Chapter 12

They met in the same place the next night, but the next they did not. Their numbers had so increased that the cellar would not contain them; and they engaged a large hall, and gave public notice that a meeting would be held at which reformed drunkards would speak. Those who before doubted did so no more; yet from many the sneering, cold-hearted remark was heard, "They will not hold on."

At the hour appointed, hundreds thronged to the place, and hundreds departed, being unable to gain admittance. That night, nearly five hundred signed the new pledge, and new additions were made daily.

It had a power which no previous pledge had possessed; a power, with God's, aid, to bring man from the lowest depths of woe, place him on his feet, and tell him, "Sin no more."

The new society increased in numbers. In other cities the same feeling arose, and societies of the same kind were formed. The papers were filled with accounts of their meetings, and the cause spread, to the astonishment and grateful admiration of all.

Days of prosperity gladdened the heart of Edward. Joy took the place of sorrow in his family. He, like his thousands of brethren, had been snatched as a brand from the burning, and stood forth a living monument to the truth that there was a hope for the fallen.

Twelve years have passed since that ever-memorable night. Millions have become better men, and yet the pledge remains to exert its influence, and who can doubt that God directs its course?

'T is sending joy to the mourning, and many a wounded heart it heals. Is there a power that can exceed this? Is there another pledge that has effected as much good?

Let us, then, push on the car. Let our influence be such as will advance, and not retard, its progress. Let us do this, and ere long we may rejoice together, and earth hold a grand jubilee, and all men shall testify that the Pledge is the "hope of the fallen."

THOUGHTS THAT COME FROM LONG AGO.

THERE are moments in our life When are hushed its sounds of strife; When, from busy toil set free, Mind goes back the past to see: Memory, with its mighty powers, Brings to view our childhood hours; Once again we romp and play, As we did in youth's bright day; And, with never-ceasing flow, Come the hours of Long Ago. Oft, when passions round us throng, And our steps incline to wrong, Memory brings a friend to view, In each line and feature true; Though he long hath left us here, Then his presence seemeth near, And with sweet, persuasive voice, Leads us from an evil choice;-- Thus, when we astray would go, Come restraints from Long Ago. Oft, when troubled and perplexed, Worn in heart and sorely vexed; Almost sinking 'neath our load, Famishing on life's high road,-- Darkness, doubt, and dark despair Leading us we know not where,-- How hath sweet remembrance caught From the past some happy thought! And, refreshed, we on would go, Cheered with hopes from Long Ago. What a store-house, filled with gems Of more worth than diadems, Each hath 'neath his own control, From which to refresh his soul! Let us, then, each action weigh, Some good deed perform each day, That in future we may find Happy thoughts to bring to mind; For, with ever ceaseless flow, Thoughts will come from Long Ago.

DETERMINED TO BE RICH.

RISE up early, sit up late, Be thou unto Avarice sold; Watch thou well at Mammon's gate, Just to gain a little gold. Crush thy brother neath thy feet, Till each manly thought is flown; Hear not, though he loud entreat, Be thou deaf to every moan. Wield the lash, and hush the cry, Let thy conscience now be seared; Pile thy glittering gems on high, Till thy golden god is reared. Then before its sparkling shrine Bend the neck and bow the knee; Victor thou, all wealth is thine, Yet, what doth it profit thee?

THE HEAVEN SENT, HEAVEN RETURNED.

