Over ringing pebbles curls;
Each rill singing to its brother,
Ora atque labora!

Hoarsely roaring, swiftly pouring,
Through tall mountains cloven asunder,
Over precipices steep,
Plunging to abysses deep,

The cataract's fierce voices thunder-
Ora atque labora!

Sunlight shifting, white mist drifting,
On its forehead, whence it marches,
Swelled with freshets and great rains,
Shouting, where, through fertile plains,
'Tis spanned by aqueducts and arches.
Ora atque labora !

Thus Endeavor striveth ever,
For the thankless world's improvement;
Each true thought and noble word,
By the dull earth though unheard,
Making part of one great movement:
Ora atque labora!

Work then bravely, sternly, gravely!
Life for this alone is given;

What is right, that boldly do;
Frankly speak out what is true,

Leaving the result to Heaven:
Ora atque labora! .

THE FIELD OF BATTLE.- Hall.

[An example of the vivid "Expression" which characterizes highwrought graphic and dramatic description.]

Science and revelation concur in teaching that this ball of earth, which man inhabits, is not the only world; that' millions of globes like ours roll in the immensity of space. The sun, the moon, "those seven nightly wandering fires," those twinkling stars, are worlds. There, doubt

less, dwell other moral and intellectual natures; passing what man calls time, in one untired pursuit of truth and duty; still seeking, still exploring, ever satisfying, never satiating, the ethereal, moral, intellectual thirst; whose delightful task it is, as it should be ours, to learn the will of the Eternal Father, to seek the good, which to that end, for them and us to seek, hides; and finding, to admire, adore, and praise, "him first, him last, him midst and without end."

Imagine one of these celestial spirits, bent on this great purpose, descending upon our globe, and led by chance, to a European plain, at the point of some great battle; on which, to human eye, reckless and blind to over-ruling Heaven, the fate of states and empires is suspended.

ners wave.

On a sudden, the field of combat opens on his astonished vision. It is a field, which men call "glorious." A hundred thousand warriors stand in opposed ranks. Light gleams on their burnished steel. Their plumes and banHill echoes to hill the noise of moving rank and squadron, the neigh and tramp of steeds, — the trumpet, drum, and bugle call. There is a momentary pause, — a silence like that which precedes the fall of a thunder-bolt, like that awful stillness, which is precursor to the desolating rage of the whirlwind. In an instant, flash succeeding flash, pours columns of smoke along the plain. The iron tempest sweeps, heaping man, horse, and car, in undistinguished ruin. In shouts of rushing hosts, -in shock of breasting steeds,—in peals of musketry, in artillery's roar, -in sabres' clash, in thick and gathering clouds of smoke and dust, all human eye, and ear, and sense, are lost. Man sees not, but the sign of Man hears not, but the cry of - "onward." His spiritual eye, 'unobscured by artificial night, his spiritual ear, unaffected by mechanic noise, witness the real scene, naked in all its cruel horrors.

onset.

Not so the celestial stranger.

-

He sees lopped and bleeding limbs scattered; gashed,

dismembered trunks, outspread, gore-clothed, lifeless;brains bursting from crushed skulls, — blood gushing from sabred necks,-severed heads, whose mouths mutter rage amidst the palsying of the last agony.

He hears the mingled cry of anguish and despair, issuing from a thousand bosoms, in which a thousand bayonets turn, the convulsive scream of anguish from heaps of mangled, half-expiring victims, over whom the heavy artillery wheels lumber, and crush into one mass, bone and muscle and sinew, - while the fetlock of the warhorse drips with blood starting from the last palpitation of the burst heart, on which the hoof pivots.

This is not earth"- would not such a celestial stranger exclaim?"this is not earth"-"this is hell!" 'This is not man! but demon, tormenting demon."

Thus exclaiming, would he not speed away to the skies, -his immortal nature unable to endure the folly, the crime, and the madness of man?

"NOT ON THE BATTLE FIELD."- John Pierpont.

[An example of the intense "Expression" arising from vivid delineation, accompanied by profound and affecting sentiment.]

Oh no, no-let me lie

Not on a field of battle, when I die!
Let not the iron tread

Of the mad war-horse crush my helmed head:
Nor let the reeking knife,

That I have drawn against a brother's life,
Be in my hand, when death

Thunders along, and tramples me beneath
His heavy squadron's heels,

Or gory felloes of his cannon wheels.

From such a dying bed,

Though o'er it float the stripes of white and red,
And the bald eagle brings

The clustered stars upon his wide-spread wings,
To sparkle in my sight,

Oh! never let my spirit take her flight!

I know that Beauty's eye

Is all the brighter where gay pennants fly,
And brazen helmets dance,

And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance;
I know that bards have sung,

And people shouted till the welkin rung
In honor of the brave

Who on the battle-field have found a grave.

Such honors grace the bed,

I know, whereon the warrior lays his head,
And hears, as life ebbs out,

The conquered flying, and the conqueror's shout.
But as his eye grows dim,

What is a column or a mound to him?
What, to the parting soul,

The mellow note of bugles? What the roll
Of drums? No: let me die

Where the blue heaven bends o'er me lovingly,
And the soft summer air,

As it goes by me, stirs my thin white hair,
And from my forehead dries

The death-damp as it gathers, and the skies
Seem waiting to receive

My soul to their clear depths! Or let me leave
The world, when round my bed

Wife, children, weeping friends, are gathered,

With kindred spirits, - spirits who have blessed The human brotherhood

By labors, cares, and counsels for their good.

And in my dying hour,

When riches, fame, and honor, have no power To bear the spirit up,

Or from my lips to turn aside the cup

That all must drink at last,

Oh! let me draw refreshment from the past!

Then let my soul run back,

With peace and joy, along my earthly track,
And see that all the seeds

That I have scattered there, in virtuous deeds,
Have sprung up, and have given,
Already, fruits of which to taste in heaven!
And though no grassy mound

Or granite pile say 't is heroic ground
Where my remains repose,

Still will I hope - vain hope, perhaps! — that those
Whom I have striven to bless,

The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless,

May stand around my grave,

With the poor prisoner, and the poorest slave,
And breathe an humble prayer,

That they may die like him whose bones are mouldering there.

RELIGIOUS PRINCIPLE THE VITAL ELEMENT OF POETRY.Carlyle.

[An example of "Expression" affected by noble sentiment and elevated diction.]*

Burns was born poor, and born also to continue poor; for he would not endeavor to be otherwise: this it had been well could he have once for all admitted, and considered as finally settled. He was poor, truly; but hundreds, even of his own class and order of mind, have been poorer, yet have suffered nothing deadly from it: nay, his own father had a far sorer battle with ungrateful destiny than his was; and he did not yield to it, but died courageously warring, and, to all moral intents, prevailing, against it.

True, Burns had little means, had even little time for poetry, his only real pursuit and vocation; but so much the more precious was what little he had. In all these

* Passages like the above form useful elements for practice in the appropriate style of oratory on occasions such as those of literary anni. versaries and similar festivals.