f VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. U) ^ Whose hearts have a look southward, and are open To the great noon of Nature. Festus. PHILADELPHIA: FOR SALE BY J. MILLER M'KIM, NO. 31 NORTH FIFTH STREET, MERRIHEW & THOMPSON, PRINTERS. 1846. THE LOVERS OF TILVT TRUTH AND BEAUTY WHICH SHALL EXALT MEN TO A HIGHER LIFE, THIS VOLUME, ^ALTHOUGH WRITTEN BY THOSE WHO, BECAUSE THEY WERE HUMAN, OFTEN ERRED ; AND EVEN IN THE PIECES HEREIN COLLECTED DID NOT APPROVE THEMSELVES PERFECT, IS DEDICATED, IN THE HOPE THAT ITS GOOD MAY LIVE FOR EVER, AND ITS EVIL DIE WITH IT. CONTENTS. POEMS BT HEJfllT VV. tONGFELlOW. Excelsior, . . . . • A Psalm of Life The Arrow and the Song, Endymion, . . . . • The light of Stars, .... Reform, My Philosophy, . . . • A Christian Colony, by Lydia Maria Child, Blind old Milton, by William E. Aytoun, Foot-Prints of Angels, by Henry W. Longfellow. My Soul is Free, Democracy, by John G. Whittier, The Object of Life, by John Todd, . Christ-like, by Lydia Maria Child, The Battle-field, by William CuUen Bryant, The Star-Gazer, by Christopher Pearse Cranch, A London Lyric, by " Barry Cornwall," . Blankets, (to be read on a cold night,) by " Old Humphrey," ...... True Rest, ...... The Mourners, by Caroline E. S. Norton, My Mother, by " Old Humphrey," The Bridge of Sighs, by Thomas Hood, Evening Song of the Weary, by Felicia D. Hemans, How Jesus was Received, by Theodore Parker, A Christian Slave, by John G. Whittier, Song Writing, by James Russell Lowell, . Capital Punishment, by Lydia Maria Child, . Moments, by Richard Monckton Milnes, . A Christian Home, by R. W. Evans, Demagogue Arts, by Lord Brougham, An Evening Song, by Francis K. Butler, . Lilias Grieve, by Professor Wilson, The Cry of the Children, by Elizabeth B. Barrett, Instinct of Childhood, by John Neal, My Friend, • . The Factory Girls of Lowell, by J. G. Whittier, The Labourer, by William D. Gallagher, Reform, by Thomas L. Harris, Truth and Freedom, by William D. Gallagher, A Glimpse at ' Merrie England,' by Elizur Wright, We are Brithcren A', by Robert Nicoll, The Christian Virgin to her Apostate Lover, Children, by Parke Benjamin, Nelly Belcher, Sonnet, by William Lloyd Garrison, The Martyr of the Arena, by Epes Sargent, The Anniversary of Lovejoy's Martyrdom, by Maria Weston Chapman, .... The Street, by James Russell Lowell, " For Behold the Kingdom of God is within you," by Harriet Winslow, 1 1 1 2 2 2 4 4 6 8 10 10 11 14 16 17 17 18 19 19 19 20 21 21 22 23 27 31 31 31 32 33 35 37 39 40 41 42 42 43 44 45 45 46 47 48 48 48 49 The Brotherhood of Man, by John G. Whittier, The Struggle for Fame, by Charles Mackay, Song of the Free, ..... The Poet, by James Russell Lowell, The Man out of the Moon, .... The Lady's Yes, by Elizabeth Barrett Barrett, . How to keep Lent, by Robert Herrick, . Christian, and mere Poetic Benevolence, con- trasted, by Thomas Chalmers, Recompense, by W. G. Sims, POK^MS BY CHniSTOPHEB PEARSE CBANCH. The Soul Flower, To a Humming Bird, ..... Silence and Speech, ..... On hearing Triumphant Music, Field Notes, 49 50 51 51 52 55 55 56 58 58 59 59 60 61 The Poet, .62 The Ocean, 62 Beauty, ....... 63 The Artist, 63 First Truths, 63 The Prophet Unveiled, .... 64 Dirge for a young Girl, by James T. Fields, . 64 To Little Mary, 64 The Slave Market at Washington, by John G. Whittier, G5 On seeing in a List of Music, the • Waterloo Waltz,' .67 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, by Felicia D. Hemans, ....... 67 Dietetic Reform, by James Sellers, Jr., . . 68 Thoughts in a Library, by Anne C. Lynch, . 69 Letter from C. C. Burleigh, • " '^^ To the Unsatisfied, by Harriet Winslow, . 73 The Happy Life, by Sir Henry Wotton, . 73 liife's Pilgrimage, by Robert Nicoll, . • 74 The Happy Home, . . . ■ • 74 Childhood! 75 The Dead Child, by William H. Burleigh, . 77 Summer Woods, by Mary Howitt, . . .77 The Poor Voter's Song, .... 78 Fashionable Follies, 78 Hcart's-Ease, 80 Faith, by Francis Ann Butler, . . .80 The Last Wish 80 SONNETS BY JONES VERY. The Soldier, .... The Dead, The Grave-Yard, . To the Pure all Things are Pure, Sympathy, .... Time Instant, ..... Ephemera, by Charles West Thompson, 81 81 81 81 81 81 83 CONTENTS, SOXNETS BT RICHARD CHENETIX TRENCH. The NobliT Cunning, ..... Vesuvius, ...... * France, 1834, ...... Wild-Flowers, ...... All Mortf^aged, by Elilui nurrilt, . . * . A Christmas Tale, liy Hicliard Monkton Milnes, Knwritttn Music, by N. P. Willis, 'J"o Coluinljus Dying, by VV. H. Furness, The Fatherland, by James JIussell Lowell, The two Paths, Cold Water, by John Pierpont, A Gentle Story, . , ^ . . . The Ghost-Seer, by James Russell Lowell, I'he Lady's Dream, by Thomas Hood, Mountain Children, by Mary Howitt, Letter to the Unknown Purchaser and Next Oc- cupant ot'Glenmary, by N. P. Willis, The Alderman's Funeral, by Robert Southey, My Child, by Joiin J'ierpont, The Dew-Drop, by Richard Chenevix Trench, A Commission of Lunacy, by Charles F. Briggs, The Spring, by George S. Burleigh, . The Beggar, by James Russell Lowell, The Aioon, by L. E. L., The Gambler's Wife, by Reynell Coates, Channing, by Charles F. Briggs, Unseen Spirits, by N. P. Willis, Lady Clara Vere de Vere, by Alfred Tennyson Adversity, by Lord Bacon, .... Song for August, by Harriet Martincau, Song of the Mountain Weaver, The Freed Bird, by Amelia Wclby, Be Patient, The Wife, from the German of Stolberg, Mother, by " Phazma," .... The Goblet of Life, by Henry W, Longfellow, The Slave Singing at Midnight, by Henry W. Longfellow, ...... POEMS BY HAXJfAH F. GOCLU. The Winter King The Rising Eagle, Worship by the Rose Tree, Heroism, by Walph Waldo Emerson, AXTI-SLAVKUT POEMS BY JOHN" PIEHPOXT. 'J'he Chain, ...... Tlifi Fugitive Slave's Apostrophe to the North Star Hymn for the First of August, The Celesti:d Railroad, by Nathaniel Hawthorne, Sonnet to J. M. K., by Alfred Tennyson, The Leveller, by " Barry Cornwall." The Solemn Sons of a Righteous Hearle, by Wil- liam Motiierwell, The Soul's Errand, bv Joshua Sylvester, Etty Rover, by L. E.'L 'J'he Irish Emigrant's Lament, by Mrs. Blackwood, A Dirge, by James Russell Lowell, Prison Discipline, by Lydia Maria Child, The Snow-Storm, Sonnets on the l^ord's Prayei. by Robt. 'i'. Conr forest Wood, by Ebenezer l^lliott, The Human Sacrifice, by John (;.' Whitlicr, 84 84 84 84 84 86 88 93 93 94 94 94 95 97 98 98 100 101 101 102 104 105 105 106 106 106 107 107 108 108 109 110 110 110 111 111 111 112 112 113 117 117 118 119 125 126 126 127 127 128 129 130 134 135 135 135 136 136 137 1 13 M4 POEMS BT WILLIAM H. BURLEIGH. " The Earth is the Lord's," . H. A. B., Mary Howitt, 'i"o my t^uaker Cousin, Stanzas, to the Abolitionists of America, The Freeman, .... Solitude, ...... Archy Moore, ..... A Sunnner Morning in the Country, . Exjiostulation, .... 'J'hc Old Man's Soliloquy, Our Bessie, ..... The Witnesses, by Henry W. Longfellow, 147 147 148 148 149 149 149 150 150 151 151 152 152 SOXNETS BY HENRY KLLISOX. The Stars Thought, ....... World-Music, ..... Whom to Please, . . . . • An Answer, ...... To Keats, ....... How to seek Truth, .... The Purpose of a Life, .... Self-Greatness, ..... On Seeing a Poor Man to wliom I had given Clothing, ...... Ambition, ..,,.. Hopes of the Future, ..... On sonic Flowers about a Cottage, . Means of Civilization, .... The Heart's Places of Worship, The Scottish Reformers, by John G. Whittier, The Slave's Dream, by Henry W. Longfellow, Missionary Hymn for the South, 'J'he Fountain, by James Russell Lowell, . Maidenhood, by Henry W. Longfellow, The Hymn of the dew, . . , . . SONGS BY " BAHRY COKSWALL.' Hcrmoine, ...... Song should Breathe, ..... The Song of a Felon's Wife, . The W^eaver's Song, ..... Sabbath in Lowell, by John G. Whittier, To Life, by Mrs. Barbauld, .... Lines, by William Wordsworth, . "^I'hey arc all Gone, by Henry Vaughan, . The Fairies of the Caldon-Low, by Mary Howitt, Sweet Phosphor, bring the Day, by Francis Quarlcs, ....... The Death-bed, by Thomas Hood, (iracc before Meat, by Charles Lamb, . The Ocean, by John Augustus Shea, Hymn to the Flowers, by Horace Smith, A Song, by Thomas Churchyard, . Love for All. by Lydia Maria Child, . Afar in the Desert, by Thomas Pringle, . The awakening of Endymion, Tlic Infant's Dream, .... The Beautiful, by John G. Whittier. . A Christmas Hymn, by Alfred Dommett. The (Jood Part that shall not betaken awav, lli'iiry ^^'. Longfellow, . . . ' Not on the Battle Field, by John Pierpont, Sonnet, by M'illiam \\', Storv, Ignorance of the Learned, liy William Hazli 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 154 154 154 154 154 154 154 155 155 159 159 160 160 161 (Jo forth into the Fields, by William J. Pabodic, An Incideni in a Railroad Car, by James Ru Lou bv II. I'll 161 161 161 161 162 164 164 166 166 167 167 168 170 171 171 172 174 175 176 177 179 179 180 180 181 184 185 CONT ENTS. IIISTOHTCAl ERAS. Declaration of Independence, . - . 1S6 Declaration of Sentiments of ihc American Anti-rSlavcry Society, .... 188 Declaration of Sentiments of the American Non-Kcsistancc Society, . . .190 On Anotiior's Sorrow, by William Blake, . 192 Absence, by Frances A. Butler, . . . 192 To an Infant, by William Lloyd Harrison, . 192 To M. W., by James Russell Lowell, . . 193 Deforming — Reforming, by Lydia Maria Child, 195 To the Daisy, by G. Wither, . , . .199 Song of the Spirit of Poverty, by Eliza Cook, 199 A Wren's Nest, by William Wordsworth, . 200 Women's Rights and Duties, by Lydia Maria Child, 201 The Forlorn, by James Russell Lowell, . 204 Old Maids, by Hans Von Spirgel, • . . 204 Birds, by Lydia Maria Child, . . . 205 Lucy, by William Wordsworth, . . . 207 In Sadness, by James Russell Lowell, . 208 She was a Phantom of Delight, by Wm. Words- worth, . . 208 The Old Cumberland Beggar, by Wm. Words- worth, : 209 From '' Lowell's Conversations," . . . 211 Stanzas, by John G. Whittier, . . . 214 The Contrast, by James Russell Lowell, . 215 The Arsenal at Springfield, by Henry W. Jjong- fellow, 215 The Economy of Slavery, by Lydia Maria Child, 216 Heart-Leap Well, by William Wordsworth, . 218 " May I Come Up ?" .... 219 Love and Faith, by Lydia Maria Child, . 220 A Chippewa Legend, by James Russell Lowell, 221 Prometheus, by James Russell Lowell, . . 225 Hope, by Richard Penn Smith, . . . 228 From Longfellow's Hyperion, . , . 228 The Yankee Girl, by John G. Whittier, . 232 The Ballad of Casandia Southwick, by John G. Whittier, 233 The Indian Girl's Burial, by Lydia H. Sigourney, 236 Never Despair, ...... 237 A Requiem, by James Russell Lowell, . 237 A Man's a Man, for a' that, by Robert Burns, 238 Footsteps of Angels, by Henry W. Longfellow, 238 Lines written on reading several Pamphlets pub- lets published by Clergymen against the abo- lition of the Gallows, by John G. M^hittier, 239 Hunger and Cold, by James Russell Lowell, . 240 Think of our Countiy's Glory, by Elizabeth M. Chandler, 240 The Silver Tankard, 241 POEMS BT JIAHT HOWITT. A Forest Scene, 243 The Baron's Daughter, . . . .245 The English Porcupine, . . . 246 Birds, 246 Household Treasures, .... 247 Little Children, 247 The Cypress Tree of Ceylon, bv J. G.Whittier, 248 It is Little, by Thomas N. Talford, . . 248 Our Father, by F. A. Krummacher, . . 249 To my Books," by Caroline E. S. Norton, . 249 ENGLISH DESTITUTIOX. The Song of the Shirt, by Thomas Hood, . 249 A Starvation Anthem for the Royal Christening, 250 Sonnet, by Frances Ann Butler, . . 250 The Emigrant's Family, . . . • 251 A Funeral, by Henry Allbrd, . • • 252 The Water Drinker's Song, . . . • ■^•^'^ A Glance behind the Curtain, by James Russell Lowell, ....... ^^'^ A Day in Autumn, by John 11. Bryant, . 256 Clear the Way, by Charles Mackay, . . 256 Sonnet, by Joseph Blanco White, . . 256 To the Evening Wind, by William CuUcn Bryant, 257 Labour, by Frances S. Osgood, . . . 257 A Lyric for the Times, by James Russell Lowell, 258 Song, by Thomas Moore, .... 259 The Falconer, by James Russell Lowell, . 260 Love and Live, . ..... 260 The Good, by Anne C. Lynch, ... 260 A True Patriot, by James C. Fields, . . 261 Gone, by John G.' Whittier, . . • 262 Light, by Ebcnezer Elliot, . . . .262 The Star of Bethlehem, by John G. Whittier, 263 Song, by Felicia D. Hemans, . . . 263 Forefathers' Day, by James Russell Lowell, . 264 From " Dream Love," by James Russell Lowell, 265 The Poor Man's Death Bed, by Caroline Southey, 267 Sonnet, by George S. Burleigh, . . . 267 Elegy on the Death of Dr. Clianning, by James Russell Lowell, ....'• Abou Ben Adhem, by Leigh Hunt, The Wasted Flowers, .... Epitome of War, by The "Ettrick Shepherd," The Free Mind, by William Lloyd Garrison, The Revellers, by William D. Gallagher, To a Waterfowl, by William Cullen Bryant, The Farewell of a Virginia Slave Mother to her Daughters, sold into Southern Bondage, by John G. Whittier, We thave been Friends together, by Caroline E. S. Norton, The Female Martyr, by John G. Whittier, We live in Deeds not Years, 268 268 S69 269 269 270 270 271 271 272 272 POE?IS ON SOME INCIDETS OF AXTI-SLAVEKT. To the Meraoiy of Charles B. Storrs, by John G.Whittier, 273 Song of the Free, by John G. Whittier, . 274 Clerical Oppressors, by John G. Whittier, 275 To the Memory of Thomas Shipley, by John G. Whittier, ^.275 liines written on the adoption of Pinckney's Resolutions, in the House of Representa- tives, and the passage of Calhoun's " Bill of Abominations" to a second reading, in the Senate of the United States. By John G. Whittier, 276 The voice of Blood, by J. Blanchard, . 277 Elijah P. Lovejoy, by William H. Burleigh, - 277 Wendell PhilHps, by James Russell Lowell, 277 A Word from a Petitioner, by John Pierpont, 278 The Tocsin, by John Pierpont, . . 279 On the Death of S. Oliver Torrcy, by John G. Whittier, 280 The Slave Ships, by John G. Whittier, . 