Hurrah for the men who strive !
Hurrah for the men who save,
Who sit not down to sigh,

But struggle like the brave!

Hurrah for the men who earn their bread,
And will not stoop to crave!

J. RICHARDSON.

LABOUR.

PAUSE not to dream of the future before us;
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us;
Hark how creation's deep musical chorus,
Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven!
Never the ocean-wave falters in flowing;
Never the little seed stops in its growing;
More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing,
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.

'Labour is worship!' the robin is singing;
Labour is worship!' the wild bee is ringing;
Listen! that eloquent whisper, upspringing,
Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower;
From the rough sod comes the soft-breathing flower;
From the small insect the rich coral bower;

Only man, in the plan, ever shrinks from his part.

Labour is life! 'Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ;

Keep the watch wound, for the dark mist assaileth;
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
Labour is glory! the flying cloud lightens ;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens ;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ;

Play the sweet keys wouldst thou keep them in tune.

Labour is rest-from the sorrows that greet us;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us;
Rest from sin-promptings that ever intreat us ;
Rest from world-syrens that lure us to ill.

Work--and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow; Work-thou shalt ride over care's coming billow; Lie not down wearied 'neath woe's weeping willow; Work with a stout heart and resolute will!

Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee;

Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee;
Look on yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee;

Rest not content in thy darkness-a clod.
Work for some good-be it ever so slowly;
Cherish some flower-be it ever so lowly;
Labour -all labour is noble and holy :
Let thy great deeds be a prayer to thy God.

F. OSGOOD.

THE CHIVALRY OF LABOUR.

UPROUSE ye now, brave brother-band,
With honest heart and working hand,
We are but few, toil-tried and true,
Yet hearts beat high to dare and do.
And who would not a champion be
In Labour's lordlier chivalry?

Clang, clang, clang, clang!

We fight, but bear no bloody brand,
We fight to free our Fatherland,
We fight, that smiles of love may glow
On lips where curses quiver now.
Hurrah! hurrah! true knights are we,
In Labour's lordlier chivalry!

Clang, clang, clang, clang!

O! there be hearts that ache to see
The day-dawn of our victory;

Eyes full of heart-break with us plead,
And watchers weep, and martyrs bleed.
O! who would not a champion be,

In Labour's lordlier chivalry?

Clang, clang, clang, clang!

Work, brothers mine, work, hand and brain,
We'll win the golden age again,

And Love's millennial morn shall rise
In happy hearts and blessèd eyes.
Hurrah! hurrah! true knights are we,
In Labour's lordlier chivalry!

Clang, clang, clang, clang!

GERALD MASSEY.

HARD TIMES.

LET us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,

While we all sup sorrow with the poor;

There's a song that will linger for ever in our ears, 'Oh! Hard Times, come again no more.'

'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary;

Hard Times, come again no more;

Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;

Oh! Hard Times, come again no more.

While we seek mirth and beauty, and music light and

gay,

There are frail forms fainting at the door;

Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will

say,

'Oh! Hard Times,' &c.

'Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave, 'Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore,

'Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lonely grave, 'Oh! Hard Times,' &c.

THE FARMER.

A FARMER'S life's the life for me,

I own I love it dearly,

And every season full of glee,
I take its labour cheerly.

To plough or sow, to reap or mow,
Or in the barn to thrash, sirs,

All's one to me I plainly see,

'Twill bring me health and cash, sirs.

Chorus-A Farmer's life's, &c. &c.

The Lawyer leads a harassed life,
Much like a hunted otter ;

And 'tween his own and others' strife
He's always in a potter.

For foe or friend a cause defend,
However wrong, must he, sirs;
In reason's spite maintain its right,
And dearly earn his fee, sirs.

A Farmer's life's, &c. &c.

A Farmer's life then let me live,
Obtaining while I lead it,
Enough for self, and some to give
To such poor folks as need it.
I'll drain and fence, nor grudge expense,
To give my land good dressing;
I'll plough and sow, or drill in row,
And hope from Heaven a blessing.

A Farmer's life's, &c. &c.

From THE UNION SCHOOL-SONG GARLAND.

THE PLOUGHMAN.

THERE'S high and low, there's rich and poor,
There's trades and crafts enow, man,

But east and west, his trade's the best,
That kens to guide the plough, man.
Then, come, well speed, my ploughman lad,
And hey my merry ploughman ;
Of all the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the ploughman.

His dreams are sweet upon his bed,
His cares are light and few, man ;

His mother's blessing's on his head,
That tents* her well, the ploughman.
Then, come, &c. &c.

The lark so sweet, that starts to meet
The morning fresh and new, man ;
Blithe though she be, as blithe is he
That sings as sweet, the ploughman.
Then, come, &c. &c.

All fresh and gay, at dawn of day
Their labours they renew, man ;
Heaven bless the seed, and bless the soil,
And Heaven bless the ploughman.

Then, come, well speed, &c. &c.

BARONESS NAIRNE.

FROM SEED TO MILL.

HOPEFUL the sower goes,
Scattering, scattering

All the good seed o'er the field;
Then, without tarrying,
Follows the harrowing,
Sun and rain following
Help on the yield;

And for the sower's hope
Springeth a golden crop,
Clothing the wide smiling field.

Next, with a clattering,

Rick tick tick, rick tick tick,
Rattles the reaping-machine;
O'er all the sunny plain
Down falls the yellow grain,
While busy arms amain
Bustling are seen,
Gath'ring and banding,

And full sheaves up-standing

Where lately the sower had been.