves at play,
And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.

2. "The trail is narrow, the wood is dim,
The panther clings to the arching limb;
And the lion's whelps are abroad at play,
And I shall not join in the chase to-day."

3. But the ship sailed safely over the sea,
And the hunters came from the chase in glee;
And the town that was builded upon a rock
Was swallowed up in the earthquake shock.

CXVI. THE BIBLE THE BEST OF CLASSICS.

Thomas S. Grimke (b. 1786, d. 1834). This eminent lawyer and
scholar was born in Charleston, S.C. He graduated at Yale College
in 1807. He gained considerable reputation as a politician, but is
best known as an advocate of peace, Sunday schools, and the
Bible. He was a man of deep feeling, earnest purpose, and pure
life.

1. There is a classic the best the world has ever seen, the noblest that
has ever honored and dignified the language of mortals. If we look into
its antiquity, we discover a title to our veneration unrivaled in the
history of literature. If we have respect to its evidences, they are found
in the testimony of miracle and prophecy; in the ministry of man, of
nature, and of angels, yea, even of "God, manifest in the flesh," of "God
blessed forever."

2. If we consider its authenticity, no other pages have survived the lapse
of time that can be compared with it. If we examine its authority, for it
speaks as never man spake, we discover that it came from heaven in vision
and prophecy under the sanction of Him who is Creator of all things, and
the Giver of every good and perfect gift.

3. If we reflect on its truths, they are lovely and spotless, sublime and
holy as God himself, unchangeable as his nature, durable as his righteous
dominion, and versatile as the moral condition of mankind. If we regard
the value of its treasures, we must estimate them, not like the relics of
classic antiquity, by the perishable glory and beauty, virtue and
happiness, of this world, but by the enduring perfection and supreme
felicity of an eternal kingdom.

4. If we inquire who are the men that have recorded its truths, vindicated
its rights, and illustrated the excellence of its scheme, from the depth
of ages and from the living world, from the populous continent and the
isles of the sea, comes forth the answer: "The patriarch and the prophet,
the evangelist and the martyr."

5. If we look abroad through the world of men, the victims of folly or
vice, the prey of cruelty, of injustice, and inquire what are its
benefits, even in this temporal state, the great and the humble, the rich
and the poor, the powerful and the weak, the learned and the ignorant
reply, as with one voice, that humility and resignation, purity, order,
and peace, faith, hope, and charity are its blessings upon earth.

6. And if, raising our eyes from time to eternity; from the world of
mortals to the world of just men made perfect; from the visible creation,
marvelous, beautiful, and glorious as it is, to the invisible creation of
angels and seraphs; from the footstool of God to the throne of God
himself, we ask, what are the blessings that flow from this single volume,
let the question be answered by the pen of the evangelist, the harp of the
prophet, and the records of the book of life.

7. Such is the best of classics the world has ever admired; such, the
noblest that man has ever adopted as a guide.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Clas'sic, a work of acknowledged excellence and
authority. 2. Au-then-tic'i-ty, of established authority for truth and
correctness. Sanc'tion (pro, sank'shun), authority, support. 3.
Ver'sa-tile, readily applied to various subjects. 4. Vin di-cat-ed,
defended, justified. E-van'gel-ist, a writer of the history of Jesus
Christ. 6. Ser'aph, an angel of the highest order.

CXVII. MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.

George P. Morris (b. 1802, d. 1864) was born in Philadelphia. In 1823 he
became one of the editors of the "New York Mirror," a weekly literary
paper, In 1846 Mr. Morris and N. P. Willis founded "The Home Journal." He
was associate editor of this popular journal until a short time before his
death.

1. This book is all that's left me now,--
Tears will unbidden start,--
With faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart.
For many generations past
Here is our family tree;
My mother's hands this Bible clasped,
She, dying, gave it me.

2. Ah! well do I remember those
Whose names these records bear;
Who round the hearthstone used to close,
After the evening prayer,
And speak of what these pages said
In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still!

3. My father read this holy hook
To brothers, sisters, dear;
How calm was my poor mother's look,
Who loved God's word to hear!
Her angel face,--I see it yet!
What thronging memories come!
Again that little group is met
Within the walls of home!

4. Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I've tried;
When all were false, I found thee true,
My counselor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy;
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.

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