LOWELL THE great trees murmur at the midnight hour; A soul is passing to the Fount of Power,— Lover of nature, lover of his race, Learned, and true, and strong : Using for others, with surpassing grace, The matchless gift of song,— When clouds hung darkest in our day of pain, He prophesied the light; He looked adown the ages for the reign Of Brotherhood and Right. Proud of his country, helping to unbind The fetters of the slave : Two worlds their wreaths of honor have entwined About one open grave. Great in his simple love of flower and bird, Great in the statesman's art, He has been greatest in his lifting word To every human heart. He lived the lesson which Sir Launfal guessed Through wandering far and wide; The giver must be given in the quest : He gave himself, and died. SARAH K. BOLTON Publishers: Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., New York & Boston "You are old, Father William," the young man | O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide, More sweetly shows the blushing brideA soul whose intellectual beams cried, "And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death; No mists do mask, no lazy streams A happy soul, that all the way To heaven hath a summer's day? 1 a cheerful, young man," Father William Wouldst see a man whose well-warmed blood replied; "Let the cause thy attention engage; Bathes him in a genuine flood? A man whose tunèd humors be In the days of my youth I remembered my God! | A seat of rarest harmony? And he hath not forgotten my age.' ROBERT SOUTHEY. OLD AGE OF TEMPERANCE. FROM AS YOU LIKE IT," ACT II. SC. 2. ADAM. Let me be your servant; Though I look old, yet am I strong and lusty: For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood; Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo The means of weakness and debility. Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly let me go with you; I'll do the service of a younger man In all your business and necessities. SHAKESPEARE. Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile Age? Wouldst see December smile? In a bed of reverend snow? In sum, wouldst see a man that can RICHARD CRASHAW. That which makes us have no need A well-clothed soul that 's not oppressed GO, FEEL WHAT I HAVE FELT. [By a young lady, who was told that she was a monomaniac in he hatred of alcoholic liquors.] Go, feel what I have felt, Go, bear what I have borne ; And the cold, proud world's scorn: Go, weep as I have wept O'er a loved father's fall; Youth's sweetness turned to gall; Go, kneel as I have knelt ; Go, stand where I have stood, Go, catch his wandering glance, and see Go to a mother's side, And her crushed spirit cheer; Wipe from her cheek the tear; And led her down from love and light, The rogue is growing a little old; The night's before us, fill the glasses! Five years we've tramped through wind and Quick, sir! I'm ill, - my brain is going! weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold, And ate and drank - and starved together. We've learned what comfort is, I tell you! The paw he holds up there's been frozen), Some brandy, passes! thank you, there! it Why not reform? That's easily said, But I've gone through such wretched treat ment, Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, And scarce remembering what meat meant, If you had seen her, so fair and young, Whose head was happy on this breast! If you could have heard the songs I sung When the wine went round, you would n't have guessed That ever I, sir, should be straying From door to door, with fiddle and dog, Ragged and penniless, and playing To you to-night for a glass of grog! She's married since, -a parson's wife; Better the soberest, prosiest life Than a blasted home and a broken heart. I have seen her? Once I was weak and spent You 've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry; Another glass, and strong, to deaden This pain; then Roger and I will start. I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, Aching thing in place of a heart? know He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, I'm better now; that glass was warming. For supper and bed, or starve in the street. But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink; The sooner the better for Roger and me! JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE. - A FAREWELL TO TOBACCO. MAY the Babylonish curse (Still the phrase is wide or scant), Half my love, or half my hate; More from a mistress than a weed. |