The unfettered slave his choral hymn of praise While the lone master hears the unwonted lays, The song of peace which seraph minstrels sung, That song of songs, which made earth's heart-strings thrill, O, then, all hail! thou glorious morning sky! HENRY CLAPP, JUN. LOVE YOUR ENEMIES. ANGRY looks can do no good, And blows are dealt in blindness; Words are better understood, If spoken but in kindness. Simple love far more hath wrought, Or oaths that men have uttered. Friendship oft would longer last, Foolish things are frowns and sneers, For angry thoughts reveal them; Than let another feel them. J. B. WHAT MIGHT BE DONE? WHAT might be done, if men were wise, What glorious deeds, my suffering brother, Would they unite, In love and right, And cease their scorn of one another? Oppression's heart might be imbued From shore to shore, Light on the eyes of mental blindness. All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs, To each man born, Be free as warmth in summer weather. The meanest wretch that ever trod, In self-respect, And share the teeming world to-morrow. What might be done? This might be done, And more than this, my suffering brotherMore than the tongue E'er said or sung, If men were wise, and loved each other. C. MACKAY. THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. To weary hearts, to mourning homes, There's quiet in that Angel's glance- Angel of Patience! sent to calm THE WORKERS. WHO blushes for labour, for honest toil? Who scorneth the rough, hard hand? It is nobler far to till the soil, Than simply to own the land. Uncultured by man, only briers and thorns But blessed with his labour the wilderness blooms, Let the titled, the rich, and the idle scorn, The worker cares not for them; Who decks them with pearls from the ocean wave, With gold, and the priceless gem ? Who hunts for the ermine? Who weaves the silk? Who makes their soft couches and downy beds? Hurrah for the worker! He decketh them all, The rubies and pearls round the lady's fair neck The workers of old to the grave have passed, Painting, and statue, and pyramid, Are the trophies proud and high. And glorious gems from the spirit mine, Are twined in a regal diadem, By the toil of ages wrought. |