Journeys Through Bookland, Volume 4 | Page 2

Louis Grell
IVANHOE WAS IMPATIENT AT HIS INACTIVITY Louis Grell
THE BLACK KNIGHT AT THE GATE OF THE CASTLE Louis
Grell
ULRICA LOCKS THE DOOR Louis Grell
BEFORE HIS BREAST THE FLAMING SHIELD HE BEARS Roy
Appel
THE WOODEN HORSE Roy Appel
LAOCOÖN (Halftone)
ULYSSES OUTWITTED THE CYCLOPS Arthur Henderson
ULYSSES GAVE THE ARROW WING Arthur Henderson
JOHN BUNYAN (Halftone)
HE LOOKED NOT BEHIND HIM Donn P. Crane
IN THE SLOUGH OR DESPOND Donn P. Crane
THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON Donn P. Crane
IN DOUBTING CASTLE Donn P. Crane
THE CELESTIAL CITY Donn P. Crane
WENT TEAM, LITTLE BREECHES, AND ALL Herbert N. Rudeen
"FOR DON'T YOU SEE THAT YOU CAN'T COOK ME?" Herbert N.
Rudeen
TRADING FOR HORSES R. F. Babcock
RETURN OF THE WARRIORS R. F. Babcock

BETTER THAN GOLD
Better than grandeur, better than gold, Than rank and titles a thousand
fold, Is a healthy body, a mind at ease, And simple pleasures' that
always please. A heart that can feel for another'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 conscience clear, Though toiling for bread in an
humble sphere, Doubly blessed with content and health, Untried by the
lusts and cares of wealth, Lowly living and lofty thought Adorn and
ennoble a poor man's cot; For mind and morals in nature's plan Are the
genuine tests of a gentleman.
Better than gold is the sweet repose Of the sons of toil when the labors

close; Better than gold is the poor man's sleep, And the balm that drops
on his slumbers deep. Bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed,
Where luxury pillows its aching head, The toiler simple opiate deems A
shorter route to the land of dreams.
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 drama will thus unfold And yield a
pleasure better than gold.
Better than gold is a peaceful home Where all the fireside characters
come, The shrine of love, the heaven 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
center there, are better than gold.

MY HEART LEAPS UP
By WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; So was it when
my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my
days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.

THE BAREFOOT BOY
By JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy
turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip,
redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy
face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee
joy,-- I was once a barefoot boy! Prince thou art,--the grown-up man
Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot, trudging at
his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye,--
Outward sunshine, inward joy; Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
O for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health

that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of
the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild flower's time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the
tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the
ground-mole sinks his well; How the robin feeds her young, How the
oriole's nest is hung; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest
berries blow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the
wood-grape's clusters shine; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason
of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans!
For, eschewing books and tasks Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and
parcel of her joy,-- Blessings on the barefoot boy!
O for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When
all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for. I was rich in
flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the
squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the
blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; Laughed the