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OLD WORDS.

Of which our fathers drank and were refreshed. Guard, then, these ancient palms, beneath whose shade

Our fathers have sat down, and of whose fruit They ate, and went upon their way in peace. Part not with these old names, each one of which

Bears in its bosom precious histories,

The life- deeds and death- conflicts of the men From out whose loins we spring, the men of might

And wisdom, who have won such victories Of truth for us. These venerable names And words, preserve, as an inheritance For children's children to the latest age. Part not with these old names and words, each

one

Contains an everlasting history,

A great soul's history, which, like a pearl, Within its shell lies hid. Fling not away The shell because unpolished and uncouth, Lest in so doing thou shouldst fling away The gem whose lustre lies unseen within. It is not beauty, it is truth we seek, And it is truth that men would fling away, Because its outward garb is rude and homely. Yet truth is beauty, best of beauty here; And beauty is but hidden truth unfolded, Like blossoms from the rough brown buds of spring.

Part not with these old names,

See how

they shine