PURE as an infant's heart that sin ne'er touched, That guilt had ne'er polluted; and she seemed Most like an angel that had missed its way On some kind mission Heaven had bade it go. Her eye beamed bright with beauty; and innocence, Its dulcet notes breathed forth in every word, Was seen in every motion that she made. Her form was faultless, and her golden hair In long luxuriant tresses floated o'er Her shoulders, that as alabaster shone. Her very look seemed to impart a sense Of matchless purity to all it met. I saw her in the crowd, yet none were there That seemed so pure as she; and every eye That met her eye's mild glance shrank back abashed, It spake such innocence. One day she slept,-- How calm and motionless! I watched her sleep Till evening; then, until the sun arose; And then, would have awakened her,--but friends Whispered in my ear she would not wake Within that body more, for it was dead, And she, now clothed in immortality, Would know no more of change, nor know a care. And when I felt that truth, methought I saw A bright angelic throng, in robes of white, Bear forth her spirit to the throne of God; And I heard music, such as comes to us Oft in our dreams, as from some unseen life, And holy voices chanting heavenly songs, And harps and voices blending in one hymn, Eternal hymn of highest praise to God For all the good the Heaven-sent one had done Since first it left the heavenly fold of souls, To live on earth, and show to lower man How pure and holy, joyous and serene, They may and shall assuredly become When all the laws that God through Nature speaks Are kept unbroken! * * * * * * She had now returned, And heaven resounded with angelic songs. Before me lay the cold, unmoving form; Above me lived the joyous, happy one! And who should sorrow? Sure, not I; not she; Not any one! For death,--there was no death,-- But that which men called death was life more real Than heart had o'er conceived or words expressed!

FLOWERS, BRIGHT FLOWERS!

FLOWERS from the wild-wood, Flowers, bright flowers! Springing in desert spot, Where man dwelleth not,-- Flowers, bright flowers, Cheering the traveller's lot. Given to one and all, Flowers, bright flowers! When man neglecteth thee, When he rejecteth thee, Flowers, bright flowers, God's hand protecteth thee! Remnants of paradise, Flowers, bright flowers! Tinged with a heavenly hue, Reflecting its azure blue, Flowers, bright flowers, Brightest earth ever knew! Cheering the desolate, Flowers, bright flowers! Coming with fragrance fraught, From Heaven's own breezes caught, Flowers, bright flowers, Teachers of holy thought! Borne to the curtained room, Flowers, bright flowers! Where the sick longs for light, Then, for the shades of night, Flowers, bright flowers, Gladdening the wearied sight! High on the mountain-top, Flowers, bright flowers! Low in sequestered vale, On cliff, mid rock, in dale, Flowers, bright flowers, Ye do prevail!

FORGET ME NOT.

FORGET me not when other lips Shall whisper love to thee; Forget me not when others twine Their chaplets for thy brow; Forget me not, for I am thine, Forever onward true as now, As long as time shall be. There may be words thou mayest doubt, But when I tell thee "I am thine," Believe the heart's assurance true, In sorrow and in mirth Forever it doth turn to you, Confiding, trusting in thy worth. Thou wilt, I know, be mine.

WHAT IS TRUTH?

LONG, long ago, one whose life had been one of goodness-whose every act had been that of charity and good will-was persecuted, hated and maligned! He came with new hopes. He held up a light, whose rays penetrated far into the future, and disclosed a full and glorious immortality to the long doubting, troubled soul of man.

He professed to commune with angels! He had healed the sick; he had given sight to the blind; caused the lame to walk; opened prison-doors, and had preached the Gospel to the poor. Those he chose for his companions were from humble rank. Their minds had not become enslaved to any creed; not wedded to any of the fashionable and popular forms of the day, nor immovably fixed to any of the dogmas of the schools. He chose such because their minds were free and natural; "and they forsook all and followed him."

Among the rulers, the wealthy and the powerful, but few believed in him, or in the works he performed. To them he was an impostor. In speaking of his labors some cant phrase fell from their wise lips, synonymous with the "it is all a humbug" of our day. His healing of the sick was denied; or, if admitted, was said to be some lucky circumstance of fate. His opening of the eyes of the blind was to them a mere illusion; the supposed cure, only an operation of the imagination.

All his good deeds were underrated; and those who, having seen with their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, were honest enough to believe and openly declare their belief; were looked upon by the influential and those in high places as most egregiously deceived and imposed upon.

But, notwithstanding the opposition, men did believe; and in one day three thousand acknowledged their belief in the sincerity of the teacher, and in the doctrines which he taught.

Impressed deeply with the reality and divinity of his mission,--looking to God as his father, and to all mankind as his brethren,--Jesus continued his way. To the scoffs and jeers of the rabble, he replied in meekness and love; and amid the proud and lofty he walked humbly, ever conscious of the presence of an angelic power, which would silence the loudest, and render powerless the might of human strength.

