Weep not for her!-Her memory is the shrine Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers; Weep not for her!—There is no cause for woe; And from earth's low defilements keep thee back: So, when a few fleet severing years have flown, She'll meet thee at Heaven's gate—and lead thee on! Weep not for her! D. M. MOIR, 1798–1851. WORK ON AND WIN. ATTEND, O Man! Uplift the banner of thy kind, Advance the ministry of Mind; The mountain height is free to climb,- Toil on! Work on and win: Life without work is unenjoy'd; The happiest are the best employ'd!- Work on! Work sows the seed; Even the rock may yield its flower,— May conquer fate, and capture fame! Press onward still; In nature's centre lives the fire If nature then Lay tame beneath her weight of earth, When would her hidden fire know birth? Thus Man, through granite Fate, must find The path, the upward path,-of Mind! Work on! Pause not in fear; Preach no desponding, servile view,— Be firm of heart; By fusion of unnumber'd years A drop, 'tis said, through flint will wear; Within thyself Bright morn, and noon, and night succeed,Power, feeling, passion, thought, and deed; Harmonious beauty prompts thy breast,Things angels love, and God hath blest! Work on! Work on and win! Shall light from nature's depths arise, Work on! CHARLES SWAIN, 1803 A BEGGAR THROUGH THE WORLD · AM I. A BEGGAR through the world am I,— That the world's blasts may round me blow, While my stout-hearted trunk below And firm-set roots unmovèd be. Some of thy stern, unyielding might, Enduring still through day and night The changeful April sky of chance, And the strong tide of circumstance, Give me, old granite gray. Some of thy mournfulness serene, Some of thy never-dying green, Put in this scrip of mine,— That griefs may fall like snow-flakes light, And deck me in a robe of white, Ready to be an angel bright,— O sweetly-mournful pine. A little of thy merriment, Ye have been very kind and good Of all good things I would have part, Heaven help me! how could I forget That flowers here as well, unseen, -American. J. R. LOWELL, 1819 OURSELVES. NAY, be not discouraged; why should you repine |