SELF-RELIANCE.

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SELF-RELIANCE.

ALONE,-at the point of the spear
True Genius does battle, Alone,—
Unhelp'd, and unhinder'd, by favour or fear,
He wins what he wins as his own;
In spite of his foes-and his friends,
With stern self-reliance he plans

By means all his own to achieve all his ends,
Alone,-by GoD's help and not Man's!

Whatever was ever achieved

Of Great in the world or of Good,
Was never at first by the many believed,

But ever malign'd and withstood;

So, Genius goes on with a will,

And sturdily fights the good fight, Assured in himself that the victory still

Shall stand with the might and the right.

And, when his great fight is well fought,
A fight of hard struggles and strong,
The World, that hath never help'd Right as it ought,
Will turn and repent of its wrong;

But, utterly then will forget

That, till the man made him a name, It never encouraged nor prophesied yet The greatness of Children of Fame.

TRUTH.

BE true, be true! whate'er beside
Of wit, or wealth, or rank be thine,
Unless with simple truth allied,

The gold that glitters in thy mine
Is only dross, the brass of pride
Or vainer tinsel, made to shine.

Be true, be true! the prize of earth
From GOD alike with man forsooth,
The real nobility of birth

To age, maturity, or youth,
The very crown of creature-worth,
Is easy, guileless, open Truth.

Be true, be true! to nerve your arm
For any good ye wish to do;
To save yourselves from sin and harm,
And win all honours old and new;
To work on hearts as with a charm,—
The maxim is, Be true, be true!

Be true, be true! that easy prize
So loveable to human view,
So laudable beyond the skies,

Alas! is reach'd by very few

The simple ones, though more than wise,

Whose motto is, Be true, be true!

ONCE MORE.

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ONCE MORE.

A LESSON FROM THE BRUCE'S SPIDER.

I.

WITH Six defeats half mad,

The hunted Bruce in his lair
At Rachrin's Isle, all sullen and sad,
Lion-like brooded there:

"And must I yield me to shame,
Humbling my crown to the foe?
Shall English Edward soar in his fame
With Scotland's Bruce laid low?
Alas! that the Red Comyn bled
Beneath my dagger's blow,-
Yes, yes; my guilt, O thou Great Dead,
Must pay for it, woe for woe,—

And Holy Land, in dear Scotia's stead,
To the fallen Bruce be a funeral bed,—

Ah me! that it must be so !"

II.

It was a peasant's cot,

With rafters rotten and old,

And the Bruce lay there, but he heeded not
That his canopy was not gold:

And, as he mused in his watch,
He noted, half in a dream,

A spider swinging under the thatch,
Swaying from beam to beam:

Six times in its aim it fail'd,

A seventh-and lo! the poor imp has prevail'd Through stout perseverance in right;

And the Bruce leapt up at the humble sight, And the fortunate omen hail'd,

And straightway shouted, eager for fight,

"Once more,-once more, for me-" And onward he march'd in his royal might Till the land of his love was free!

III.

And so, faint wrestler of life,

Many times foil'd and thrown,

If thou wouldst stand like a man in the strife Where each must struggle alone, Remember this word, "Once More,"

Be it seven, or seven times seven; Knock yet again at The Father's door; Energy makes all Victory sure,

Away with the faithless leaven!

Onward, upward, never give in!

"Once more" is ever the watchword to win The crowns of Earth and Heaven!

ANNIVERSARIES.

O PLACES, and faces, and things that are past,
O changes on changes that followed so fast,
O life, full of care, toil, sorrow, and fear,
With age creeping on by the month and the year,

ANNIVERSARIES.

O friendships forgotten, and foes that are dead,
And pleasures of yore, long faded and fled,—
Alas! for old times, and this dreary look-back
As Christmas comes round on its desolate track;
Alas! for the season of social good cheer
Whose memories quicken small merriment here,
Since Death on each tableau intrudes a pale face,
And sorrowful Change shadows every place.

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II.

Yet,-cheers for the Present! how pleasant at least
This gathering of friends at each family feast,
Friends kindly and warm, and sincere if too new,
And haply as good as the old and as true;
And if pretty children be grown into men,
They are worthier now (let us hope it) than then ;
And though many worries embitter one's life
There are still many mercies to slacken the strife;
While health, and experience of evils long met,
And well-weathered storms-to be well-weathered yet--
And courage, and duty, and hope to the last
Make up in the present for all that is past!

III.

Then,-look to the future, brave soldier of faith!
Look up throughout life, and look onward through death,
Look on to Eternity, calm and sublime,

To balance these pitiful battles of time;

Look forth to where friendships, then perfect and pure,

Though clouded awhile, are for ever made sure;