SE WARD.

The tide comes up, and the tide goes down,
But it bides no tyrant's word,

As it chants unceasing the anthem grand
Of its Freedom to the Lord.
The fisherman floating on its breast

Has caught up the key-note true:
"De sea works, massa, for 't sef and God,
And so must de brack man too.

"Den gib him de work, and gib him de pay, For de chillen an' wife him love,

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And de yam shall grow, and de cotton shall blow,
And him nebber, nebber rove;

For him love de ole Carlina State,
And de ole magnolia tree:

Oh! nebber him trouble de icy Norf,
Ef de brack folks

am go free."

SEWARD.

BY A. D. F. RANDOLPH.

WELL, be it so! The not uncommon fate

Of greatness overtakes thee in thy prime: He who is mighty will have foes who hate,Thou hast false friends, who only consummate Their own destruction in attempting thine. O, peerless Champion of the Cause so Just,

When some, o'er zealous now, were cold or mute, Thou, with sublimest courage, took the Trust And priceless venture, conscious that thou must Bear scorn of those who would thy cause dispute. Keep heart! the Great Hereafter will refute Each slander born of envy or of hate,

And thus thy final labors will compute :

"He Freedom saved, by saving first the State!"

THE SONG OF THE CAMPS.

BY J. R. M.

FAR away in the piney woods,

Where the dews fall heavy and damp,
A soldier sat by the smouldering fire
And sang the song of the camp.

It is not to feel hunger and thirst,

It is not the forced march nor the terrible fight,
That seems to the soldier the worst.

"But to sit through the comfortless hours,
The lonely, dull hours that will come,
With his head in his hands and his eyes on the fire,
And his thoughts on visions of home.

"To wonder how fares it with those
Who mingled so late with his life,
Is it well with my little children three?
Is it well with my sickly wife?

"This night-air is chill to be sure,
But logs lie in plenty around;

How is it with them where wood is so dear,
And the cash for it hard to be found?

"Oh, that North air cuts bitterly keen,
And the ground is hard as a stone;

It would comfort me just to know that they sit
By a fire as warm as my own.

"And have they enough to eat? My lads are growing boys,

THE SONG OF THE CAMPS.

And my girl is a little tender thing,

With her mother's smile and voice.

"My wife she should have her tea,
Or maybe a sup of beer;

It went to my heart to look on her face,
So white, with a smile and a tear.

"Her form it is weak and thin,

She would gladly work if she could, But how can a woman have daily strength Who wants for daily food?

"My oldest boy he can cut wood,

And Johnny can carry it in ;

But then, how frozen their feet must be
If their shoes are worn and thin!

"I hope they don't cry with the cold

Are there tears in my little girl's eyes? O God! say peace! to these choking fears, These fears in my heart that rise.

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Many rich folks are round them, I know,
And their hearts are not hard nor cold;

They would give to my wife if they only knew,
And my little one three years old.

66

They would go, like God's angels fair,
And enter the lowly door,

And make the sorrowful glad with gifts
From their abundant store.

"In this blessed Christmas-time,

When the great gift came to men,

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They would show, by their gentle and generous deeds, How He cometh in hearts again.

“ And my sickly, patient wife,

And my little children three,

Would be kindly warmed and fed and clothed
As part of Christ's family.

"Well, I leave it all with God,

For my sight is short and dim; He cares for the falling sparrow,

My dear ones are safe with Him.”

So the soldier watched through the night,
Through the dew-fall, heavy and damp;
And as he sat by the smouldering fire,
He sang the song of the camp.
ST. PAUL, Minn.

Church Journal.

SOLDIER'S TALK.

BY CHARLES G. HALPIN.

WE have heard the rebel yell,

We have heard the Union shout,
We have weighed the matter very well,
And mean to fight it out;

In victory's happy glow,

In the gloom of utter rout, We have pledged ourselves

By Heaven! we fight it out.

Come weal or woe,

"T is now too late to question
What brought the war about;
'Tis a thing of pride and passion
And we mean to fight it out.
Let the "big wigs" use the pen,

Let them caucus, let them spout,

SOLDIER'S TALK.

We are half a million weaponed men
And mean to fight it out.

Our dead, our loved, are crying

From many a stormed redoubt, In the swamps and trenches lying, "Oh, comrades, fight it out! 'T was our comfort as we fell

To hear your gathering shout, Rolling back the rebels' weaker yell, God speed you, fight it out!"

free or slave

We care no pin about,

But for the flag our fathers gave
We mean to fight it out;
And while that banner brave
One rebel rag shall flout,
With volleying arm and flashing glaive
By Heaven! we fight it out!

Oh, we've heard the rebel yell,

We have heard the Union shout,
We have weighed the matter very well,
And mean to fight it out;

In the flush of perfect triumph,

And the gloom of utter rout,

We have sworn on many a bloody field

We mean to fight it out!

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Harpers' Weekly.