THE LUMBERMEN.

WILDLY round our woodland quarters,
Sad-voiced Autumn grieves;
Thickly down these swelling waters
Float his fallen leaves.

Through the tall and naked timber,
Column-like and old,

Gleam the sunsets of November,
From their skies of gold.

O'er us, to the southland heading,
Screams the gray wild-goose;

On the night-frost sounds the treading

Of the brindled moose.

Noiseless creeping, while we 're sleeping,
Frost his task-work plies;
Soon, his icy bridges heaping,
Shall our log-piles rise.

When, with sounds of smothered thunder,

On some night of rain,

Lake and river break asunder

Winter's weakened chain,

Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping
Half the peak in storm!

Where are mossy carpets better
Than the Persian weaves,
And than Eastern perfumes sweeter
Seem the fading leaves;

And a music wild and solemn,
From the pine-tree's height,
Rolls its vast and sea-like volume
On the wind of night;

Make we here our camp of winter ;
And, through sleet and snow,
Pitchy knot and beechen splinter
On our hearth shall glow.
Here, with mirth to lighten duty,
We shall lack alone

Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty,
Childhood's lisping tone.

But their hearth is brighter burning For our toil to-day;

And the welcome of returning

Shall our loss repay,

From the woods we come,

Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, Angels of our home!

Not for us the measured ringing
From the village spire,
Not for us the Sabbath singing

Of the sweet-voiced choir :
Ours the old, majestic temple,

Where God's brightness shines Down the dome so grand and ample, Propped by lofty pines !

Through each branch-enwoven skylight, Speaks He in the breeze,

As of old beneath the twilight

Of lost Eden's trees!

For his ear, the inward feeling
Needs no outward tongue;
He can see the spirit kneeling
While the axe is swung.

Heeding truth alone, and turning From the false and dim,

given

Of Katahdin's sides,

Rock and forest piled to heaven, Torn and ploughed by slides! Far below, the Indian trapping, In the sunshine warm;

Are alike to Him.

"Happier I, with loss of all, Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall,

With few friends to greet me, Than when reeve and squire were seen, Riding out from Aberdeen,

With bared heads to meet me.

"When each goodwife, o'er and o'er, Blessed me as I passed her door;

And the snooded daughter, Through her casement glancing down, Smiled on him who bore renown

From red fields of slaughter.

"Hard to feel the stranger's scoff,
Hard the old friend's falling off,

Hard to learn forgiving:
But the Lord his own rewards,
And his love with theirs accords,

Warm and fresh and living.

"Through this dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light

Up the blackness streaking; Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest

For the full day-breaking!"

So the Laird of Ury said,
Turning slow his horse's head

Towards the Tolbooth prison,

Where, through iron grates, he heard Poor disciples of the Word

Preach of Christ arisen !

Not in vain, Confessor old,
Unto us the tale is told

Of thy day of trial;

Every age on him, who strays
From its broad and beaten ways,
Pours its sevenfold vial.

Happy he whose inward ear
Angel comfortings can hear,

O'er the rabble's laughter;
And while Hatred's fagots burn,
Glimpses through the smoke discern
Of the good hereafter.

Knowing this, that never yet
Share of Truth was vainly set

In the world's wide fallow;
After hands shall sow the seed,
After hands from hill and mead
Reap the harvests yellow.

Thus, with somewhat of the Seer,
Must the moral pioneer

From the Future borrow;

Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And, on midnight's sky of rain,

Paint the golden morrow!

WHAT THE VOICE SAID.

MADDENED by Earth's wrong and evil, "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire, "From thy right hand, clothed with thunder,

Shake the bolted fire!

"Love is lost, and Faith is dying; With the brute the man is sold; And the dropping blood of labor Hardens into gold.

"Here the dying wail of Famine,
There the battle's groan of pain;
And, in silence, smooth-faced Mammon
Reaping men like grain.

"Where is God, that we should fear Him?'

Thus the earth-born Titans say; 'God! if thou art living, hear us!' Thus the weak ones pray."

"Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding,"

Spake a solemn Voice within ; "Weary of our Lord's forbearance, Art thou free from sin ?

"Fearless brow to Him uplifting,
Canst thou for his thunders call,
Knowing that to guilt's attraction
Evermore they fall?

"Know'st thou not all germs of evil
In thy heart await their time?
Not thyself, but God's restraining,
Stays their growth of crime.

"Couldst thou boast, O child of weakness !

O'er the sons of wrong and strife, Were their strong temptations planted In thy path of life?

"Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing

From one fountain, clear and free, But by widely varying channels Searching for the sea.