281 Husbands for Female Petitioners, . . 282 The One Idea, by Sarah Jane Clarke, . . 283 Massachusetts to Virginia, by J. G. Wliittier, 2S4 Texas, by John G. ^^'hittier, . . . 286 The Branded Hand, by John G. Whittier, . 287 To Toussaint L'Ouverture, by Wm. Words- worth, ...... 288 Leggett's Monument, by John G. Whittier, . 288 CONTEXTS, SOXNETS BT RICHARD CHENETIX TRENCH. The NobliT Cunning, . . . . .84 Vesuvius, ...... 84 ' Franrc, 1834, 84 Wild-Flowers, 84 All Morti,'aged, by Elilui Rurrilt, . . ' . 84 A Cliristnias Tale, hy Hiuliard Monkton Milne.s, 86 Unwritten Music, by .\. P. Willis, . . 88 'i'o (\)lunil)us Dying, by VV. H. Furness, . 93 The Fatherland, by James IJussell Lowell, . 93 The two Paths, 94 Cold Water, by John Pierpont, ... 94 A Gentle Story, .,,... 94 The Ghost-.Seer, by James Russell liOwell, . 95 The Lady's Dream, by Thomas Hood, . . 97 Mountain Children, by Mary Howitt, . . 98 Letter to the Unknown Purchaser and Next Oc- cupant ol" Glenmary, by N. P. Willis, . . 98 The Alderman's Funeral, by Robert Southey, 100 My Child, by John J'ierpont, . . , 101 The Dew-Drop, by Richard Chenevix 'JVench, 101 A Commission of Lunacy, by Charles F. Briggs, 102 The Spring, by George S. Burleigh, . The Beggar, by James Russell Lowell, The Moon, by L. E. L., The Gambler's Wife, by Reynell Coates, Channing, by Charles F. Briggs, Unseen Spirits, by N. P. Willis, Lady Clara Vere de Vere, by Alfred Tennyson Adversity, by Lord Bacon, .... Song for August, by Harriet Martijicau, . Song of the .Mountain Weaver, The Freed Bird, by Amelia Wclhy, Be Patient, The Wife, from the German of Stolberg, Mother, by " Phazma," .... The Goblet of Life, by Henry W. Longfellow, The Slave Singing at Midnight, by Henry W Longfellow, ...... l"OE:>rS BY IlAXJfAH F. GOCLD. The Winter King, The Rising Eagle, Worship by the Rose Tree, Heroism, by l^alph Waldo Emerson, AXTI-SLAVKUT POKMS BY JOIIN- PIERPONT. 'J'he Chain, ...... The Fugitive Slave's Apostrophe to the North Star Hymn for the First of August, The Celestial Railroad, by Nathaniel Hawthonjc, Sonnet to J. M. K., by Alfred Tennyson, The lievellcr, by " Barry ('ornwall," The Solemn Song of a Righteous Hearle, by Wil- liam Motherwell, The Soul's Errand, bv Joshua Sylvester, Etty Rover, by L. E.'L T'VV^"'^'^ Emigrant's Lament, by Mrs. Blackwood, 128 . 129 130 igh, 134 . 135 135 . 13.5 136 . 136 137 1 1 :l 114 145 104 105 105 106 106 106 107 107 108 108 109 110 110 110 111 111 111 112 112 113 117 117 118 119 125 126 126 127 127 A Dirge, by James Russell I>ovve.., Prison Discipline, by Lydia Maria' Child, 'i'he French Revolution, by William H. Burh Books for the People, by Anne C. I,ynch, The Pauper's Drive, by Baj.list Noel, 'J'he Chimtiey-Swcepcr, bv William jjlake, The Poor Man's Day, by Ehene/.er Elliott, . The 'JVmplr of Nature, by Dr. Challield, The Suow-Sform, . . Sonnets on the Lord's Prayer, by Kobt. T. Con Forest Wood, by Ebene/.cr lllljott, The Human Sacrifice, by .John (;.' Whitijer, POEMS RT WILLIAM H. BURLEIGH. " The Earth is the liord's," . H. A. B., Mary Howitt, ..... 'J'o my Quaker (-'ousin. Stanzas, to the Abolitionists of America, The Freeman, .... Solitude, ...... Archy Moore, ..... A Summer Morning in tlie Country, . Exjiostulation, .... 'J'he Old Man's Soliloquy, Our Bessie, ...... The Witnesses, by Henry W. Longfellow, 147 147 148 148 149 149 149 150 150 151 151 152 152 SOXXETS BY HEXRY ELLISOX. The Stars 'J'hought, ....... World-Music, ..... Whom to Please, ..... An Answer, ...... To Keats, ....... How to seek Truth, The Purpose of a Life, .... Self-Greatness, ..... On Seeing a Poor Man to whom I had given Clothing, ...... Ambition, ...... Hopes of the Future, ..... On some Flowers about a Cottage, . Means of Civilization, .... The Heart's Places of Worship, The Scottish Reformers, by John G. W^hittier, The Slave's Dream, by Henry W. Longfellow, Missionnry Hymn for the South, The Fountain, by James Rus.scll Lowell, Maidenhood, by Henry W. Longfellow, The Hymn of the dew, . . , . . SOXGS BY " BARRY CORSWALL.' Hermoine, ...... Song should Breathe, ..... The Song of a Felon's Wife, . The Weaver's Song, ..... Sabbath in Lowell, by John G. Whittier, To Life, Iiy Mrs. Barhauld, .... Lines, by \\"illiain Wordsworth, . 'i'hey are all Gone, by Henry Vaughan, . The Fairies of the Caldon-Low, by Mary Howitt, Sneet Phosphor, bring the Day, by Francis Quarles, ....... The Deatli-bed, by Thomas Hood, (iracc before Meat, by Charles Lamb, . The Ocean, by John Augustus Shea, Hymn to the Flowers, by Horace Smith, A Song, by Thomas Churchyard, . Love for .\11. by Lydia Maria Child, . Afar in the Desert, by Thomas Pringle, . The awakening of Endymion, 'J'he Infant's Dream, ..... 'i'he 15eautilul, by John G. Whittier. . \ Christmas Hymn, by .\lfred Dommett, 'J'he (Jood Part that shall not be taken away, by Hi'iny ^^'. Longfellow, . . . ' . Not on the Hiitllc Field, by John Pierpont, Sonnet, by M ilJiam M'. Storv, Ignorance of the Learned, l)y William HazlitI, (m) forth into the Fields, by William J. Pabodie. .\ii Incident in a Railroad Car, by James Ru.s.sell Lowell, ...'.. 153 153 153 153 153 153 153 154 154 154 154 154 154 154 155 155 159 159 160 160 161 161 161 161 161 162 164 164 166 166 167 167 168 170 171 171 170 1; 1; 1; 1; 1; 179 180 180 181 184 185 CONTENTS. HISTOHTCAI, ERAS. Declaration of Independence, Declaration of Sentiments of (he American Anti-tSlavcry Society, .... Declaration of Sentiments of the American Non-Resistance Society, On Another's Sorrow, hy William Blake, Absence, by Frances A. Butler, 'I'o an Infant, hy William Lloyd Garrison, . To M. W., hy James Kussell Lowell, Deforming — Keforming, hy Lydia Maria Child, To the Daisy, hy G. Wither, .... Song of the Spirit of Poverty, hy Eliza Cook, A Wren's Nest, hy William Wordsworth, . Women's Rights and Duties, hy Lydia Maria Child, The Forlorn, by James Russell Lowell, Old Maids, hy Hans Von Spirgel, . Birds, hy Lydia Maria Child, Lucy, hy William Wordsworth, In Sadness, by James Russell Lowell, She was a Phantom of Delight, hy Wm. Words- worth, ..... c . The Old Cumberland Beggar, by Wm. Words- worth, ..... . : From '' Lowell's Conversations," Stanzas, hy John G. Whittier, The Contrast, by James Russell Lowell, The Arsenal at Springfield, hy Henry W. liOng- fellow, ....... The Economy of Slavery, by Lydia Maria Child, Heart-Leap Well, hy William Wordsworth, " May I Come Up 1" .... Love and Faith, hy Lydia Maria Child, A Chippewa Legend, by James Russell Lowell, Prometheus, by James Russell Lowell, Hope, by Richard Penn Smith, . From Longfellow's Hyperion, The Yankee Girl, by John G. Whittier, The Ballad of Casandra Southwick, by John G. Whittier, The Indian Girl's Burial, hy Lydia H. Sigourney, 236 The Emigrant's Family, . • • .251 A Funeral, hy Henry Alford, . • • 25i The Water Drinker's iSong, . . . • -'^'^ A Glance behind the Curtain, by James Russell Lowell, ....... ^^-^ A Day in Autumn, by John II. Bryant, . 256 Clear the Way, hy Charles Mackay, . . 256 Sonnet, by Joseph Blanco White, . . 256 To the Evening Wind, by William CuUen Bryant, 257 Labour, hy Frances S. Osgood, . . . 257 A Lyric for the Times, hy James Russell Lowell, 258 Song, by Thomas Moore, .... 259 The Falconer, by James Russell Lowell, . 260 Love and Live, . ..... 260 The Good, by Anne C. Lynch, . . . 260 A True Patriot, hy James C. Fields, . . 261 Gone, by John G. Whittier, . . . 262 Light, hy libenezer Elliot, . . . .262 The Star of Bethlehem, by John G. Whittier, 263 Song, hy Felicia D. Hemans, . . . 263 Forefathers' Day, by James Russell Lowell, . 264 From " Dream Love," by James Russell Lowell, 265 The Poor Man's Death Bed, by Caroline Southey, 267 Sonnet, by George S. Burleigh, . . . 267 Elegy on the Death of Dr. Channing, by James Russell Lowell, ..... 268 Abou Ben Adhem, by Leigh Hunt, . . 268 The Wasted Flowers, .... 269 Epitome of War, by The "Ettrick Shepherd," 269 The Free Mind, by William Lloyd Garrison, 269 The Revellers, by William D. Gallagher, . 270 To a Waterfowl, hy William CuUen Bryant, 270 The Farewell of a Virginia Slave Mother to her Daughters, sold into Southern Bondage, hy John G. Whittier, 271 We ^have been Friends together, by Caroline E. S. Norton, 271 The Female Martyr, hy John G. Whittier, . 272 We live in Deeds not Years, . . . 272 1S6 188 190 192 192 192 193 195 199 199 200 201 204 204 205 207 208 208 209 211 214 215 215 216 218 219 220 221 225 228 228 232 Never Despair, A Requiem, by James Russell Lowell, A Man's a Man, for a' that, by Robert Burns, Footsteps of Angels, by Henry W. Longfellow, Lines written on reading several Pamphlets pub- lets published by Clergymen against the abo- lition of the Gallows, hy John G. Whittier, Hunger and Cold, by James Russell Lowell, . Think of our Country's Glory, by Elizabeth M. Chandler, ...... The Silver Tankard, 237 237 238 238 239 240 240 241 POr.MS BT MAHY HOWITT. A Forest Scene, ..... 243 The Baron's Daughter, .... 245 The English Porcupine, . . . 246 Birds, 246 Household Treasures, .... 247 Little Children, 247 The Cypress Tree of Ceylon, by J. G.Whittier, 248 It is Little, hy Thomas N. Talford, . . 248 Our Father, hy F. A. Krummacher, . . 249 To my Books," by Caroline E. S. Norton, . 249 ENGLISH DESTITUTIOIV. The Song of the Shirt, by Thomas Hood, . 249 A Starvation Anthem for the Royal Christening, 250 Sonnet, hy Frances Ann Butler, . . 250 POEMS OIT SOME INCIDETS OF ANTI-SLATERT. To the Memory of Charles B. Storrs, hy John G.Whittier, 273 Song of the Free, by John G. Whittier, . 274 Clerical Oppressors, by John G. Whittier, 275 To the Memory of Thomas Shipley, by John G. Wliittier, ^.275 liines written on the adoption of Pinckney's Resolutions, in the House of Representa- tives, and the passage of Calhoun's " Bill of Abominations" to a second reading, in the Senate of the United States. By John G. Whittier, 276 The voice of Blood, by J. Blanchard, . 277 Elijah P. Lovejoy, by William H. Burleigh, - 277 Wendell Philhps, by James Russell Lowell, 277 A Word from a Petitioner, hy John Pierpont, 278 The Tocsin, by John Pierpont, . . 279 On the Death of S. Oliver Torrcy, hy John G. Whittier, 280 The Slave Ships, hy John G. Whittier, . 281 Husbands for Female Petitioners, , . 282 The One Idea, by Sarah Jane Clarke, . . 283 Massachusetts to Virginia, hy J. G. Whittier, 2S4 Texas, by John G. Whittier, ... 286 The Branded Hand, by John G. Whittier, . 287 To Toussaint L'Ouverture, by Wm. Words- worth, ...... 288 liCggett's Monument, by John G. Whittier, . 288 VOICES or THE TRUE-HEARTED. E. So loud and long have the multitude chaunted the glory of low pleasures, that the voices of true-hearted men have scarcely been heard in the world's chorus. Now and then, in the interludes of passion, when a holy calm has fallen upon the spirits of all, — ^when the pestilence has walked at noon-day, or the power of the Most High has been otherwise vividly shown, — Truth and lloliness seemed to 1)ear some sway in the souls and words of men. But again came the old passion : — again the old chaunt arose from city, hill- side, and valley-depth ;■ and again the voice of God in the soul, and the voices of true-hearted men were unheeded; or, if some fragments of them were caught, heeded only tO be derided by those whose spirits grovelled in the dust, and knew not how glorious was the love and beauty of the Most High. One there was, ages ago, who amid scoffing — loneliness of heart — peril — death — spake out the pure truth as he received it from the Father. His was no wreath of flowers awarded by men to the noblest. And as to him was awarded a crown of thorns, — to those whose voices joined with his for love and truth, in defiance of form — custom — selfishness, like crowns were given ; and soldiers who enlisted in works ot darkness, — Pharisees trailing about long texts on their garments, but not in their hearts, — Sadducees living only for the present, — and the fickle mob, shouted in derision, and spit upon them, and crucified them in not less fearful Golgothas than that of old. But danger never stifled truth. In all ages some brave men have been raised up, true lovers of God, who lived only in Him, whose only fear was to neglect His will, — men who could bear the taunt calmly, who could joy in the tortures af the' Inquisition, who could give up home, and parents, and children, and wife for Truth's sake. These men reasoned and exhorted and rebuked by the way side, — at the social gathering, public feast, and solemn meeting — unawed by the presence of the self-righteous or open scoffer; and wrought their good works, until riiuny hearts beat — not for praise — not for wealth — not for power — not for showy learning, but — for the pure truth spoken by Jesus, and now uttered by God in every spirit willing to heed it. On, on, on ! — The voices grew as time rocked the zephyr into the hurricane. The strong soul poured forth glorious thoughts. Men became habituated to the idea and practice of high truth. The possibility of change for the better was acknowledged. Glory to God rang abroad over the earth — lo Paens, \\n- like the foul praises that were wont to be offered up. Some of the words of these lovers of the All-True, or echoes of them, have fallen upon my ear, and stir- red up within me such free born thoughts and craving for true purity, that I cannot forbear to scatter them still more widely over the earth. Reader ! they are seeds borne upon the untrammeled breezes of thought into every open heart — into thine, if thou wilt. Keep them there, and nurture them. Love them as a maiden loves the sweet flowers that grow beneath h6r eye, — yea, love them infinitely more — and they shall impart rich fragrance to thy whole nature, and endow thee with strength, not only in the life-giving morning, and quiet moonlight even-time, but in the heat and trial of the day, when not only a truth-loving but truth-acting heart is required of thee to do nobly thy devoir as a man and a Christian. Joyfully— oh joyfully, let us look forward to the time when the world's chorus shall be battle-cries for the right, — when blood-stained fields, with all their pomp, shall be only heard of as a tale of evil days long gone, — when wealth and birth shall no more be esteemed, — wh6n love shall be pure, not ssnsual, — when all shall seek their neighbor's good, and the good of all mankind, as they now seek their own. Joy- fully let us look forward, and with no craven heart speed the good work. Philadelphia, Wthmo. 