For only one short hour. To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want "Oh! but for one short hour! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, A little weeping would ease my heart, My tears must stop, for every drop With fingers weary and worn, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, EVELYN HOPE. (ROBERT BROWNING.) Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass. Little has yet been changed, I think: The shutters are shut, no light may pass Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; It was not her time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough, and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire and dew,— And just because I was thrice as old, And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was nought to each, must I be told? We were fellow-mortals, nought beside? No, indeed! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make, But the time will come,-at last it will, In the new life come in the old one's stead. I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, Gained me the gains of various men, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, Either I missed or itself missed me— And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! What is the issue? let us see! I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! My heart seemed full as it could hold There was place and to spare for the frank young smile And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So, hush, I will give you this leaf to keep See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand There, that is our secret! go to sleep; You will wake, and remember, and understand. ABOU BEN ADHEM. (LEIGH HUNT.) "Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 'What writest thou?' The vision raised its head, And, with a look made all of sweet accord, Answered The names of those who love the Lord.' "The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had bless'dAnd, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest." THE NATION'S DEAD. Four hundred thousand men Four hundred thousand of the brave Good friend, for me and you! In many a fevered swamp, In many a cold and frozen camp, From Western plain to ocean tide Good friend, for me and you! On many a bloody plain Their ready swords they drew, And poured their life-blood, like the rain, To gain for me and you! Our brothers mustered by our side; They marched, they fought, and bravely died For me and you! Good friend, for me and you! Up many a fortress wall They charged-those boys in blue- These noble men-the nation's pride- In treason's prison-hold Their martyr spirits grew They starved for me and you! The good, the patient and the tried, Good friend, for me and you! A debt we ne'er can pay To them is justly due, And to the nation's latest day Good friend, for me and you! A PSALM FROM LIFE. (LONGFELLOW.) Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating, |