He spoke as one having authority. He condemned the formalism of their worship; declared a faith that went deeper than exterior rites and ceremonies; and spoke with an independence and fearlessness such deep and soul-searching truths, that the people took up stones to stone him, and the priests and the rulers held council together against him.

At length the excited populace, beholding their cherished faith undermined, and the new teacher day by day inculcating doctrines opposed to those of Moses and the prophets, determined to take his life, and thus terminate his labors and put a stop to his heresies.

They watched his every movement. They stood by and caught the words as they fell from his lips, hoping thus to get something by which to form an accusation against him. In this they failed. Though what he said was contrary to their time-worn dogmas, yet nothing came from his lips but sentiments of the purest love, the injunctions of reason and justice, and the language of humanity. Failing in this plan to ensnare him, justice was set abide, and force called in to their aid.

See him now before a great tribunal, and Pilate, troubled in soul, compelled to say, "I find no fault in this man."

Urged to action by the mad crowd around him, balancing his decision between justice, the prisoner's release, and injustice, the call to crucify him, he knows not what to do. In an agony of thought, which pen cannot describe or human words portray, he delays his irrevocable doom.

In the mean time, the persecutors grow impatient; and louder than ever, from the chief priests and the supporters of royalty, goes up the infamous shout, "Crucify him, crucify him!" At this moment, the undecided, fearful Pilate casts a searching glance about him. As he beholds the passionate people, eager for the blood of one man, and he innocent, and sees, standing in their midst, the meek and lowly Jesus, calm as an evening zephyr over Judea's plains, from whose eye flows the gentle love of an infinite divinity,--his face beaming in sympathy with every attribute of goodness, faith and humanity,--all this, too, before his mad, unjust accusers, from whose eyes flash in mingled rays the venom of scorn and hate,--his mind grows strong with a sense of right. His feelings will not longer be restrained, and, unconscious of his position, forgetting for the moment the dignity of his office, he exclaims, with the most emphatic earnestness, "WHAT IS TRUTH?"

Eighteen hundred years have intervened between that day and this; and now the same inquiry is heard, and often with the same earnestness as then. Men ask, and often ask in vain, "what is truth?" and yet the great problem to millions remains unsolved.

Generations pass on, and leave to others the great question for them to ask, and they, in turn, to leave unanswered. The child, ere it can speak in words, looks from its wistful eye, "What is truth?" Youth comes, and all the emotions of the soul are awakened. It arises from the playfulness of childhood, forgets its little games, and, finding itself an actor in the drama of life, looks over the long programme of parts from which it is to choose its own, and anxiously inquires "What is truth?" Manhood feels the importance of the question; and Age, though conscious of its near approach to the world of revealed truth, repeats it.

The present is an era of thought. Men begin to assume a spirit of independence, and to look less upon human authority, and more upon that light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. And it is well that it is so. It is well that we begin to look upon liberty in another light than a mere absence of iron bonds upon our hands and feet; that we begin to discern that "He is a freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside." We are pressing on to know the truth. We have grown weary of darkness, and are seeking the light. We should remember, in our researches, that, to find out truth, we must not be pledged to any form, any opinion, or any creed, however old or dearly cherished such limitations may have been with ourselves or others. We must come to the task like little children, ready to learn. We must leave our beliefs behind us. We must not bring them, and attempt to adapt our discoveries in the realms of eternal truth to them; but we must build up the structure with the material we find in the universe of God; and then, when reared, if we find that in doing so we have a stone from our old temple nicely adjusted in the new, very well;--let it remain, and thank God for it.

Men have trusted too much in the views of past ages, and taken for truth many an error, because some one back in by-gone ages introduced it as such, and it has been believed in and held most sacred.

Let our course be our own course, and not that of others. Let us seek for truth as truth. Let us be honest and press on, trusting in God the rewarder of all, who will bless all our efforts to ascertain his truths, and our duty to him, to our fellow-men, and to ourselves.

THE HOMESTEAD VISIT.