8th, 1S44. VOICES OF THE TRUE -HEARTED. EXCELSIOR. BY HENRY \V. LONGFELLOW. The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior I His brow was sad, his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath '. And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior I In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright : Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan. Excelsior I " Try not the pass I" the old man said ; " Dark lowers the tempest overhead; The roaring torrent is deep and wide I" And loud that clarion voice replied. Excelsior 1 . " Oh stay," the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast I" A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered with a sigh, Excelsior '. «< Beware the pine-tree's withered branch- Beware the awful avalanche I'' This was the peasant's last good night: A voice replied, far up the height. Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward 'J'he pious monks of St. Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, Excelsior I A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, Excelsior. Therein the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star ! Excelsior I A PSALM OF LIFE. BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers. And things are not what they seem. Life is real — life is earnest — And the grave is not its goal, lust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow. Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brav» Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle I Be a hero in the strife I Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant I Let the dead Past bury its dead I Act — act in the glorious Present I Heart within, and God o'er head ! Lives of all great men remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footsteps on the sands of time. Footsteps, that perhaps another Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us then be up and doing. With a heart for any fate ; Stil achieving, still pursuing. Learn to labor and to wait. REFORM. A new year of labor has begun in the stillness of winter. In the moral world, however, the fields are ever w-hite for the harvest, and the reaper has only to put in the sickle, and do his part towards the great in-gathei iiig. There are no seasons of repose to the reformer. It is ever, with him, seed-time and harvest. Thoui;h the seed he scatters broadcast over the world, is invisible to the unanointcd eye, it is still a reality — the only reality — for that seed is truth. It becomes him ever to be ready, with his loins girded, and his seed in his hand, to go abroad, scattering the unseen, but almighty germs of happi- ness. IVIuch discouragement and disheartening will he meet with from a froward and perverse generation — because they look still for an outv\'ard redemp- tion, for an earthly Jlessiah. The evils of outward condition absorb their sight. They scoff at, and belie, and, it may be, crucify him who would draw them from their physical deliverance, by the mighty VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. leading of great principles. What they do not see with their eyes, they cannot receive. Their faith in the unseen God, is but traditional, and not vital. He is an unknown God to them as much as he was to the scoffing Athenians. They do not believe in the soul, but in the body. Motion is to them volition — action is thought — meeting-houses are religion — State-houses are government. They do not look behind the shows and forms with which the world is filled, and discern the secret principles which they outshadow. This it is that makes the path of the reformer hard. He is misunderstood. His method is not comprehended. The connection between his means and his ends is not perceived — and men say, he hath a devil and is mad. But, still, be hath his reward. The veil is lifted from his eyes, in degree as he is true and worthy, and he sees the secrets of Ihe machinery in the midst of whose operations he lives. He discerns the causes of its disarrange- ments, and how it is that a Divine contrivance for the happiness of mankind, has become perverted to their misery and wo. He sees that no half measures are of any virtue. False and disturbing principles have been introduced which destroy the harmony of the machine, and make it produce results the opposite of the Inventor's design. Nothing can repair the ruin but the removal of the disturbing forces, and the restoration of the true motive power. To this work he applies himself, and proclaims aloud the error which has obtained, and the remedy for it. He heeds not the sneers of the faithless, nor the doubts of the timid good. He knows that he has an omnipotent engine in his hands, which, though he may not live to see the day, will rectify the disor- dered frame of things, and reduce the chaotic scene to order and beauty. How few there are who truly perceive the omnipo- tence of a principle ! How is the true life concealed by its visible manifestations ! And yet can there be anything more apparent than that principles of Truth are all that is conservative and recuperative in the world ? And that the dissemination and true reception of these principles, are the only means by which abuses can be reformed ? And yet men will look at Presidents, and Congresses, and Courts, for the help which they themselves alone can give themselves. Outward victory — the ascendancy of this or that party — the predomination of this or that sect — is regarded as the sign of reform and of pro- gress. And yet, how continually has disappointment been written on every page of history that has recorded such triumphs ! As wise were the fanatic reformers who destroyed miracles of art and of ar- chitecture, thinking that thereby they exterminated Popery — or the republican zealots who rifled the sepulchres of St. Denys, and scattered to the winds the ashes of a hundred kings, as an additional bulwark of freedom. It is by slow degrees, and difficult ex- perience, that the world grows wise — for. bv a strange infirmity, it is apt to look upon the old errors and sins of the past, as precedents to be followed, rather than as warnings to be shunned. But it will yet grow wise, and learn the things that pertain unto peace. This has ever been the process of reform, as far as it has yet effected the interests of mankind. A single mind perceives a truth, which had been before hidden from men's eyes — because they would not see it. He that has perceived the truth, states it. The mass of men reject it and him. Perhaps they persecute him to strange cities, or even unto death itself Whatever be the form in which men revenge themselves upon those who disturb them in their hereditary slumbers, in the particular age in which he lives, he is sure to eudure it. But almost from the very first, there are some minds to which the new truth commends itself, as a newly-discovered part of their own being, and these cluster around the original truth-founder. Perhaps they but imperfectly understand its meaning and the extent of its bear- ing; but according to their capacity, they are filled with its power. From them the circle widens and widens till it embraces within its ring a sea, or per- haps, an ocean. This was the truth which Christ shadowed forth in the parables of the grain of mus- tard seed, and of the leaven which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal. And how strong an illustration does his own mission furnish of this growth of reform! Even his disciples, during his life, and even after his death, but imperfectly com- prehended his doctrine." And what lies have been extorted from it, from that day to this ! What streams of human blood has the Prince of Peace been made to shed ! Of what abominations has he not been made the patron and the founder. The world is but little in advance of his contemporaries in the reception of the great truths which he per- ceived and stated. But still there are some minds which do begin to discern with a perfect vision the laws of the soul, and to recognize their Divine beau- ty and almighty power. The circumstances of the times are in many respects favorable to their more general reception. The great doctrine of the equal- ity and brotherhood of mankind is now, in this coun- try at least, universally acknowledged, though in but too many instances with lying lips. 'I'his great idea is becoming more and more practically familiar to men's minds. Gross physical persecution is almost obsolete. The right of free inquiry and discussion is admitted by almost all lips, though denied by many hearts, and still obstructed by inveterate pre- judice, spiritual tyranny, and sometimes by popular violence. The old ideas are losing their hold upon men's minds, and the institutions that stand for them are tottering to their foundations. Men are looking about them for some surer foundation on which to build their hopes, and some will be found ready to embrnpo tli^ r,nlv qrnnnd of truth. A state of moral VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED movement prevails, which is the atmosphere in which reform takes deepest root, and sheds forth its most vigorous branches. These are hopeful days for the reformer. Let him not allow the appointed time to pass by unimproved. And let not his soul be troubled because his pro- gress seenns to be slow. The generation in whose ears he first utters the unwelcome message may re- fuse to receive it — but how soon it melts away, and another reigns in its stead ! At first, it seems almost impossible to produce any impression upon the un- believing multitudes in the high places and in the Ic w places. But by the gradual, but mighty, process of nature, the world is by degrees filled with new life, and the old passes silently into the sepulchre of the past. The mighty men who seemed to fill up the whole field of vision now, whither will twenty years bear them away ? Whence have come the new multitudes which throng this breathing world, that were but just born into time a score of years since ? What a change has come over men's minds in the quarter century that has passed over the world since Napoleon shook the scene ! With new minds come new ideas — and with new ideas, will, in due time, come a new world. What a change will twenty years make in the aspect of the anti-slavery movement, for example, should chattle slavery en^ dure so long I W here will be Webster, and Tyler, and Clay, and Calhoun ? Where will be the troops of honorable and reverend asserters of the divinity and inviolability of the peculiar institution ? They will be all gone, and their places will be filled by a race taught in other schools. So with respect to the systems of violence with which the earth is fil- led. 'J'he pillars of these systems will have fallen- Younger minds, pervaded with new views, will suc- ceed them, and by degrees the institutions of socie- ty will conform to the changed current of men's minds. Mighty revolutions will be achieved with- out a blow, and freedom and happiness purchased without the price of bloodshed and misery. The leaven will change the mass of society just as fast and as far as its virtue pervades it. Nothing can retard the progress of this peaceful revolution — for its theatre is the unseen soul. Its battles are there fought and won. It is from thence that its trium- phal movements, which are to be seen in the out- ward world, are projected. In this revolution of thoughts and opinions, we must all needs take a part, whether we will or no. It rests with ourselves to decide whether our part shall be magnanimous or pitiful— whether our eflbrts shall be directed to spread or retard the coming triumph. MY PHILOSOPHY. Bright things can never die, E'en though they fade — Beauty and minstrelsy r)'»athlo«K were mad«>. What though the summer day Passes at eve away, Doth not the moon's soft ray Silence the night? — •'Bright things can never die," Saith my philosophy — Phoebus, though he pass by. Leaves us his light. Kind words can never die — Spoken in jest, God knows how deep they lie Stored in the breast; Like childhood's simple rhymes, Said o'er a thousand times. Aye — in all years and climes. Distant and near. " Kind words can never die," Saith my philosophy — Deep in the soul they lie, God knows how dear. Childhood can never die — Wrecks of the past Float op the memory E'en to the last. Many a happy thing — Many a daisied Spring, Flown on 'i'ime's cejiseless wing, Far, far away. " Childhood can never die," f-^aith my philosophy — M'recks of our infancy Live on for aye. Sweet fancies never die — They leave behind Some fairy legacy Stored in the mind — Some happy thought or dream. Pure as day's earliest beam Kissing the gentle stream, In the lone glade. Yet though these things pass by, Saith my philosophy — " Bright things can never die, E'en though they fade."' A CHRISTIAN COLONY. BY LYDIA MARIA CHILD The highest gifts