Where breathes the foe but falls before us
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us!
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword:

His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling

camps;

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and

damps;

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.

His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel: "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace

shall deal;

Let the Hero born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on. "

He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment-seat: Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer him! Be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me:
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.

JULIA WARD HOWE.

ERIN'S FLAG.

Unroll Erin's flag! fling its folds to the breeze!
Let it float o'er the land, let it wave o'er the seas;
Lift it out of the dust- let it wave as of yore,

When its chiefs with their clans stood around it and

swore

That never, no, never, while God gave them life,
And they had an arm and a sword for the strife,
That never, no, never, that banner would yield,
As long as the heart of a Celt was its shield;-
While the hand of a Celt had a weapon to wield,
And his last drop of blood was unshed on the field.

Lift it up! wave it high!-'tis as bright as of old;
Not a stain on its green, not a blot on its gold,
Though the woes and the wrongs of three hundred years
Have drenched Erin's sunburst with blood and with

tears;

Though the clouds of oppression enshroud it in gloom,
And around it the thunders of tyranny boom,
Look aloft! look aloft! lo! the cloud's drifting by,
There is a gleam through the gloom, there is a light in

the sky.

Tis the sunburst resplendent, far-flashing on high;

Erin's dark night is waning, her day-dawn is nigh.

Lift it up! lift it up! the old banner of green;
The blood of its sons has but brightened its sheen.
What though the tyrant has trampled it down,
Are its folds not emblazoned with deeds of renown?
What though for ages it droops in the dust,

Shall it droop thus forever? no! no! God is just!

Take it up! take it up from the tyrant's foul tread, Lest he tear the green flag, we will snatch its last shred. And beneath it we'll bleed as our forefathers bled, And we'll vow by the dust in the graves of our dead, And we'll swear by the blood that the Briton has shed, And we'll vow by the wrecks which through Erin he

spread,

And we'll swear by the thousands who famished, unfed
Died down in the ditches-wild howling for bread;
And we'll vow by our heroes, whose spirits have fled,
And we'll swear by the bones in each coffinless bed.
That we'll battle the Briton through danger and dread;
That we'll cling to the cause which we glory to wed
Till the gleam of our steel and the shock of our lead
Shall to the foe that we meant what we said
prove
That we'll lift up the green, and we'll tear down the red.

Lift up the green flag! oh! it wants to go home,
Full long has its lot been to wander and roam;

It has followed the fate of its sons o'er the world,
But its folds, like their hopes, are not faded or furled ;
Like a weary-winged bird, to the east and the west
It has flitted and fled, but it never shall rest,

Till pluming its pinions it sweeps o'er the main,
And speeds to the shore of its old home again,
Where its fetterless folds o'er each mountain and plain
Shall wave with a glory that never shall wane.

Take it up! take it up! bear it back from afar!
That banner must blaze 'mid the lightnings of war;
Lay your hands on its folds, lift your eyes to the sky,
And swear that you'll bear it triumphant or die ;
And shout to the clans scattered far o'er the earth,
To join in the march to the land of their birth;
And wherever the exiles, 'neath heaven's broad dome,
Have been fated to suffer, to sorrow, and roam,
They'll bound on the sea, and away o'er the foam
They'll march to the music of" Home sweet home. "
FATHER RYAN.

A PROCESSIONAL HYMN.

The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods.

66 Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place?"

"He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteous. ness from the God of his salvation. "

This is the generation of them that seek him, that seek thy face, O Jacob.

"Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. " "Who is this King of glory?" "The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O

ye gates: even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. " "Who is this King of glory?"

66

The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory.

PSALM XXIV.

ELEVENTH STEP IN RENDERING.

PAUSE.

Pause is a loophole of silence through which a whole thought may shine out. Such points are not always marked by punctuation, but are indications of thought, and are points for suggestive expression.

In the silent places- the pauses—the mind gathers itself to present a new impulse of thought. In pause is shown the honest action of the mind.

The most common and deplorable fault of the inexperienced who attempt to speak in public is inability to give thought with the words. As a result the hurried pauses are of a uniform length, making such tiresome monotony and unnatural flow of words as to be most embarrassing to the speaker himself, to say nothing of the discomfort of the listener. Parroting" may be left off and the true keynote of speech found in natural pauses.

It is a fine art to be able

The voice of the speaker as well as the ear of the listener requires a temporary period of rest. We must have before we can give. There must also be a mind to take before we can give. to know when the listener has received a thought and is ready for the next. This may be gained in the pauses. Pauses vary in length to suit the importance of thought, short with superficial thought; long with heavy thought.