He had wandered far and long, and when, on his return to the scenes of his early life, he came in full view of the old house, in which and around which those scenes were clustered, he throw down his oaken staff, raised his hands, and clapped them like a child. Then a tear would roll down his face; then a smile illumine it; then he would dance with joy. As he approached the building, he observed that the door was open; and the large, hospitable-looking room was so inviting, and there being no one present, he entered, and indulged in thoughts like these:

I STAND where I have stood before: The same roof is above me, But they who were are here no more, For me to love, or love me. I listen, and I seem to hear A favorite voice to greet me; But yet I know that none are near, Save stranger forms, to meet me. I'll sit me down,--for I have not Sat here since first I started To run life's race,--and on this spot Will muse of the departed. Then I was young, and on my brow The rays of hope were shining; But Time hath there his imprint now, That tells of life's declining. How great the change!-though I can see Full many a thing I cherished- Yet, since beneath yon old oak tree I stood, how much hath perished. Here is the same old oaken floor, And there the same rough ceiling Each telling of the scenes of yore, Each former joys revealing. But, friends of youth-they all have fled; Some yet on earth do love us; While others, passed beyond the dead, Live guardian ones above us. Yet, o'er us all one powerful hand Is raised to guard forever, And all, ere long, one happy band Be joined, no more to sever. I've trimmed my sail on every sea Where crested waves are swelling; Yet oft my heart turned back to thee, My childhood's humble dwelling. I've not forgot my youthful days, The home that was my mother's, When listening to the words of praise That were bestowed on others. See, yonder, through the window-pane, The rock on which I rested; And on that green how oft I've lain- What memories there are vested! The place where once a sister's hand I held-none loved I fonder; But she's now with an angel band, Whilst I a pilgrim wander. There was a pretty, blue-eyed girl, A good old farmer's daughter; We used the little stones to hurl, And watch them skip the water. We'd range among the forest trees, To gather woodland flowers; And then each other's fancy please In building floral bowers. Within this room, how many a time I've listened to a story, And heard grandfather sing his rhyme 'Bout Continental glory! And oft I'd shoulder his old staff, And march as proud as any, Till the old gentleman would laugh, And bless me with a penny. Hark! 't is a footstep that I hear; A stranger is approaching; I must away-were I found here I should be thought encroaching. One last, last look-my old, old home! One memory more of childhood! I'll not forget, where'er I roam, This homestead and the wild-wood.

THE MARINER'S SONG.

O THE sea, the sea! I love the sea! For nothing on earth seems half as free As its crested waves; they mount on high, And seem to sport with the star-gemmed sky. Talk as you will of the land and shore; Give me the sea, and I ask no more. I love to float on the ocean deep, To be by its motion rocked to sleep; Or to sit for hours and watch the spray, Marking the course of our outward way, While upward far in a cloudless sky With a shriek the wild bird passeth by. And when above are the threatening clouds, And the wild wind whistles 'mid the shrouds, Our masts bend low till they kiss the wave, As beckoning one from its ocean cave, Then hurra for the sea! I love its foam, And over it like a bird would roam. There is that's dear in a mountain home, With dog and gun 'mid the woods to roam; And city life hath a thousand joys, That quiver amid its ceaseless noise; Yet nothing on land can give to me Such joy as that of the pathless sea. When morning comes, and the sun's first rays All around our gallant topmast plays, My heart bounds forth with rapturous glee, O, then, 't is then that I love the sea! Talk as you will of the land and shore; Give me the sea, and I ask no more!

LOVE'S LAST WORDS.

THEY knew that she was going To holier, better spheres, Yet they could not stay the flowing Of their tears; And they bent above in sorrow, Like mourners o'er a tomb, For they knew that on the morrow There'd be gloom. There was one among the number Who had watched the dying's breath, With an eye that would not slumber Until death. There, as he bent above her, He whispered in her ear How fondly he did love her, Her most dear. "One word, 't will comfort send me, When early spring appears, And o'er thy grave I bend me In my tears. A single word now spoken Shall be kept in Memory's shrine, Where the dearest treasured token Shall be thine." She pressed his hand-she knew him- With the fervor of a child; And, looking fondly to him, Sweetly smiled. And, smiling thus, she started For her glorious home above, And her last breath, as it parted, Whispered "Love."

