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The unfettered slave his choral hymn of praise
Chants to the music of a grateful heart;

While the lone master hears the unwonted lays,
And knows not why his gladdened pulses start :-

The song of peace which seraph minstrels sung,
On that bright morn, long centuries ago,
When through the earth the name of Jesus rung,
A sacred talisman 'gainst sin and woe;

That song of songs, which made earth's heart-strings thrill,
And the glad heavens to palpitate with joy,
Once more resounds from answering hill to hill,
And stays the arm uplifted to destroy.

O, then, all hail! thou glorious morning sky!
Thou light prophetic of a better day!
O, may thy smile cheer every darksome eye,
And chase the clouds from every heart away!

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,
Although by childhood muttered,
Than all the battles ever fought,

Or oaths that men have uttered.

Friendship oft would longer last,
And quarrels be prevented,
If little words were let go past,
Forgiven-not resented,

Foolish things are frowns and sneers,

For angry thoughts reveal them;
Rather drown them all in tears,

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
With kindling drops of loving kindness,
And knowledge pour,

From shore to shore,

Light on the eyes of mental blindness.

All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs,
All vice and crime might die together,
And wine and corn,

To each man born,

Be free as warmth in summer weather.

The meanest wretch that ever trod,
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow,
Might stand erect,

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,
God's meekest Angel gently comes:
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet, in tenderest love, our dear
And Heavenly Father sends him here.

There's quiet in that Angel's glance-
There's rest in his still countenance :
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure-
He kindly learns us to endure.

Angel of Patience! sent to calm
Our feverish brow with cooling palm-
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will.
Oh, thou who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day!
He walks with thee--that Angel kind-
And gently whispers, "Be resigned!
Bear up, bear on-the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well."
J. G. W.

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
Will the earth to its children yield;

But blessed with his labour the wilderness blooms,
And the waste is a fruitful field.

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 embroiders the scarf of gold?

Who makes their soft couches and downy beds?
Who guards them from winter's cold?

Hurrah for the worker! He decketh them all,
He toils for the great in the land;

The rubies and pearls round the lady's fair neck
Are twined by the labourer's hand.

The workers of old to the grave have passed,
But their memory cannot die;

Painting, and statue, and pyramid,

Are the trophies proud and high.

And glorious gems from the spirit mine,
Bright pearls from the waves of thought,

Are twined in a regal diadem,

By the toil of ages wrought.

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