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Toil only gives the soul to shine,
And makes rest fragrant and benign:
A heritage, it seems to me,

Worth being poor to hold in fee.

Both, heirs to some six feet of sod,
Are equal in the earth at last;
Both, children of the same dear God,
Prove title to your heirship vast
By record of a well-fill'd past:

A heritage, it seems to me,

Well worth a life to hold in fee.

-American.

J. R. LOWELL, 1819

PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY.

FOR the highborn and the low

There's a joy that all may know,

A source of bliss exhaustless, undefiled;
Though simple it may seem,

Believe me 'tis no dream,

But lessons life has taught me from a child:

It is, to act your part
With purity of heart;

Unsullied, though temptations rise in view;
With firm unyielding will,

Those duties to fulfil,

Our Father has ordain'd for us to do.

No matter what our lot,

In castle or in cot,

There's work for every willing heart and hand; There's evil to subdue,

Exertions to renew,

And Knowledge that we all should understand: Disdaining to despond;

But ready to respond

To Duty's call, and cheerfully obey

With firm resolve to win,

When battling with sin,

And climb the mounts that bar our heavenward way!

If blessings make us glad,

Oh, let us to the sad

Impart in acts of kindness, peace, and joy;

Determined every ill

To crush with earnest will,

And weeds that mar Life's garlands to destroy

To scorn a cruel deed,

And faithful to this creed,

To do a worthy action when we can

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To comfort the distress'd;

And, helping the oppress'd,

To dignify the soul and name of Man.

With Rectitude and Right

For sources of delight,

And all our aspirations for the TRUE,
With soul and heart and mind,
To God alone resign'd,

May we the pleasant paths of PEACE pursue;
And, oh! how sweet 'twill be,

When life at last shall flee,

To fall asleep, mourn'd o'er by those we love : With prayer and blessing bless'd,

That we may take our rest

With Angels, in the realms of light above.

ROWLAND BROWN, 1837-

WEALTH AND FAME.

CLAD with the moss of gathering years,
The stone of fame shall moulder down,
Long dried from soft affection's tears,
Its place unheeded and unknown.

Ah! who would strive for fame that flies
Like forms of mist before the gale?
Renown but breathes before it dies-
A meteor's path! an idiot's tale!

S

Beneath retirement's sheltering wing,
From mad conflicting crowds remote,
Beside some grove-encircled spring,

Let wisdom build your humble cot:

There clasp your fair one to your breast,
Your eyes impearl'd with transport's tear,
By turns caressing and caress'd—
Your infant prattlers sporting near.

Content your humble board shall dress,
And poverty shall guard your door-
Of wealth and fame, if you have less
Than monarchs, you of bliss have more.
W. M. JOHNSON, 1771-1797.

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MAN, work out thine own salvation
In a world of din and strife;
Better far than grand ovation
Is a valiant, honest life!

Men have tried to speak in beauty,

Every word has been a flower;

But the stern behests of duty

They have shrunk from hour to hour!

Ever more the ore of thought

They have dug with miser's care, But that ore have left unwrought Into tools with which to dare

Into weapons keen and bright,
Hero-souls might bravely wield,

Ever making Truth and Right
Triumph in Time's battle-field!

Golden thoughts have through the ages
Still been gathering, pile on pile;
Yet how grief, how madness rages—
Man is wretched all the while!

Truth lies fetter'd still in books,
As if but a thing to read;
It illumes not human looks,
Nor ennobles every deed!

Men who world-wide woes may heal
To incarnate books must vow!
Highest truths we must reveal
By the bearing of the brow!

The high chivalry of living

For the good of all around,
And the Christ-like love of giving,

Should in every soul abound!

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