LIGHT IN DARKNESS.

SOMETIMES my heart complaineth And moans in bitter sighs; And dreams no hope remaineth, No more its sun will rise. But yet I know God liveth, And will do all things well; And that to me he giveth More good than tongue can tell. And though above me linger At times dark Sorrow's shroud, I see Faith's upraised finger Point far beyond the cloud.

MT. VERNON, AND THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON.

THE heat of noon had passed, and the trees began to cast their evening shadows, when, in company with a friend, I seated myself in a carriage, and drove off in the direction of Mount Vernon. We crossed the long bridge, and found ourselves in the old State of Virginia.

It was a delightful afternoon; one just suited to the purpose to which we had devoted it. The trees were clad in fresh, green foliage, and the farms and gardens were blooming into early life. To myself, no season appears so beautiful as that of spring. All seasons to me are bright and glorious, but there is a charm about spring that captivates the soul. Then Nature weaves her drapery, and bends over the placid lake to jewel herself, as the maiden bends before her mirror to deck her pure white brow with diamonds and rubies. All is life, all animation, all clothed with hope; all tending upward, onward to the bright future. "The trees are full of crimson buds, the woods are full of birds, And the waters flow to music, like a tune with pleasant words."

In about one hour we reached the city of Alexandria. Between this place and Washington a steamboat plies, going and returning four times a day. The road from Washington to Alexandria is about decent; but the road from thence to Mount Vernon is in the worst possible condition,--so bad, in fact, that we dismounted and walked a considerable distance, it being far less tiresome to walk than to ride. The road winds in a very circuitous route through a dense forest, the lofty trees of which, rising upon either hand, cast their deep shadows upon us. The place, that would otherwise have been gloomy, was enlivened by the variable songs of the mocking-birds, and the notes of their more beautiful-plumed though less melodious companions.

Occasionally we passed the hut of a negro, and met a loaded team from some Virginian farm, drawn by three or four ill-looking, yet strong and serviceable horses. These teams were managed by negroes,--never less than two, and in some cases by three or four, or, as in one instance, by an entire family, man, wife and children, seated on their loads, whistling and singing, where also sat a large black-and-white mastiff. Long after we passed and they had receded from our view, we could distinctly hear their melodious voices singing their simple yet expressive songs, occasionally interrupted by a "gee, yawh, shau," as they urged on their dilatory steeds.

The homes of the negroes were in some cases built of stone; mostly, however, of boards, put loosely together, and in some instances of large logs, the crevices being filled with mud, which, the sun and wind having hardened, were white-washed, presenting a very strong though not very beautiful appearance, the architecture of which was neither Grecian nor Roman, but evidently from "original designs" by a not very fastidious or accomplished artist.

Groups of women and children were about these houses; some seated on the grass, in the shade of the tall trees; others standing in the doors, all unemployed and apparently having nothing to do but to talk, and this they appeared to engage in with a hearty good will.

We continued our way over stones, up steep, deep-rutted hills, covered partly with branches and brambles, and down as steep declivities, through ponds and brooks, now and then cheered by the pleasing prospect of a long road, evidently designed to illustrate the "ups and downs of life."

After a tiresome journey, partly walked, partly ridden, which was somewhat relieved of its tediousness by the romantic and beautiful scenery through which we passed, we came in view of Mount Vernon.

An old, infirm, yet good, sociable negro met us at the gate, and told us that there was another road to the Mount, but that it was not as good as the one we came over, and also that there was a private road, which was not as good as either of the others! We smiled, threw out a hint about a‰rial navigation. He smiled also, and, thinking we doubted his word, said, "Indeed, it is not as good; I would n't tell you a lie about it." Mercy on pilgrims to Mount Vernon! If you ever go there, reader, do provide yourself with a conscience that can't be shaken out of you.

Having been kindly furnished with a letter from Mr. Seaton, the editor of the Intelligencer, and Mayor of Washington city, to the proprietor of the estate, we inquired whether he was at home, and with pleasure learned that he was.