my soul has received, during its world-pilgrimage, have often been bestowed by those who were poor, both in money and intellectual cul- tivation. Among these donors, I particularly re- member a hard-working, uneducated mechanic, from Indiana or Illinois. He told me that he was one of tliirfy or forty Nrw F.nRl.Tnders, who. twelve years VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. before, had gone out to settle in the western wilder- ness. They were mostly neighbors ; and had been drawn to unite together in emigration from a gene- ral unity of opinion on various subjects. For some years previous, they had been in the habit of meet- ing occasionally at each other's houses, to talk over their duties to God and man, in all simplicity of heart. Their library was the gospel, their priest- hood the inward light. There were then no anti- slavery societies ; but thus taught, and reverently willing to learn, they had no need of such agency, to discover that it was wicked to enslave. The ef. forts of peace societies had reached this secluded band only in broken echoes, and non-resistance so- cieties had no existence. But with the volume of the Prince of Peace, and hearts open to His influence, what need had they of preambles and resolutions ? Rich in spiritual culture, this little band started for the far West. Their inward homes were bloom- ing gardens ; they made their outward in a wilder- ness. They were industrious and frugal, and all things prospered under their hands. But soon wolves came near the fold, in the shape of reckless, unprin- cipled adventurers ; believers in force and cunning, who acted according to their creed. The colony of practical Christians spoke of their depredations in terms of gentlest remonstrance, and repaid them with unvarying kindness. They went farther — they openly announced, 'You may do us what evil you choose, we will return nothing but good.' Lawyers came into the neighborhood and offered their ser- vices to settle disputes. They answered, ' We have no need of you. As neighbors, we receive you in the most friendly spirit ; but for us, your occupation has ceased to exist.' ' What will you do, if rascals burn your barns, and steal your harvests?' 'We will return good for evil. We believe this is the highest truth, and therefore the best expediency.' When the rascals heard this, they considered it a marvellous good joke, and said and did many pro- voking things, which to them seemed witty. Bars were taken down in the night and cows let into the cornfields. The Christians repaired the damages as well as they could, put the cows in the barn, and at twilight drove them gently home, saying, ' Neigh- bour, your cows have been in my field. I have fed them well during the day, but I would not keep them all night, lest the children should suffer for their milk.' If this was fun, they who planned the joke found no heart to laugh at it. By degrees a visible change came over these troublesome neighbors. They ceased to cut off horses' tails, and break the legs of poultry. Rude boys would say to a younger bro- ther, ' Don't throw that stone Bill I When I killed the chicken last week, didn't they send it to mother, because they thought chicken-broth would be good for poor Mary ? I should think you would be asham- ed to throw stones at their chickens.' Thus was evil overcome with good, till not one was found to do them wilful injury. Years passed on, and saw them thriving in world- ly substance, beyond their neighbours, yet beloved by all. From them the lawyer and the constable obtained no fees. The sheriff stammered and apolo- gized, when he took their hard earned goods in pay- ment for the war-tax. They mildly rep'ied, ' 'Tis a bad trade friend. Examine it in the light of con- science and see if it be not so.' But while they re- fused to pay such fees and taxes, they were liberal to a proverb in their contributions for all useful and benevolent purposes. At the end often years, the public lands, which they had chosen for their farms, were advertised for sale by auction. According to custom, those who had settled and cultivated the soil, were considered to have a right to bid it in at the government price ; which at that time was $1.25 per acre. But the fe- ver of land-speculation then chanced to run unusual- ly high. Adventurers from all parts of the country were flocking to the auction ; capitalists in Balti- more, Philadelphia, New York and Boston, were sending agents to buy up western lands. No one supposed that custom, or equity, would be regarded. The first day's sale showed that speculation ran to the verge of insanity. Land was eagerly bought in at seventeen, twenty-five and thirty dollars an acre. The Christian colony had small hope of retaining their farms. As first settlers, they had chosen the best land ; and persevering industry had brought it into the highest cultivation. Its market value was much greater than the acres already sold at exorbi- tant prices. In view of those facts, they had prepar- ed their minds for another remove into the wilder- nees, perhaps to be again ejected by a similar pro- cess. But the morning their lot was offered for sale, they observed, with grateful surprise, that their neighbours were everywhere busy among the crowd, begging and expostulating : — ' Don't bid on thtse lands ! These men have been working hard on them for ten years. During all that time they never did harm to man or brute. They are always ready to do good for evil. They are a blessing to any neigh- bourhood. It would be a sin and a shame to bid on their lands. Let them goat the government price. The sale come on ; the cultivators of the soil of- fered $ 1 .25, intending to bid higher if necessary. But among all that crowd of selfish, reckless speculators, 7iot one bid over them! Without an opposing voice, the fair acres returned to them ! I do not know a more remarkable instance of evil overcome with good. The wisest political economy lies folded up in the maxims of Christ. With delighted reverence, I listened to this unlet- tered backwoodsman, as he explained his philosophy of universal love. ' What would you do,' said I, 'if an idle, thieving vagabond came among you, resolv- ed to stay, but determined not to work" 'We VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. would give him food when hungry, shelter him when colli, and always treat him as a brother.' « Would not this process attract such characters ? How would you avoid being overrun by them ?' < Such characters would eilher reform or not remain with us. We should never speak an angry word, or refuse to minister to their necessities ; but we should invariably regard them with the deepest sadness, as we would a guilty, but beloved son. This is harder for the human soul to bear, than whips or prisons. They could not stand it ; I am sure they could not. It would either melt them, or drive them away. In nine cases out of ten, I believe it would melt them.' I felt rebuked for my want of faith, and conse. quent shallowness of insight. That hard-handed la- bourer brought greater riches to my soul than an Eastern merchant laden with pearls. Again I re- peat, money is not wealth. — Letters from New York. The following beautiful poem is from the December number of Blackwood's Magazine It is a noble pic- ture of that sublime old man, who, sick, poor, blind, and abandoned of friends, still held fast his heroic integrity, rebuking with his unbending republican- ism the treachery, and cowardice, and servility of his old associates. He had outlived the hopes and bea- tific visions of his youth ; he had seen the loud- mouthed advocates of liberty throwing down a nation's freedom at the feet of the shameless, de- bauched, and unprincipled Charles the Second, crouching to the harlot-thronged court of the tyrant, and forswearing at once their religion and their republicanism. The executioner's axe had been busy among his friends. Cromwell's ashes had been dragged from their resting place, for even in death the effeminate tyrant hated and feared the conqueror of Naseby and Marston Moor. Vane and Hamp. den slept in their bloody graves. He was left alone in age, and penury, and blindness; oppressed with the knowledge that all his pure heart and free soul abhorred, had returned upon his beloved country. Yet the spirit of the stern, old republican remained to the last unbroken, realizing the truth of the lan- guage of his own Samson Agonistes. " Patit-iice is ihe exercise Of sainu, iho trial of llieir fui titude, Makin)!^ tlK-iii eacli tlitir own deliverer And vielor over all '1 hat tyranny or fortune can inflict." True, the overwhelming curse had gone over his country. Harlotry and atheism sat in the high places, and " the caresses of wantons and the jest of buffoons regulated the measures of the government, which had just ability enough to deceive, just reli- gion enough to persecute." But while Milton mourn- ed over this disastrous change, no self-reproach mingled with his sorrow. To the last he had striven against the ojipressor- AVho, that has read his pow- erful and thrilling appeal to his countrymen, when they were on the eve of welcoming back the ty- ranny and misrule which at the expense of so much blood and treasure had been thrown off, can ever forget it ? How nobly does liberty speak through him. " If," said he, " ye welcome back a monar- chy, it will be the triumph of all tyrants hereafter, over any people who shall resist oppression, and their song shall then be to others, ' How sped the rebel- _ lious English,' but to our posterity, 'How sped the rebels, your fathers.' " How solemnly awful is his closing paragraph : " What I have spoken, is the language of that which is not called amiss, 'The good old cause.' If it seem strange to any, it will not seem more strange I hope, than convincing, to backsliders. This much I should have said, though I were sure I should have spoken only to trees and stones ; and had none to cry to but with the prophet, earth, earth, earth ! to tell the very soil itself what its perverse inhabitants are deaf to ; nay, though what I have spoken should prove (which Thou suffer not, who didst create mankind free ! nor Thou next, who didst redeem us from being servants of men !) to be the last words of our expiring liber- ty." It was the consciousness of having done all in his power to save his countrymen from the guilt and folly into which they had madly plunged, the answer of a good conscience, which sustained him in his old age and destitution. — Joshua Leavitt. BLIND OLD MILTON. BY WILLIAM E. ATTOUN. Place me, once more, my daughter, where the sun May shine upon my old and time-worn head, For the last time, perchance. My race is run; And soon amidst the ever-silent dead 1 must repose, it may be, half forgot. Yes ! I have broke the hard and bitter bread For many a year, with those who trembled not To buckle on their armor for the fight. And set themselves against the tv rant's lot ; And I have never bowed me to his might, Nor knelt before him — for I bear within My heart the sternest consciousness of right. And that perpetual hate of gilded sin Which made me what I am ; and though the stain Of poverty be on me, yet I win More honor by it than the blinded train Who hug their willing servitude, and bow Unto the weakest and the most profane. Therefore, with tin 01 cumbered soul 1 go Before ihe footstool of my Maker, where I hope to stand us undebased as now ! Child ! is the sun abroad ? I feel my hair Borne up and wafted by the gentle wind ; 1 feel the odors that perfume the air. And hear the rustling of the leaves behind. Within my heart 1 picture them, and then VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED I almost can forget that I am blind, And old, and hated by my fellow men. Yet would I fain once more behold the grace Of nature ere I die, and gaze again Upon her living and rejoicing face ; Fain would I see thy countenance, my child, My comforter ! I feel thy dear embrace, I hear thy voice so musical and mild, The patient, sole interpreter, by whom So many years of sadness are beguiled ; For it hath made my small and scanty room Peopled w^ith glowing visions of the past. But I will calmly bend me to my doom. And wait the hour which is approaching fast, When triple light shall stream upon mine eyes. And Heaven itself be opened up at last, To him who dared foretell its mysteries. I have had visions in this drear eclipse Of outward consciousness, and clomb the skies, Striving to utter with my earthly lips What the diviner soul had half divined, Even as the saint in his Apocalypse Who saw the inmost glory, where enshrined. Sat He who fashioned glory. This hath driven A I! outward strife and tumult from my mind, And humbled me until I have forgiven My bitter enemies, and only seek To find the straight and narrow path to heaven. Yet I am weak — 0, how entirely weak, For. one who may not love or suffer more ! Sometimes unbidden tears will wet my cheek, And my heart bound as keenly as of yore, Reponsive to a voice, now hushed to rest, Which made the beautiful Italian shore With all its pomp of summer vineyards dressed. An Eden and a Paradise to me. Do the sweet breezes from the balmy West Still murmur through thy groves, Parthenope, In search of odors from the orange bowers ? Still on thy slopes of verdure does the bee Cull her rare honey from the virgin flowers ? And Philomel her plaintiff chant prolong, 'Neath skies more calm and more serene than ours. Making the summer one perpetual song ? Art thou the same as when in manhood's pride I walked in joy thy grassy meads among, With that fair, youthful vision by njy side, In whose bright eyes I looked — and not in vain ? 