Read the selection and choose the best answer to each
question.
The Village Blacksmith
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
andemsp;andemsp;Under a spreading chestnut-tree
andemsp;andemsp;The village smithy stands;
andemsp;andemsp;The smith, a mighty man is he,
andemsp;andemsp;With large and sinewy hands;
(5)andensp;And the muscles of his brawny arms
andemsp;andemsp;Are strong as iron bands.
andemsp;andemsp;His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
andemsp;andemsp;His face is like the tan;
andemsp;andemsp;His brow is wet with honest sweat,
(10)He earns whate'er he can,
andemsp;andemsp;And looks the whole world in the face,
andemsp;andemsp;For he owes not any man.
andemsp;andemsp;Week in, week out, from morn till night,
andemsp;andemsp;You can hear his bellows blow;
(15)You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
andemsp;andemsp;With measured beat and slow,
andemsp;andemsp;Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
andemsp;andemsp;When the evening sun is low.
andemsp;andemsp;And children coming home from school
(20)Look in at the open door;
andemsp;andemsp;They love to see the flaming forge,
andemsp;andemsp;And hear the bellows roar,
andemsp;andemsp;And catch the burning sparks that fly
andemsp;andemsp;Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
(25)He goes on Sunday to the church,
andemsp;andemsp;And sits among his boys;
andemsp;andemsp;He hears the parson pray and preach,
andemsp;andemsp;He hears his daughter's voice,
andemsp;andemsp;Singing in the village choir,
(30)And it makes his heart rejoice.
andemsp;andemsp;It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
andemsp;andemsp;Singing in Paradise!
andemsp;andemsp;He needs must think of her once more,
andemsp;andemsp;How in the grave she lies;
(35)And with his haul, rough hand he wipes
andemsp;andemsp;A tear out of his eyes.