We passed into what we deemed an almost sacred enclosure, so linked is it with the history of our country, and the glorious days that gave birth to a nation's freedom. It seemed as though we had entered an aviary, so many and so various the birds that floated in the air around us, and filled it with the rich melody of their songs.

At a short distance stood a beautiful deer, as if transfixed to the spot, his large, black, lustrous eyes turned towards us, his ears erect, till, suddenly starting, he darted away, and leaped down the steep hill-side to the water's brink.

The house I need not describe, as most persons are acquainted with its appearance, from seeing the numerous engraved representations of it. It shows many evidences of age and decay. Time is having his own way with, it, as the hand that would defend it from his ravages, and improve its looks, is kept back, that it may remain as nearly as possible in the same condition as when occupied by our first president. We entered and passed through several rooms, endeavoring to allay our curiosity by asking more questions than our attendant could conveniently answer and retain his senses.

We saw the massive key of that old French prison-house, the Bastile, presented to General Washington by that friend of freedom and humanity, General Lafayette, soon after the destruction of that monument of terror. We noticed that depredations had been committed by visitors upon the costly marble fire-frame, which was a gift to Washington.

Mr. Washington being called to the farm, we availed ourselves of the services of the old negro before mentioned, who led us around the estate. On our way to the tomb, we passed through what we judged to be a kitchen. The floor was brick, and a fireplace occupied nearly all of one side of the room; one of those old-fashioned contrivances which were in vogue in those days when people went more for comfort than appearance. Half a score of negroes were in the room, who gazed at us as we entered, covered with dust and dirt, the real free soil of Virginia. They seemed to think our intentions more of a warlike than a peaceable nature. We soon inclined them to the latter belief, however, by gently patting a curly-headed urchin upon the head, and distributing a few pennies among the crowd.

Five minutes' walk, and we were at the tomb.

"There is the old General," said the aged negro, as he touched lightly the sarcophagus with his cane; "that, yonder, is his wife," pointing to a similar one at the left.

Silently I stood and gazed at the marble coffin that held the mortal remains of him whom, when he lived, all people loved, and the memory of whom, now that he has passed from our material vision, all people revere. A few branches of cypress lay upon it, and at its base a few withered flowers.

The sarcophagus that holds the dust of Washington is placed upon a low pedestal, formed of brick. A brick wall is at the sides, and an iron slat fence or gateway in front. Over this gateway a white stone is set in the brick-work, and bears this inscription:

WITHIN THIS ENCLOSURE ARE

THE REMAINS

OF

GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON.

Short, indeed, but how full of food for thought!

"General George Washington!" He needs no long and fulsome epitaph carved in marble to tell his worth. Did his memory depend upon that alone, the marble would crumble into dust, mingle with his, and his name pass away with the stone that man vainly thought would preserve it. No; his monument is a world made free, and his memory as lasting as immortal mind. Wherever the light of freedom shall penetrate, it will bear on its every glistening ray his cherished name; and whenever and wherever men shall struggle with oppression, it shall inspire them with vigor, and cheer them on to victory.

Marble will perish, and monuments of adamant will crumble to dust; but the memory of Washington will live as long as there is a heart to love, or a mind to cherish a recollection of goodness.

"He was a good old man," said the negro, "and he has gone to his rest."

"We are all going," he continued, after a pause. I thought a tear stole down his wrinkled face; but he turned his back to me, and left me to my own reflections.

Deep silence was about us. We heard not even the notes of a bird. Not a zephyr moved the air, not a rustling leaf was there. In front, far below, lay the Potomac. Not a breath of wind moved the surface of its waters, but calmly, peacefully, undisturbed, the river moved on, as though conscious of the spot it was passing. On its glassy surface were reflected the branches that bent over and kissed it as it flowed, and the last rays of a declining sun tinted with their golden light the hills on the opposite shore.

I stood at the tomb of Washington: on my right stood a distinguished Indian chief; on my left, "Uncle Josh," the old African, of three-score years and ten. We represented three races of the human family, and we each were there with the same feelings of love, honor, and respect to departed worth.