0, my adored angel! O, my bride ! Despite of years, and wo, and want, and pain. My soul yearns back toward thee, and I seem To wander with thee, hand in hand, again. By the bright margin of that flowing stream. I hear again thy voice, more silver sweet Than fancied music floating in a dream. Possess my being; from afar I greet The waving of thy garments in the glade. And the light rustling of thy fairy feet — What time as one half eager, half afraid, Love's burning secret faltered on my tongue. And tremulous looks and broken words betrayed '1 he secret of the heart from whence they sprung. Ah me ! the earth that rendered thee to heaven Gave up an angel beautiful and young ; Spotless and pure as snow when freshly driven; A bright Aurora for the starry sphere Where all is love, and even life forgiven. Bride of immortal beauty — ever dear I Dost thou await me in thy blest abode ! — While I, Tithonus-like, must linger here. And count each step along the rugged road, A phantom, loitering to a long made grave, And eager to lay down my weary load I I, that was fancy's lord, am fancy's slave — Like the low murmurs of the Indian shell Ta'en from its coral bed beneath the wave, Which, unforgetful of the ocean's swell, Retains within its mystic urn the hum Heard in the sea-grots, where the Nereids dwell — Old thoughts that haimt me, unawares they come Between me and my rest, nor can I make Those aged visitors of sorrow dumb. 0, yet awhile, my feeble soul awake ! Nor wander back with sullen steps again I — For neither pleasant pastime canst thou take In such a journey, nor endure the pain. The phantoms of the past are dead for thee ; So let them ever uninvoked remain, And be thou calm till Jeath shall set thee free. Thy flowers of hope expanded long ago, Long since their blossoms withered on the tree ; No second spring can come to make them blow, But in the silent winter of the grave They lie with blighted love and buried wo. I did not waste the gifts which nature gave, Nor slothful lay in the Circean bower ; Nor did I yield myself the willing slave Of lust for pride, for riches, or for power. No I in my heart a nobler spirit dwelt ; For constant was my faith in manhood's dower ; Man — made in God's own image — and I felt How of our own accord we courted shame, Until to idols like ourselves we knelt. And so renounced the great and glorious claim Of freedom, our immortal heritage. I saw how bigotry, with spiteful aim. Smote at the searching eyesight of the sage, How Error stole behind the steps of Truth, And cast delusion on the sacred page. So, as a champion, even in early youth I waged my battle with a purpose keen ; Nor feared the hand of Terror, nor the tooth Of serpent Jealousy. And I have been With starry Galileo in his cell, That wise magician with the brow serene. Who fathomed space ; and I have seen him tell The wonders of the planetary sphere, VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED And trace the ramparts of Heaven's citadel On the cold flag-stones of his dungeon drear. And I have walked with Hampden and with Vane, Names once so gracious to an English ear In days that never may return again. My voice, though not the hudfst, hath been heard Whenever freedom raised her cry oj pain, And the faint effort of the humble bard Hath roused up thousands from their lethargy, To speak in words of thunder. What reward Was mine or theirs? It matters not; for I Am but a leaf cast on the whirling tide, Without a hope or wish, except to die. But truth, asserted once, must still abide. Unquenchable, as are those fiery springs Which d ly and night gosh from the mountain side. Perpetual meteors, girt with lambent wings. Which the wild tempest tosses to and fro. But cannot conquer with the force it brings. Yet I, who ever felt another's wo More keenly than my own untold distress ; I, who have battled with the common foe. And broke for years the bread of bitterness ; Who never yet abandoned or betrayed The trust vouchsafed me, nor have ceased to bless, Am left alone to wither in the shade, A weik old man, deserted by his kind — Whom none will comfort in his age, nor aid ! 0, let me not repine ! A quiet mind. Conscious and upright, needs no other stay ; Nor can I grieve for what I leave behind, In the rich promise of eternal day. Henceforth to me the world is dead and gone, Its thorns unfelt, its roses castaway, And the old pilgrim, weary and alone, Bowed down with travel, at his Master's gate Now sits, his task of life-long labor done, Thankful for rest, although it comes so late, After sore journey through this world of sin. In hope and prayer, and wistfulness to wait. Until the door shall ope and let him in. FOOT-PRINTS OF ANGELS. BY HENKT W. LONGFELEOW. It was Sunday morning ; and the church bells bells were ringing together. From all the neigh- bouring villages came the solemn, joyful sounds, floating through the sunny air, mellow and faint and low, — all mingling into one harmonious chime, like the sound of some distant organ in heaven. Anon they ceased; and the woods, and the clouds, and the whole village, and the very air itself seemed to pray, 60 silent was it everywhere. The venerable old men, — high priests and patri- archs were they in the land, — went up the pulpit stairs, as i\Ioscs and Aaron went up Mount Hor, in the sight of all the congregation, — for the pulpit stairs were in front and very high. Paul Femming will never forget the sermon he heard that day, — no. not even if he should live to be as old as he who preached it. The text was, ' I know that my Redeemer liveth.' It was meant to console the pious, poor widow, who sat right before him at the foot of the pulpit stairs, all in black, and her heart breaking. He said nothing of the terrors of death, nor of the gloom of the narrow house, but, looking beyond these things, as mere circumstances to which the imagination mainly gives importance, he told his hearers of the innocence of childhood upon earth, and the holiness of childhood in heaven, and how the beautiful Lord Jesus was once a little child, and now in heaven the spirits of little children walked with him, and gathered flowers in the fields of Para- dise. Good old man ! In behalf of humanity, I thank thee for these benignant words I And, still more than I, the bereaved mother thanked thee, and from that hour, though she wept in secret for her child, yet. " She knew he was with Jesus, Anil she asked liim not again." After the sermon, Paul Flemming walked forth alone into the churchyard. There was no one there, save a little boy, who was fishing with a pin hook in a grave half full of water. But a few moments af- terward, through the arched gateway under the bel- fry, came a funeral procession. At its head walk- ed a priest in white surplice, chanting. Peasants, old and young, followed him, with burning tapers in their hands. A young girl carried in her arms a dead child, wrapped in its little winding sheet. The grave ^vas close under the wall, by the church door. A vase of holy water stood beside it. The sexton took the child from the girl's arms, and put it into a coffin ; and, as he placed it in the grave, the girl held over it a cross, Wreathed with roses, and the priest and peasants sang a funeral hymn. When this was over, the priest sprinkled the grave and the crowd with holy water ; And then they all went into the church, each one stopping as he passed the grave to throw a handful of earth into it, and sprin- kle it with holy water. A few moments afterwards, the voice of the priest was heard saying mass in the church, and Flem- ming saw the toothless old sexton treading the fresh earth into the grave of the little child, with his clouted shoes. He approached him, and asked the age of the deceased. The sexton leaned a moment on his spade, and shrugging his shoulders replied ; ' Only an hour or two. It was born in the night, and died early this morning?' ' A brief existence,' said Flemming. ' The child seems to have been born only to be buried, and have its name recorded on a wooden tombstone.' VOICES OF THE T R U E - II E A 11 T E D . The sexton went on with his work and made no reply. Flemrning still lingered among the graves, gazing with wonder at the strange devices, by which man has rendered death horrible and the grave loath- some. In the Temple of Juno at Elis, Sleep and his twin-brother Death were represented as children reposing in the arms of Night. On various funeral monuments of the ancients the Genius of Death is sculptured as a beautiful youth, leaning on an invert- ed torch, in the attitude of repose, his wings folded and his feet crossed. In such peaceful and attrac- tive forms, did the imagination of ancient poets and sculptors represent death. And these were men in whose souls the religion of Nature was like the light of stars, beautiful, but faint and cold I— Strange., that in later days, this angel of God, which leads us with a gentle hand into the ' Land of the great departed, into the silent Land,' should have been transformed into a monstrous and terrific thing! Such is the spectral rider on the white horse — such the ghastly skeleton with scythe and hour glass — the Reaper, whose name is Death ! One of the most popular themes of poetry and painting in the Middle ages, and continuing down even into modern times, was the Dance of Death. In almost all languages is it written, — the apparition of the grim spectre, putting a sudden stop to all bu- siness, and leading men away into the < remarkable retirement' of the grave. It is written in an ancient Spanish Poem, and painted on a wooden bridge in Switzerland. The designs of Holbein are well known. The most striking among them is that, where, from a group of children sitting round a cot- tage hearth, Death has taken one by the hand, and is leading it out of the door. Quietly and unresist- ing goes the little child, and in its countenance no grief, but wonder only ; while the other children are weeping and stretching forth their hands in vain to- wards their departing brother. A beautiful design it is, in all save the skeleton. An angel had been better, with folded wings, and torch in- verted ! And now the sun was growing high and warm. A little chapel, v\'hose door stood open, seemed to in- vite Flemming to enter and enjoy the grateful cool- ness. He went in. There was no one there. The walls were covered with paintings and sculpture of the rudest kind, and with a few funeral tablets. There was nothing there to move the heart to devotion but in that hour the heart of Flemming was weak, — weak as a child's. He bowed his stubborn knees, and wept. And oh ! how many disappointed hopes, how many bitter recollections, how much of wounded pride, and unrequited love, were in those tears, through which he read on a marble tablet in the chapel wall opposite, this singular inscrip- tion : 'Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not 2 back again. Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without foar, and with a manly heart.' It seemed to him, as if the unknown tenant of that grave had opened his lips of dust, and spoken to him the words of consolation, which his soul needed, and which no friend had yet spoken. In a moment the anguish of his thoughts was still. The stone was rolled away from the door of his heart ; death was no longer there, but an angel clothed in white. He stood up, and his eyes were no more bleared with tears ; and, looking into the bright, morning heaven, he said : ' I will be strong !' Men sometimes go down into tombs, with painful longings to behold once more the faces of their de- parted friends ; and as they gaze upon them, lying there so peacefully with the semblance that they wore on earth, the sweet breath of heaven touches them, and the features crumble and fall together, and are but dust. So did his soul then descend for the last time into the great tomb of the Past, with pain- ful longings to behold once more the dear faces of those he had loved ; and the sweet breath of heaven touched them, and they would not stay, but crumbled away and perished as he gazed. They, too, were dust. And thus, far-sounding, he heard the great gate of the Past shut behind him as the Divine Poet did the gate of Paradise, when the angel pointed him the way up the Holy Mountain ; and to him like- wise was it forbidden to look back. In the life of every man, there are sudden transi- tions of feeling, which seem almost miraculous. At once as if some magician had touched the heavens and the earth, the dark clouds melt into the air, the wind falls, and serenity succeeds the storm. The causes which produce these sudden changes may have been long at work within us, but the changes themselves are instantaneous, and apparently without sufficient cause. It was so with Flemming ; and from that hour forth he resolved, that he would no longer veer with every shifting wind of circumstance ; no longer be a child's plaything in the hands of Fate, which we ourselves do make or mar. He resolved hence forward not to lean on others ; but to walk self-con- fident and self-possessed ; no longer to waste his years in vain regrets, nor wait the fulfillment of boundless hopes and indiscreet desires ; but to live in the Present wisely, alike forgetful of the past, and careless of what the mysterious Future might bring. And from that moment he was calm, and strong; he was reconciled with himself! His thoughts turned to his distant home beyond the sea. \n indescribable, sweet feeling rose within him. 