tion over the dead, and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living. WASHINGTON IRVING. FUNERAL HYMN. How still and peaceful is the grave, The appointed house, by Heaven's decree, The wicked there from troubling cease,— All, leveled by the hand of death, Till God in judgment call them forth JAMES MONTGOMERY. III. SERENITY, BEAUTY, LOVE. The requirements are, First--Natural voice. Second-Effusive utterance. The pleasant effect produced by this combination was called by the Ancients, the "Silvery tone." The quietude and delicacy of this class of selections demand especial care in securing a pure, musical and effusive quality of voice. The more pure, gentle and continuous the tones can be made, the more effective and pleasant will be the results of the read ing. To secure high pitch let the voice ascend the musical scale four notes, beginning with the pitch of ordinary conversation. SELECTIONS OF SERENITY, BEAUTY, LOVE. ENDYMION. THE rising moon has hid the stars; And silver white the river gleams, Had dropt her silver bow On such a tranquil night as this, Like Dian's kiss unasked, unsought, It comes, the beautiful, the free, To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, Of him, who slumbering lies. O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! No one is so accursed by fate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds, as if with unseen wings, "Where hast thou stayed so long!" HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. THE VALE OF CASHMERE. WHO has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave? O, to see it at sunset,—when warm o'er the lake When the shrines through the foliage are gleaming half shown, And each hallows the hour by some rites of its own. Here the music of prayer from a minaret swells, Here the Magian his urn full of perfume is swinging, And here, at the altar, a zone of sweet bells Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is ringing. From the cool shining walks where the young people meet. And day, with its banner of radiance unfurled, THOMAS MOORE. THE BELLS OF SHANDON. WITH deep affection And recollection I often think of Those Shandon bells, Whose sounds so wild would, In the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle Their magic spells. On this I ponder I've heard bells chiming Spoke naught like thine. For memory, dwelling I've heard bells tolling From the Vatican,- But thy sounds were sweeter Than the dome of Peter Flings o'er the Tiber, Pealing solemnly. Oh! the bells of Shandon Of the river Lee. |