Night was hastening on. I clambered up the embankment, and plucked a few green leaves from a branch that hung over the tomb; gazed once more, and yet again, within the enclosure; then turned away, and hastened to overtake my companions, who were far in advance.

If our country is ever called to pass through another struggle, may God, in his wisdom, raise up for it another Washington!

The sun had passed the horizon, and the cool evening air, laden with the fragrance of shrubbery and flowers, gathered about us. A lively squirrel sprang across our path; a belated bird flew by; and, amid the pleasant, quiet scenes of rural life, we wended our way homeward.

FREEDOM'S GATHERING.

I SEEMED to live beyond the present time;

Methought it was when all the world was free, And myriad numbers, from each distant clime,

Came up to hold their annual jubilee. From distant China, Afric's sunburnt shore,

From Greenland's icebergs, Russia's broad domain, They came as men whom fetters bound no more,

And trod New England's valley, hill, and plain. They met to hold a jubilee, for all Were free from error's chain, and from the oppressor's thrall. Word had gone forth that slavery's power was done;

The cry like wild-fire through the nations ran; Russia's tame serf, and Afric's sable son,

Threw off their chains-each felt himself a man. Thrones that had stood for ages were no more;

Man ceased to suffer; tyrants ceased to reign; And all throughout the world, from shore to shore,

Were loosed from slavery's fetter and its chain; And those who once were slaves came up as free, Unto New England's soil, to keep their jubilee. New England! 't was a fitting place, for it

Had sent its rays upon them, as a star Beams from the glorious heaven on slaves who sit

In chains, to lure them where free seraphs are; The light it had shed on them made them start

From their deep lethargy, then look and see That they of Freedom's boon might have a part,

Their nation glorious as New England be. And then like men they struggled till they won, And Freedom's high-born light shone as a noonday sun. Men gathered there who were men; nobly they

Had long and faithful fought 'gainst error's night, And now they saw the sunlight of that day

They long had hoped to see, when truth and right Should triumph o'er the world, and all should hold

This truth self-evident, that fellow-men, In God's own image made, should not be sold

Nor stalled as cattle in a market-pen. Praises they sang, and thanks they gave to God, That he had loosed the chain, and broke the oppressor's rod. They gazed o'er all the past; their vision's eye

Beheld how men in former years had groaned, When Hope's own flame burned dim, and no light nigh

Shone to disperse the darkness; when enthroned Sat boasting Ignorance, and 'neath its sway

Grim Superstition held its lurid lamp, That only darkened the obstructed way

In which man groped and wandered, till the damp, Cold, cheerless gateway of an opening tomb Met his extended hand, and sealed his final doom. Perchance one mind, illumined from above,

Did strive to burst the heavy bonds it wore, Pierce through the clouds of error, and, in love

With its new mission, upward seek to soar. Upon it shone truth's faintest, feeblest ray;

It would be free; but tyrants saw and crushed Man's first attempt to cast his chains away,

The first aspirings of his nature hushed. Thus back from men was Freedom's genius driven, And Slavery's chains in ten-fold strength were riven. In gazing o'er the past, 't was this they saw-

How Evil long had triumphed; but to-day Man bowed to nothing but God's righteous law,

And Truth maintained its undisputed sway. Right conquered might; and of this they were proud,

As they beheld all nations drawing near,-- Men from all lands, a vast, unnumbered crowd,

While in their eyes full many a sparkling tear Trembled a while, then from its cell did start, Witness to the deep joys of an o'erflowing heart. There came up those who'd crouched beneath the lash,

Had bowed beneath the chains they scarce could bear, Till Freedom's lightning on their minds did flash,

And roused them as a lion in his lair Is roused when foes invade it, then, with strength

Near superhuman, one bold effort made To break their cruel bondage, till at length

Beneath their feet they saw their fetters laid. 'T was then they lifted their freed hands on high, And peans loud and long resounded through the sky. Up, up they came, and still the bannered host

Far in the distance met my wondering eye; On hill and dale, on all New England's coast,

White banners waved beneath a cloudless sky. The aged sire leaned on his oaken staff,

Manhood stood up in all its strength and pride, And youth came dancing with a joyous laugh,

