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Where the rocks ne'er saw the sun's decline
Or the dawn of the glorious day;
I bring earth's glittering jewels up

From the hidden caves below,
And I make the fountain's granite cup

With a crystal gush o'erflow.

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel,
In all the shops of trade;

I hammer the ore and turn the wheel

Where my arms of strength are made;

I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint,
I carry, I spin, I weave,

And all my doings I put into print
On every Saturday eve.

I've no muscles to weary, no brains to decay,

No bones to be laid on the shelf, And soon I intend you may go and play, While I manage the world myself. But Larness me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands As the tempest scorns the chain.

GEORGE W. CUTTER.

LABOR SONG.

FROM "THE BELL-FOUNDER."

AH! little they know of true happiness, they whom satiety fills,

Who, flung on the rich breast of luxury, eat of the rankness that kills.

Ah little they know of the blessedness toilpurchased slumber enjoys

Who, stretched on the hard rack of indolence, taste of the sleep that destroys;

Nothing to hope for, or labor for; nothing to sigh for, or gain;

Nothing to light in its vividness, lightning-like, bosom and brain;

Nothing to break life's monotony, rippling it o'er with its breath:

Nothing but dullness and lethargy, weariness, sorrow, and death!

He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king of his race,

Who perveth his arm for life's combat, and looks the strong world in the face.

DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.

A LANCASHIRE DOXOLOGY.

"Some one has lately been imported in Farringdon, where the ms have been cused a cesserie te The people. why were pervinasė). – the drepest distrms, went out to meet the .crn te women wist sver the bales an' kissed them, and fully sang the Deacugy over them" — Spectator of May 14, 1803.]

** PLAISE God from whom all blessings flow,”
Praise Lim who sendeth joy and woe.
The Lord who takes, the Lord who gives,

praise him, all that dies, and lives.

He opens and be shuts his hand,
But why we cannot understand:
Pours and dries up his mercies' flood,
And yet is still All-perfect Good.

We fathom not the mighty plan,
The mystery of God and man ;
We women, when afflictions come,
We only suffer and are dumb.

And when, the tempest passing by,
He gleams out, sunlike, through our sky,
We look up, and through black clou ls riven
We recognize the smile of Heaven.

Ours is no wisdom of the wise,
We have no deep philosophies ;
Chil läke we take both kiss and rod,
For he who loveth knoweth GoL

DINAH M: LOCK CRAIK

TO LABOR IS TO PRAY.

PATSE not to dream of the future before us; Panse 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; Who, with hammer or chisel or pencil, with rud- Never the little seed stops in its growing;

But blessed that child of humanity, happiest man among men,

der or plowshare or pen,

Laboreth ever and ever with hope through the morning of life,

Winning home and its darling divinities,-love

worshiped children and wife.

More and more richly the rose heart keeps glow

ing,

Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.

“Labor is worship!" the robin is singing;

Round swings the hammer of industry, quickly "Labor is worship!" the wild bee is ringing;

the sharp chisel rings,

And the heart of the toiler has throbbings that

stir not the bosom of kings, —

Listen! that eloquent whisper, upspringing, Speaks to thy soul from out nature's great heart.

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To all their heavenly coters Tue Fr. Hackening frost on Crimson duw, And God

Love

us as we love thee,

Thrice holy Flower of Liberty, Then hail the banner of the The starry Flower of Liberty ! free,

Olion Wendell Homes

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