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(For his great heart in love could hold them all);
Knew it and sought his hand;
Could she lis heart have read,
To Nature's feast,
And entertained him best,
For him the poet-souled; .
For him her anthem rolled
Down to the slenderest note
But when begins
And with its mortal foes,
Each human soul must close;
And Farne her trumpet blew
That henceforth round him flew.
Though he may yield,
Forsaken on the field;
He is a king for all. :
Had he but stood aloof !
Against temstation's darts!
Tears have not ceased to flow-
To think-above that noble soul brought low, That wise and soaring spirit fooled, enslaved
Thus, thus he had been saved !
It might not bel
Had been too rudely rent;
By no hand could be tuned,
Its every string who knew,
Would fain redeem her blame
Who unrewarded gave
The land he trod
The hoary hawthorn, wreathed
While some sweet plaint he breathed;
The streams he wandered near;
All, all are dear!
The arch blue eyes-
Lighten with it their toils :
In which such songs are sung.
For doth not song
To the whole world belong?
Isa CRAIG KNOX
Over the River.
Over the ones who've by robes ? Jashing
Over the river they beckon to me
Loved ones who 've passed to the further side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see,
But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. There 's one with ringlets of sunny gold,
And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,
And the pale mist hid him from mortal view; We saw not the angels who met him there,
The gates of the city we could not seeOver the river, over the river,
My brother stands waiting to welcome me!
Over the river the boatman pale
Carried another, the household pet;
Darling Minnie! I see her yet.
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark,
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark; We know she is safe on the further side,
Where all the ransomed and angels beOver the river, the mystic river,
My childhood's idol is waiting for me.
For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale; We hear the dip of the golden oars,
And catch a gleam of the snowy sail; And lol they have passed from our yearning heart,
They cross the stream and are gone for aye, We may not sunder the vail apart
That hides from our vision the gates of day;
May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea-
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.
Is flushing river and hill and shore,
And list for the sound of the boatman's oar;
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;
To the better shore of the spirit land.
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
NANCY PRIEST WAKEFIELD.
The Old Sergeant.
“ COME a little nearer, Doctor,—thank you !-let me take
the cup: Draw your chair up,—draw it closer, -just another little
sup! May be you may think I 'm better; but I'm pretty well
used up, — Doctor, you 've done all you could do, lilil I'm just a
“Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain't much use to
try”“Never say that,” said the Surgeon, as he smothered down
a sigh; "It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say die!" “What you say will make no difference, Doctor, when you
come to die.
“Doctor, what has been the matter ?” “You were very
faint, they say ; You must try to get to sleep now.” “Doctor, have I been
away ?" “Not that anybody knows of !” “Doctor-Doctor, please
to stay! . There is something I must tell you, and you won't have
long to stay!
“I have got my marching orders, and I'm ready now to go; Doctor, did you say I fainted ?—but it could n't ha' been
SO,— For as sure as I 'm a Sergeant, and was wounded at Shi.
loh, I've this very night been back there, on the old field of Shi