With woman, lovely woman, at their side; Bright eyes, glad hearts, and joyous souls, were there, Free as the light that shone, unfettered as the air. The mind, that spark of Deity within

That hath its nurture from a higher world, No longer bound by tyranny and sin,

Beheld its highest, noblest powers unfurled. No more did Error bind it to its creed,

Or Superstition strive to blind its sight; It followed only where God's truth did lead,

And trusted him to guide its course aright. The inner as the outer man was free, And both united held this glorious jubilee. --'T was all a vision, and it passed away,

As dreams depart; yet it did leave behind Its deep impressions, thoughts that fain would stay

And hold communion with the tireless mind. I wished that it were real; alas! I heard

The clank of Slavery's fetters rend the air; And feelings of my heart were deeply stirred,

When I beheld my brethren, who dare Proclaim all "equal," yet in chains of steel Bind men, who, like themselves, can pain and pleasure feel. God in his wisdom meant all should be free,

All equal: each a brother unto man. Presumptuous mortal! who His great decree

Durst strive to change to suit thy selfish plan! Know thou that his fixed purpose will be done,

Though thou arrayest all thy puny strength In war against it! All who feel the sun

Shall own his goodness, and be free at length. God cares for mortals, though he reigns on high; Freedom is His own cause, and it shall never die! My country! if my heart one wish doth hold,

For thee and for thy good, it is that thou No more permit thy children to be sold!

Forbid that they as slaves to man shall bow! For them our fathers nobly fought and bled;

For them they poured their life-blood forth as rain; Shall it in foreign lands of us be said,

We bind our brothers with a galling chain? While the Old World is struggling to be free, America! shall this foul charge be laid to thee? We all may err; may oft be led astray;

Let him who'd free the slave be careful he Is not a slave himself to some fond way

He would adopt to set his brother free! All seek one end; for all one good would gain;

Then, on as brothers, hand in hand proceed! Paths that seem intricate will all be plain,

If we but follow where God's truth would lead.

Trust Him for strength in darkness and in light; His word will cheer us on,--His presence give us might.

SONG OF THE BIRD.

ON the topmost branch of the highest tree I sit and sing, I am free! I am free! When the lightnings flash, when the thunders roar, I plume my wings and away I soar! But soon on the branch of a lofty tree Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! A huntsman he came by my nest one day, And thought that with gun my song he would stay; But I left my nest when he thought me there, And I roamed about in my native air. Then, when he was gone, on the highest tree Gayly I sung, I am free! I am free! It is I, 't is I, that at dawn of day Go to meet the sun at its earliest ray. I love its heat; so I cheer it along With chirping notes and melodious song; And all the day on the highest tree Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! When the dusky shades of the night appear, In my nest on high I have naught to fear; Sweetly I slumber till dawning of day, Then to the East, for the sun, I'm away, Till, borne on its rays to the highest tree, Gayly I sing, I am free! I am free! O, I love my nest, and my nest loves me! It rocks like a bark on the dancing sea; Gently it bows when I wish to retire; When in, it rises higher and higher. O, I love my nest, and I love the tree, Home and the haunt of the bird that is free!

I CHANGE BUT IN DYING.

I CHANGE but in dying,--I am faithful till death! I will guard thee with care from pollution's foul breath; I promise that ne'er in neglect thou shalt pine; I change but in dying,--say, wilt thou be mine? I come not with riches; good fortune ne'er blest me; Yet one of less worth hath often carest me; The light of true love o'er thy pathway shall shine; I change but in dying,--say, wilt thou be mine? I change but in dying,--no holier vow From lips mortal e'er came than I breathe to thee now; It comes from a heart with love for thee sighing; Believe me, 't is true,--I change but in dying!

HE IS THY BROTHER.

GO, break the chains that bind the slave; Go, set the captive free; For Slavery's banners ne'er should wave, And slaves should never be. Yet not in anger. Hasty words Should not to thee belong, They will not loose a single link, But bind them yet more strong. O, while ye think to him in chains A brother's rights are due, Remember him who binds those chains! He is thy brother, too!

THE WINE-DEALER'S CLERK.