Archive | April 2016

Why Thus Longing?


By Harriet Winslow


Why thus longing, thus forever sighing,

  For the far-off, unattained and dim,

While the beautiful, all round thee lying,

  Offers up its low, perpetual hymn?


Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching,

  All thy restless yearnings it would still;

Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching

  Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.


Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee

  Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw,

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee

  To some little world through weal and woe.


If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten,–

  No fond voices answer to thine own;

If no brother’s sorrow thou canst lighten,

  By daily sympathy and gentle tone.



By Ebenezer Elliott


Again the violet of our early days

Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun,

And kindles into fragrance at his blaze;

The streams, rejoiced that winter’s work is done,

Talk of tomorrow’s cowslips, as they run.

Wild apple, thou art blushing into bloom!

Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed thorn!

Wake, buried lily!  spirit, quit thy tomb!

And thou shade-loving hyacinth, be born!

Then, haste, sweet rose!  sweet woodbine, hymn the morn,

Whose dewdrops shall illume with pearly light

Each grassy blade that thick embattled stands

From sea to sea, while daisies infinite

Uplift in praise their little glowing hands,

O’er every hill that under heaven expands.

Sounds From The Baseball Field


By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Batter in the home place,
That was nobly done;
Try and get the first base—
Run! Run! RUN!
Ah, there, short stop, will you miss?
Hear the people cheer and hiss,
Hear them yell and shout.
Twinkling legs and flying feet—
(Oh, I wonder who will beat!)
Faster, faster, out!
Umpire, umpire, go along;
That was wrong, sir, that was wrong.

Pitcher pitches, four balls,
“Take your base, my man.”
Toward the second now he crawls—
“Steal it if you can.”
Oh, the ball has gone so high,
Can they catch it on the fly?
Ah, there is no doubt,
He will get his third, I vow—
Pshaw! the ball has got there now,
“Two men out!”
Umpire, umpire, that was wrong;
Go along, sir, go along.

One man on the first base,
Not a single run.
Boys are warming to the race—
Now look out for fun.
Pitcher’s arm maybe is tired;
Batter sudden seems inspired,
Grounds the ball to win.
Run there, run there, run your best,
I am screaming with the rest
“Two men in!”
Umpire, umpire, go away;
Dead wrong, dead wrong, sir, I say.

What’s the matter now, pray?
Taking breath, that’s all;
But the restless people say
“Play ball, play ball.”
One ball, two strikes, two balls—”Foul.”
Umpire calls, and people howl:
“What is he about?”
Run, run, run, run, Run, Run, RUN!
Half the inning now is done,
“Three men out!”
Umpire, umpire, go along;
You are always, always wrong.


It’s spring and time for my favorite sport, baseball!  I do have a favorite team but I will happily watch any team play simply because I love watching baseball.  Some say that baseball is too slow, but for me, that is the beauty of baseball…it is exciting and relaxing at the same time.  Play ball!



By William Henry Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.