'Thither I will turn my wandering foostetps,'said he ; ' and be a man among men, and no longer a dreamer among shadows. Henceforth be rr^ine a life of action and reality ! I will work in my own 10 V O 1 C ]: S OF T II ]■: T R U E - H E A R T E D . sphere, nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health and happiness. This alone is life ; ' LilV Oiiit sliiill semi A cliulliiipt' lo Its riid, ^^ And when it conns, say, Welconif, fiicnd . Why have I not made these sage reflections, this wise resolve, sooner ? Can such a simple result spring only from the long and intricate process of e.vpe- rience? Alas! it is not till Time, with reck- less hand, has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life, to light the fires of passion with from day today, that Man begins to see, that the leaves which remain are few in number, and to remember, faintly at first, and then more clearly, that, upon the earlier pages of that book was writ- ten a story of happy innocence, which he would fain read over again. Then come listless irresolution, and the inevitable inaction of despair ; or else the firm resolve to record upon the leaves that still re- main, a more noble history than the child's story, with which the book heg^n.'—Hijpenon. MY SOUL IS FREE. Disguise ! and coward fear ! away : My soul is free ; and loves the day, The day who veils her blushes bright. And wails in tears the gloomy night ; So bleeds my breast by sorrow torn , When'ere degenerate manhood's form Bows slave-like to a tyrant's power, Lost to himself, and heaven's high dower. Away with chains '. my soul is free, And joyeth as the summer sea. When love's low tones around it play. Or friendship gilds the closing day. And as the pitying sea doth moan. So swells my heart at sorrow's tone ; So echoes back each murmur'd sigh, Like ocean, when the storm is nigh. And as the tossing waves loud roar With deafening thunders on the shore ; So may my soul rise in her might. And sternly battle for the right. Oh ! when the righteous flight is done, And calmly sinks the weary sun, Still shall my song triumphant be ; Rejoice ! rejoice ! my soul is free ! DEMOCRACY. BY JOHN G. ■WHITTIER. " All thinpt whannever ye would that mm ihoiild do to j,m, do ye even to lo l\n-m.''-Mall/iew vii. 12. Spirit of Truth, and Love, and Light ! The foe of Wrong, and Hate, and Fraud '. Of all wliich pains the holy sight. Or wounds the generous car of God ! Beautiful yet thy temples rise. Though there profaning gifts are thrown ; And fires unkindled of the skies Are glaring round thy altar-stone. Still sacred — though thy name be breathed By those whose hearts thy truth deride ; And garlands, plucked from thee, are wreathed Around the haughty brows of Pride. O, ideal of my boyhood's time I The faith in which my father stood, Even when the sons of Lust and Crime Had stained thy peaceful courts with blood. Still to those courts my footsteps turn, For through the mists which darken there I see the flame of Freedom burn — The Kebla of the patriot's prayer 1 The generous feeling pure and warm. Which owns the rights of all divine — The pitying heart — the helping arm — The prompt, self-sacrifice — are thine. Beneath thy broad, impartial eye, How fade the cords of caste and birth I How equal in their suffering lie The groaning multitudes of earth I Still to a stricken brother true. Whatever clime hath nurtured him ; As stooped to heal the wounded Jew The worshipper on Gerizim. By misery unrepelled, unawed By pomp or power, thou see'st a Man In prince or peasant — slave or lord — Pale priest or sw'arthy artisan. Through all disguise, form, place, or name. Beneath the flaunting robes of sin, Through poverty and squallid shame. Thou lookest on the man within. On man, as man, retaining yet, Howe'er debased, and soiled, and dim. The crown upon his forehead set — The immortal gift of God to him. And there is reverence in thy look ; For that frail form which mortals wear The Spirit of the Holiest took. And veiled his perfect brightness there. Not from the cold and shallow fount Of vain philosphy thou art ; He who of old on Syria's mount Thrilled, warmed by turns the lisfner's heart. Ill holy words which cannot die. In thoughts which angels lean'd to know, Proclaimed thy message from on high — Thy mission to a world of wo. VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. 11 That voice's echo hath not died ! From the blue lake of Gallilee, And Tabor's lonely mountain side, It calls a struggling world to thee. Thy name and watchvvard o'er this land I hear in every breeze that stirs ; And round a thousand altars stand Thy banded party worshippers. Not to these altars of a day, At party's call, my gift I bring ; But on thy olden shrine I lay A freeman's dearest offering : — The voiceless utterance of his will — His pledge to Freedom and to Truth, That manhood's heart remembers still The homage of his generous youth. THE OBJECT OF LIFE. BY JOHN TODD. How many beautiful visions pass before the mind in a single day, when the reins are thrown loose, and fancy feels no restraints ! How curious, interesting and instructive would be the history of the work- ings of a single mind for a day I How many ima- ginary joys, how many airy castles, pass before it, which a single jostle of this rough world at once destroys ! Who is there of my readers who has not imagined a summer fairer than ever bloomed, — scenery in nature more perfect than was ever com- bined by the pencil, — abodes more beautiful than were ever reared, — honors more distinguished than were ever bestowed, — homes more peaceful than were ever enjoyed, — companions more angelic than ever walked this earth, — and bliss more complete, and joys more thrilling than were ever allotted to man ? You may call these the dreams of imagin- ation, but they are common to the student. To the man who lives for this world alone, these visions of bliss, poor as they are, are all that ever come. But good men have their anticipations — not the paintings of fancy, but the realities which faith discovers. Good men have the most vivid conceptions. Wit- ness those of old. As they look down the vale of time, they see a star arise, — the everlasting hills do bow, the valleys are raised, and the moon puts on the brightness of the sun. The deserts and the dry places gush with waters. Nature pauses. The ser- pent forgets his fangs ; the lion and the lamb sleep side by side, and the hand of the child is in the mane of the tiger. Nations gaze till they forget the mur- derous work of war, and the garments rolled in blood. The whole earth is enlightened, and the star shines on till it brings in everlasting day. Here are glowing conceptions, but they are not the work of a depraved imagination. They will all be realiz- ed. Sin and death will long walk hand in hand on this earth, and their footsteps will not be entirely blotted out until the fires of the last day have melt- ed the globe. But the head of the one is already bruised, and the sting is already taken from the other. They may long roar, but they walk in chains, and the eye of faith sees the hand that holds the chains. But we have visions still brighter. We look for new heavens and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness. No sin will be there to mar the beau- ty, no sorrow to diminish a joy, no anxiety to cor- rode the heart, or cloud the brow. Our characters may be tested, in part, by our anticipations. If our thoughts and feelings are running in the channel of time, and dancing from one earthly bubble to another, though our hopes may come in angel-robes, it is a sad proof that our hearts are here also. The world, the great mass of mankind, have ut- terly misunderstood the real object of life on earth. Or else he misunderstands it who follows the light of the Bible. You look at men as individuals, and their object seems to be to gratify a contemptible vanity, to pervert and follow their low appetites and passions, and the dictates of selfishness, wherever they may lead. You look at men in the aggregate, and this pride and these passions terminate in wide plans of ambition, in wars and bloodshed, in strifes and the destruction of all that is virtuous or lovely. The history of mankind has its pages all stained with blood; and it is the history of a race whose ob- ject seemed to be, to debase their powers, and sink what was intended for immortal glory, to the deep- est degradation which sin can cause. At one time, you will see an army of five millions of men follow- ing a leader, who, to add to his poor renown, is now to jeopardize all these lives, and the peace of his whole kingdom. This multitude of minds fall in, and they live, and march, and fight and perish to aid in ex- alting a poor worm of the dust. What capacities were here assembled ! What minds were here put in mo- tion ! What a scene of struggles were here ! And who, of all this multitude, were pursuing the real object of life? From Xer.xes, at their head, to the lowest and most debased in the rear of the army, was there one, who, when weighed in the balances of eternal truth, was fulfilling the object for which he was created, and for which life is continued ?— Look again. All Europe rises up in phrensy, and pours forth a living tide towards the Holy Land. They muster in the name of the Lord of Hosts. — The cross waves on their banners, and the holy sepulchre is the watchword by day and night. — They move eastward, and whiten the burning sands of the deserts with their bleaching bones. But of all these, from the fanatic whoso voice awoke Eu- 13 VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED rope to arms, down to the lowest horse-boy, how few were actuated by any spirit which Heaven, or justice, to say nothing about love could sanction! — Suppose the same number of men, the millions which composed the continent which rose up to ex- terminate another, and who followed the man who was first a soldier and then a priest and hermit, and who has left the world in doubt whether he was a prophet, a madman, a fool, or a demagogue, had spent the same treasures of life, and of money, in trying to spread the spirit of that Saviour for whose tomb they could waste so much; and suppose this army had been enlightened and sanctified men, and had devoted their powers to do good to mankind, and to honor their God, how different would the world have been found to day I How many, think you, of all the then Christian world, acted under a spirit, and with an object before them such as the world will approve, and especially such as the pure beings- above us will approve ? Look a moment at a few of the efforts which ava- rice has made. For about four centuries, the ava- rice of man, and of Christian men too, has been prey- ing upon the vitals of Africa. It has taken the sons and daughters of Ham, and doomed soul and body to debasement, to ignorance, to slavery. And what are the results ? Twenty-eight millions — more than twice the population of this country — have been kidnapped and carried away from the land of their birth. The estimate is, that the increase in the house of bondage since those times, is five-fold, or nearly one hundred and seventy millions of hu- man, immortal beings, cut off from the rights of man, and, by legislation and p'anning, reduced far towards the scale ol the brutes. This is only a single form in which avarice has been exerting its power. Supjwse the same time and money, the same effort, had been spent in spreading the artrf of civilization, learning and religion, over the continent of Africa, what a vast amount of good would have been accomplished I And at the day when the recording angel reads the history of the earth, how very different would be the picture, and the eternal condition of untold num- bers! If the marks of humanity are not all blotted out from that race of miserable men, it is not because oppression has not been sufiiciently legalized, and avarice been allowed to pursue its victims, till the grave became a sweet asylum. I am trying to lead you to look at the great amount of abuse and of perversion of mind, of which man- kind are constantly guilty. When Christianity be- gan her glorious career, the world had exhausted its strength in trying to debase itself, and to sink low enough to embrace paganism; and yet not so low, as not to try to exist in the shape of nations. The experiment had been repeated, times we know not how many. Egypt, Babylonia, Persia, polished Greece, iron-footed Rome, mystical Hindooism, had all tried it. They spent each, mind enough to re- ' generate a nation, in trying to build up a system of corrupt paganism ; and when that system was built up — let the shape and form be what it might — the n;ition had exhausted its energies, and it sunk and fell under the effects of misapplied and perverted mind. No nation existed on the face of the earth, which was not crumbling under the use of its perverted energies, when the gospel reached it. Our ancestors were crushed under the weightof aDruidical priest- hood, and the rites of that bloody system of religion. Another striking instance of the perversion of mind, and the abuse of the human intellect and heart, is the system of the Romish church. No one created mind, apparently, could ever have invented a scheme of delusion, of degradation of the soul, the intellect, the whole man, so perfect and complete as is this. — What minds must have been employed in shutting out the light of heaven, and in burying the manna, which fell in showers so extended ! What a system I To gather all the books in the world, and put them all within the stone walls of the monastery and the cloister, — to crush schools, except in these same monasteries, in which they trained up men to become more and more skilful in doing the work of ruin, — to delude the world with ceremonies and fooleries, while the Bible was