will teach, but let no man reject it, for it is one that all must learn, and is a mighty universal Truth. When Death strikes down the innocent and young, for every fragile form from which he lets the panting spirit free, a hundred virtues rise, in shapes of mercy, charity, and love, to walk the world, and bless it with their light. Of every tear that sorrowing mortals shed on such green graves, some good is born, some gentler nature comes. In the Destroyer's steps there spring up bright creations that defy his power, and his dark path becomes a way of light to Heaven. THE PICKET-GUARD. ANONYMOUS. "ALL quiet along the Potomac," they say, 'Tis nothing a private or two, now and then, All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming: Through the forest leaves softly is creeping; There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread Far away in the cot on the mountain. THE POOR MAN AND THE FIEND. As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,- The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree,— Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? All quiet along the Potomac to-night,— While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,- THE POOR MAN AND THE FIEND. REV. MR. MACLELLAN. A FIEND once met a humble man Where music circled sweet; And light and warmth cheered the wanderer's heart, Till his brain grew mad beneath the joy, 75 Ah! well if he ne'er had knelt to that Fiend, And he said, "One-half of thy life on earth And when, from rising till set of sun, Thou hast toiled in the heat or snow, Let thy gains on mine altar an offering be;" The poor man had health, more dear than gold; That neither faint nor weary grew, To toil the June day long; And the Fiend, his god, cried hoarse and loud, Three children blest the poor man's home- The Fiend beheld their sweet blue eyes, A young wife sat by the poor man's fire, Had gilded his sorrow, and brightened his joys Foul fall the Fiend! he gave command. Bid thy young wife drain it to the dregs;" Oh! misery now for this poor man ! Next the Fiend his godlike Reason took, OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. And when the sentinel Mind was gone, He pilfered his Soul also; And-marvel of marvels!-he murmured not; Now, men and matrons in your prime, Come listen, with soul as well as ear, This saying whilst I unfold; And the name of the Fiend was-DRINK! OUR COUNTRY'S CALL. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. LAY down the axe, fling by the spade : For arms like yours were fitter now; Quit the light task, and learn to wield The horseman's crooked brand, and rein The charger on the battle-field. Our country calls; away! away! To where the blood-stream blots the green. Strike to defend the gentlest sway That Time in all its course has seen. See, from a thousand coverts-see Spring the armed foes that haunt her track; They rush to smite her down, and we Ho! sturdy as the oaks ye cleave, And moved as soon to fear and flight, Men of the glade and forest! leave Your woodcraft for the field of fight. His serried ranks shall reel before And ye who breast the mountain storm And ye, whose homes are by her grand Have swelled them over bank and bourne And ye who throng beside the deep, On his long murmuring marge of sand, Few, few were they whose swords of old But we are many, we who hold The grim resolve to guard it well. |