Memory Gems: 

A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows.

St. Francis of Assisi.

Howe’er it be, it seems to me,
’Tis only noble to be good. 
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.

Tennyson.

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18

SEPTEMBER.

The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The gentian’s bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.

The sedges flaunt their harvest
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brookside
Make asters in the brook.

From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes’ sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.

By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer’s best of weather,
And autumn’s best of cheer.

Helen Hunt Jackson.

[Footnote:  Copyright, Little, Brown & Co., Publishers.]

[Illustration:]

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sedges, coarse grasses which grow in marshy places.

Tell what the following expressions mean:  dewy lanes; best of cheer; sedges flaunt their harvest.

How do “Asters by the brookside make asters in the brook”?

Give in your own words the tokens of September mentioned in the poem.  Can you name any others?

Memorize the poem.  What do you know of the author?

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19

tat’ter wreathed Ken tuck’ y de scend’ed re cess’ home’ stead en rap’ tured Penn syl va’ ni a

“MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME.”

“My Old Kentucky Home” was written by Stephen Collins Foster, a resident of Pittsburg, Pa., while he and his sister were on a visit to his relative, Judge John Rowan, a short distance east of Bardstown, Ky.  One beautiful morning while the slaves were at work in the cornfield and the sun was shining with a mighty splendor on the waving grass, first giving it a light red, then changing it to a golden hue, there were seated upon a bench in front of the Rowan homestead two young people, a brother and a sister.

High up in the top of a tree was a mocking bird warbling its sweet notes.  Over in a hidden recess of a small brush, the thrush’s mellow song could be heard.  A number of small negro children were playing not far away.  When Foster had finished the first verse of the song his sister took it from his hand and sang in a sweet, mellow voice: 

The sun shines bright on the old Kentucky home;
’Tis summer, the darkies are gay;
The corn top’s ripe and the meadows in the bloom,
While the birds make music all the day.