taken away, and re- ligion muttered her rites in an unknown tongue, — and all this was the result of a settled plan to de- base the intellect and mock poor human nature ! — And, when the Reformation held up all these abomin- ations to light, what a master piece was the last plan laid to stifle the reason forever ! — the inquisition. — It was reared through the Christian world : the de- cree by a single bloM', proscribed between sixty and seventy printing presses, and excommunicated all who should ever read any thing which they might produce. A philosopher, who, like Galileo, could pour light upon science, and astonish the world by his discoveries, must repeatedly fall into the cruel mercies of the inquisition. The ingenuity of hell seemed tasked to invent methods by which the hu- man mind might be shut up in Egyptian darkness ; and never has a Catholic community been known to be other than degraded, ignorant, superstitious and sunken. Let light in, and all who receive it rush to infidelity. But what a mass of mind has been, and still is, employed in upholding this system I And what a loss to the world has it produced, in quench- ing, in everlasting darkness, the uncounted millions of glorious minds which have been destroyed by it ! If I could find it in my heart to anathematize any or- der of men, — and I hope I cannot, — it would be those who are thus taking away the key of knowledge, and preventing all within the compass of their influ- ence from fullilling tlic great object for which they were created. Was man created for war? Did his Maker cre- ate the eye, that he might take better aim on the fi«dd of battle? give him skill that he might invent VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED. 13 methods of slaying by thousands ? and plant a thirst ^ in the soul, that it might be quenched by ti.e blood of men? What science or art can boast of more precision, of more to teach it, to hail it with enthu- siasm, and to celebrate it in song '. Genius has ever sat at the feet of Mars, and exhausted his efforts in preparing exquisite offerings. Human thought has never made such gigantic efforts as when employed in scenes of butchery. Has skill ever been more active and successful — has Poetry ever so kindled, as when the flames of Troy lighted her page? What school- boy is ignorant of the battle ground, and the field of blood, where ancient and modern ar- mies met and tried to crush each other? Has Music ever thrilled like that which led men to battle, and the plume of the desert-bird ever danced so grace- fully as when on the head of the warrior ? Are any honors so freely bestowed, or cheaply purchased, as those which are gained by a few hours of fighting ? See that man, who, so late, was the wonder of the world, calling out, marshalling, employing and wast- ing almost all the treasures of Europe, for twelve or fifteen years. What multitudes of minds did he call to the murderous work of war ! — minds that might have blessed the world with literature, with science, with schools, and with the gospel of peace, had they not been perverted from the great and best object of living ! Says a philosophical writer, speaking on this subject, "I might suppose for the sake of illustra- tion, that all the schemes of ambition, and cruelty, and intrigue, were blotted from the page of history, that, against the names of the splendid and guilty ac- tors, whom the world, for ages, has wondered at, there were written achievements of Christian be- nevolence, equally grand and characteristic, — and then ask what a change would there be in the scenes which the world has beheld transacted, and what a difference in the results ! Alexander should have won victories in Persia more splendid than those of Granicusand Arbela ; he should have wandered over India, like Buchanan, and wept for another world to bring under the dominion of the Saviour ; and re- turning to Babylon, should have died, like Martyn, the victim of Christian zeal. Caesar should have made Gaul and Britain obedient to the faith, and cros- sing the Rubicon with the apostolic legions, and making the Romans freemen of the Lord, should have been the forerunner of Paul, and done half his work. Charlemange should have been a Luther. — Charles of Sweeden should have been a Howard ; and, flying from the Baltic to the Euxine,like an angel of mercy, should have fallen, when on some errand of love, and, numbering his days by the good deeds he had done, should have died like Mills in an old age of charity. Voltaire should have writ- ten Christian tracts. Rousseau should have been a Fenelon. Hume should have unravelled the intri- cacies of theology, and defended like Edwards, the faith once delivered to the saints." We call ours the most enlightened nation on earth, inferior to none in owning the spirit of Christiani- ty ; and we claim this as an age behind none ever enjoyed, for high moral principle and benevolent, disinterested action. But what is the principle in the great mass of mankind I When clouds gather in the political horizon, and war threatens a nation, how are the omens received ? How many are there who turn aside and weep, and deprecate the guilt, the woe, and the indescribable evils and miseries of war ? The great majority of the nation feel that the path of glory is now opening before them, and that the honor which may possibly be attained by a few battles, is ample compensation for the expense, the morals, the lives and the happiness, which must be sacrificed for the possibility. Let that nation rush to war for some supposed point of honor. — Watch the population as they collect, group after group, under the burning sun, all anxious, all eager, and all standing as if in deep expectation for the signal which was to call them to judgment. They are waiting for the first tidings of the battle, where the honor of the nation is staked. No tidings that ever came from Heaven can send a thrill of joy so deep as the tidings that one ship has conquered or sunk another. Was it any thing remarkable, that, in the very heart of a Christian nation, a single horse-race brought over fifty thousand people together ? Were they acting so much out of the character of the mass of mankind as to cause it to make any deep impres- sion upon the moral sensibilities of the nation ? Suppose it were known that a mind was now in process of training, which might, if its powers were properly directed, be equal to Milton or Locke ; but that, instead of this, it will waste its powers in cre- ating such song as Byron wrote, or in weaving such webs as the schoolmen wove. Would the know- ledge of such a waste of mind, such perversion of powers, cause a deep sensation of regret among men? or have such perversions been so common in the world, that one such magnificent mind might be lost to mankind, and no one would mourn ? The answer is plain. The world has become so accus- tomed to seeing mind prostituted to ignoble pur. poses, and influence which might reach round the globe like a zone of mercy thrown away forever, that we hardly think of it as greatly out of the way. A generation of men come on the stage of action; they find the world in darkness, in ignorance, and in sin. They live, gain the few honors which are ea- sily plucked, gather the little wealth which toil and anxiety will bestow, and then pass away. As a whole, the generation do not expect or try to throw an in- fluence upon the world which shall be redeeming. — They do not expect to leave the world materially better than they found it. Why do we not mourn that such myriads of immortal minds are destined 14 VOICES OF THE TRUE-HEARTED to pass away, and never to break out in acts of mer- cy and kindness to the world ? Because we have so long been so prodigal of mind, that we hardly notice its loss. CHRIST-LIKE. BY LYDIA MARIA CHILD. To-day is Christmas. For several days past, cart- loads of ever-greens have gone by my windows, the pure snow falling on them, soft and still as a blessing. To-day, churches are wreathed in ever- green, altars are illuminated, and the bells sound joyfully in Gloria Exce/sis. Throngs of worshippers are going up to their altars, in the Greek, Syrian, Armenian, Roman and English churches. Eighteen hundred years ago, a poor babe was born in a stable, and a few lonely shepherds heard heavenly voices, soft warbling over the moonlit hills, proclaiming "Peace on earth, and good will towards men." Earth made no response to the chorus. It always entertains angels unawares. When the Holy One came among them, they mocked and crucified him. But now the stars, in their midnight course listen to millions of human voices, and deep organ-tones strug- gling upwards, vainly striving to express the hopes and aspirations, wdiich that advent concentrated from the past and prophesied for the future. From East to West, from North to South, men chant hymns of praise to the despised Nazarene, and kneel in wor- ship before his cross. How beautiful is this univer- sal homage to the Principle of Love ? — that femi- nine principle of the universe, the inmost centre of Christianity. It is the divine idea which distin- guishes it from all other religious, and yet the idea in which Christian nations evince so little faith, that one would think they kept, only to swear by, that gospel w'hich says "Swear not at all." Centuries have passed, and through infinite con- flict have "ushered in our brief to-day ;" and is there peace and good will among men ? Sincere faith in the words of Jesus would soon fulfil the prophecy which angels sung. But the world per- sists in saying, " This doctrine of unqualified for- giveness and perfect love, though beautiful and holy, cannot be carried into practice now,- men are not yet prepared for it.'' The same spirit says, " It would not be safe to emancipate slaves ; they must first be fitted for freedom." As if slavery ever could fit men for freedom, or war ever lead the na- tions into peace ! Yet men who gravely utter these excuses, laugh at the shallow wit of that timid mother, who declared that her son should never ven- ture into the water till he had learned to swim. Those who have dared to trust'the principles of peace, have always found them perfectly safe. It can never prove otherwise, if accompanied by the declaration that such a course is the result of Chris- tian principle, and a deep friendliness for humanity. Who seemed so little likely to understand such a position, as the Indians of North America? Yet how readily they laid down tomahawks and scalp- ing-knives at the feet of William Penn! With what humble sorrow they apologized for killing the only two Quakers they were ever known to attack I " The men carried arms," said they, " and therefore we did not know they were not fighters. We thought they pretended to be Quakers, because they were cowards." The savages of the East, who murdered Lyman and Munson, made the same excuse. " They carried arms,'' said they, "and so we supposed they were not Christian missionaries, but enemies. We would have done them no harm, if we had known they were men of God." If a nation coidd but attain to such high wisdom as to abjure war, and proclaim to all the earth, " We will not fight, under any provocation. If other na- tions have aught against us, we will settle the ques- tion by umpires mutually chosen." Think you that any nation would dare to make war upon such a people ? Nay, verily, they would be instinctively ashamed of such an act, as men are now ashamed to attack a woman or a child. Even if any were found mean enough to pursue such a course, the whole civilized world would cry fie upon them, and by uni- versal consent, brand them as paltroons and assas- sins. And assassins they would be, even in the com- mon acceptation of the term. I have read of a cer- tain regiment ordered to march, into a small town, (in the Tyrol, I think,) and take it. It chanced that the place was settled by a colony who believed the gospel of Christ, and proved their faith by works. A courier from a neighboring village informed them that troops w-ere advancing to take the town. They quietly answered, " If they will take it, they must." Soldiers soon came riding in, with colors flying, and fifes piping their shrill defiance. They looked round for an enemy, and saw the farmer at his plough, the blacksmith at his anvil, and the women at their churns and spinning-wheels. Babies crowed to hear the music, and boys ran out to see the pretty trainers, with feathers and bright buttons, "the harlequins of the nineteenth century." Of course, none of these were in a proper position to be shot at. " Where arc your soldiers ?" they asked. " We have none," was the brief reply. " But we have come to take the town." "Well, friends, it lies before you." " But is there nobody hereto fight?" "No; we are all Christians." Here was an emergency altogether unprovided for by the military schools. This was a sort of resistance which no bullet could hit ; a fort- ress perfectly bomb-proof. The commander was perplexed. "If there is nobody to fight with, of course we cannot fight," said he. " It is impossible to take such a town as this." So he ordered the liorses to be turned about, and they carried the human animals out of the village, as guiltless as tliey entered, and perchance somewhat wiser. VOICES OF THE I RU E - HE ART E D . 15 This experiment on a small scale indicates how- easy it would be to dispense with armies and navies, if men only had faith in the religion they profess to believe. When France lately reduced her army, England immediately did the same ; for the exist- ence of one army creates the necessity for another, imless men are safely ensconced in the bomb-proof fortress, above mentioned. The doctrines of Jesus are not beautiful abstrac- tions, but living, vital truths. There is in them no elaborate calculation of consequences, but simply the divine impulse uttered. They are few and sim- ple, but infinite in spirit, and of universal applica- tion. Like the algebraic X, they stand for the un- known quantity, and, if consulted aright, always give the true answer. The world has been deluged with arguments about war, slavery, &c., and the wisest product of them all, is simply an enlightened j application of the maxims of Jesus. Faith in God, love to man, and action obedient thereto, from these flow all that belong to order, peace, and progress. Probably, the laws by which the universe were made, are thus reducible to three in one, and all varieties of creation are thence unfolded, as all melody and harmony, flow from three primal notes. God works synthetically. The divine idea goes forth and clothes itself in form, from which all the infinity of forms are evolved. We mortals see truth in fragments, and try to trace it upwards to its origin by painful analysis. In this there is no growth. All creation, all life, is evolved by the opposite pro- cess. We must reverence truth. We must have that faith in it, of which action is the appropriate form ; and lo, the progress which we have sought for so painfully, will unfold upon us, as naturally as the seed expands into blossoms and fruit. I did not mean to preach a sermon. But the ever- greens, and the music from neighboring churches, carried me back to the hill-sides of Palestine, and my spirit involuntary began to ask. What response does earth now give to that chorus of peace and good will? It matters little that Christ was not born on that day, which the church has chosen to commemorate his birth. The associations twined aroimd it for many centuries, have consecrated it to my mind. Nor am I indifferent to the fact, that it was the old Roman festival for the birth of the Sun. As a form of their religious idea, it is interesting to me, and I see peculiar beauty in thus identifying the birth of the natural sun, with the advent of the Son of Right- eousness, which, in an infinitely higher sense, en- lightens and vivifies the nations. The learned argue that Christ was probably born in the spring ; because the Jewish people were at that season enrolled for taxation, and this was the business which carried Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem: — and because the shepherds of Syria would not be watching their flocks in the open air, during the cold months. To these reasons, Swedenborgians would add another; for ac- cording to the doctrine of Correspondence unfolded by their " illuminated scribe," spring corresponds to peace ; that diapason note, from which all growth rises in harmonious order. But I am willing to accept this wintry anniver- sary, and take it to my heart. As the sun now begins to return to us, so may the truth and love which he typifies gradually irradiate and warm the globe. The Romans kept their festival with social feasts and mutual gifts; and the windows of New York are to-day, filled with all forms of luxury and splendor, to tempt the wealthy, who are making up Christmas boxes for family and friends. Many are the rich jewels and shining stuffs, this day bestowed by af- fection or vanity. In this I have no share ; but if I were as rich as John Jacob Astor, and not so fearful of poverty, as he is said to be, I would this day go to the shop of Baronto, a poor Italian artist, in Or- chard street, buy all he has, and give freely to every one who enjoys forms of beauty. There are hidden in that small obscure workshop, some little gems of art. Alabaster nymphs, antique urns of agate, and Hebe vases of the costly Verd de Prato. There is something that moves me strangely in those old Gre- cian forms. They stand like petrified melodies from the world's youthful heart. I would like to buy out Baronto every (Jhristmss, and mix those "fair hu- manities of old religion,'' with the Madonnas and Saviours of a more spiritual time. A friend of mine, who has no money to spend for jewels or silks, or even antique vases, has employed his Christmas more wisely than this ; and in his ac- tion, there is more angelic music, than in those di- vine old statues. He filled a large basket full of cakes, and went forth into our most miserable streets, to distribute them among hungry children. How little dirty faces peeped after him, round street corners, and laughed from behind open gates ! How their eyes sparkled as they led along some shivering barefooted urchin, and cried out, "'I'his little boy has had no cake, sir !" Sometimes a greedy lad would get two shares by false pretences ; but this was no conclusive proof of total depravity, in children who never ate cake from Christmas to Christmas. No wonder the stranger with his basket, excited a pro- digious sensation. Mothers came to see who it was that had been so kind to their little ones. Every one had a story to tell of health ruined by hard work, of sickly children, or drunken husbands. It was a genuine out-pouring of hearts. An honest son of the Emerald Isle stood by, rubbing his head, and ex- claimed, "Did my eyes ever see the like o' that ? A jintleman giving cake to folks he don't know, and never asking a bit o' money for the same !" Alas, eighteen centuries ago, that chorus of good will was sung, and yet so simple an act of sympa- thizing kindness, astonishes the poor ! In the course of his Christmas rambles, mv friend 16 VOICES OF THE TR U E - H E A Px T ED. entered a house occupied by fifteen families. In the corner of one room, on a heap of rags, lay a woman with a babe, three days old, without food or fire. In another very small apartment, was an aged, wea- ther-beaten woman. She pointed to an old basket of pins and tape, as she said, "For sixteen years I have carried that basket on my arm, through the streets of New York ; and often have I come home with weary feet, without money enough to buy my supper. But we must always pay our rent in ad- vance, whether we have a loaf of bread to eat or not.'' Seeing the bed without clothing, her visiter inquired how she slept. '-Oh the house is very leaky. The wind whistles through and through, and the rain and snow come driving in. Wlien any of us are sick, or the weather is extra cold, we lend our bedding, and some of us sit up while others get a nap." As she spoke, a ragged little girl came in to say, "Mammy wants to know whether you will lend her your fork ?" "To be sure, I will, dear," she replied, in the heartiest tone imaginable. She would have been less generous, had her fork been a silver one. Her visiter smiled as he said, " I sup- pose you borrow your neighbor's knife, in return for your fork?" " Oh, yes," she replied; "and she is as willing to lend as I am. We poor folks must help one another. It is all the comfort we have." The kind-hearted creature did not know, perhaps, that it was precisely such comfort as the angels have in heaven ; only theirs is without the drawback of phy- sical suffering and limited means. I have said that these families, owning a knife and fork between them, and loaning their bedclothes after a day of toil, were always compelled to pay their rent in advance. Upon adding together the sums paid by each, for accommodations so wretched, it was found that the income from that dilapidated building, in a filthy and crowded street, was greater than the rent of many a princely mansion in Broad- way. This mode of oppressing the poor, is a crying sin, in our city. A benevolent rich man could not make a better investment of capital, than to build tenements for the laboring class, and let them on reasonable terms. This Christmas tour of observation, has suggested to my mind many thoughts concerning the present relations of labor and capital. But I forbear ; for I see that this path, like every other, " if you do but follow it, leads to the end of the world." I had ra- ther dwell on the perpetual efforts of Divine Provi- dence to equalize what the selfishness of man strives to make unequal. If the poor have fewer pleasures than the rich, they enjoy them more keenly ; if they have not that consideration in society, which brings with it so many advantages, they avoid the irksome slavery of conventional forms; and what exercise of the benevolent sympathies could a rich man enjoy, in making the most magnificent Christmas gift, com- pared with the beautiful self-denial which lends its last blanket, that another may sleep? That there should exist the necesm'/i/ for such sacrifices, what does it say to us concerning the structure of society, on this Christmas day, nearly two thousand years after the advent of Him, who said, "God is your father, and all ye are brethren" ? THE BATTLE-FIELD. T,l WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Were trampled by a hurrying crowd; And fiery hearts and armed hands Encountered in the battle cloud. Ah I never shall the land forget How gushed the life. blood of her brave — Gushed, warm with hope and valor yet, Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm and fresh and still; Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; Men start not at the battle-cry — Oh, be it never heard again ! Soon rested those who fought — but thou, Who minglest in the harder strife For truths which men receive not now, Thy warfare only ends with life. A friendless warfare ! lingering long Through weary day and weary year ; A wild and many-weaponed throng Hang on thy front and flank and rear. Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof. And blench not at thy chosen lot ; The timid good may stand aloof. The sage may frown — yet faint thou not ! Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, — The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn ; For with thy side shall dwell, at last. The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ; The eternal years of God are her's ; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers. Yea, though thou lie upon the dust. When those who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet "s mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave ! VOICES OF THE TllUE HEARTED. THE STAR-GAZER. BY C. r. CllANCH. Star after star looked glimmering down, As in the night he sat alone : And in the firmament of mind Thought after thought upon him shone. An inner sky did sometimes seem To show him truths of deepest worth, Which custom's daylight long had dimmed, Or sense had clouded in their birth. And well he knew the world was dark, And few would hear what he could tell, And fewer still would sit with him And watch that sky he loved so well. One solitary soul he seemed — And yet he knew that all might see The orbs that showed to him alone The fulness of their majesty. He knew that all the silent scorn Which now in meekness he must bear, Would change to worship when his ear No longer was a list'ner there. And when the cold and rugged sod Had pressed the brain that toiled for them, Tliat on his statue men would hang The unavailing diadem. All this he felt, and yet his faith, In uncomplaining silence, kept With starry Truth its vigils brave. While all his brothers round him slept. They slept and would not wake — until The distant lights that fixed his gaze. Came moving on, and spread abroad The glory of a noontide blaze. And then they started from their dreams, And slowly oped their leaden eyes, And saw the light whose splendors now Are darting through the azure skies. Then turned and sought for him whose name They in their sleep had mocked and cursed, But he had left them long before The vision on their souls had burst. And underneath the sod he lay. Now all bedued with fruitful tears ; And they could only deck the tomb That told of his neglected years. A LONDON LYRIC. EY " B.A.RRY CORNWALL." (Without.) The winds are bitter ; the skies are wild ; From the roof comes plunging the drowning rain. Without— in tatters, the world's poor child Sobbeth alone her grief, her pain ; No one heareth her, no one heedeth her ; But hunger, her friend, with his cold, gaunt hand, Grasps her throat— whispering huskily, " What dost thou in a Christian land ?" ( Within.) The skies are wild, and the blast is cold; Yet Riot and Luxury brawl within ; Slaves are waiting in crimson and gold — Waiting the nod of a child of sin. The crackling wine is bubbling Up in each glass to its beaded brim ; The jesters are laughing, the parasites quaffing " Happines "—"honor "—and all for him'. ( Without.) She who is slain 'neath the winter weather— Ah, she once had a village fame. Listened to love on the moonlit heather. Had gentleness— vanity — maiden shime. Now her allies are the tempests howling. Prodigal's curses— self disdain, Poverty— misery— Well, no matter. There is an end unto every pain. The harlot's fame was her doom to-day, Disdain — despair; by to-morrow's light The ragged boards and the pauper's pall ; And so she'll be given to dusky night. Without a tear or a human sigh. She's gone— poor life and it's " fever " o'er ; j So— let her in calm oblivion lie, While the world runs merry as heretofore ! ( Within.) He who yon lordly feast enjoyeth, He who doth rest on his couch of down, He it was who threw the forsaken Under the feet of the trampling town. Liax — betrayer— false as cruel— What is the doom for his dastard sin ? His peers, they scorn '-high dames, they shun him ' Unbar yon palace and gaze within. 18 VOICES OF THE "f RU E-H E ART E D There — yet tlxe deeds are all trumpet sounded — There, upon silken seats recline Maidens as fair as the summer morning, Watchinj^ him rise from the sparl