He is gone at length; he is laid in the dust, His people's heart is his funeral urn; And should sculptured stone be denied him, There will his name be found when, in turn, We lay our heads beside him. MARINER'S HYMN. LAUNCH thy bark, mariner! -Horace Smith. 66 THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. Look to the weather-bow, Breakers are round thee; What of the night, watchman ? No land yet-all's right." At an hour when all seemeth Securest to thee. How gains the leak so fast? Lo, the red lights! Slacken not sail yet At inlet or island, Straight for the beacon steer Straight for the high land; Crowd all thy canvas on, Cut through the foam Christian, cast anchor now Heaven is thy home! -Caroline Southey. THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. "AND wherefore do the poor complain ?" The rich man asked of me. "Come, walk abroad with me,” I said, And I will answer thee." 133 ALL MEN ARE BRETHREN. She said her father was at home, We saw a woman sitting down And another at her breast. I asked her why she loitered there, She told us that her husband served And therefore to her parish she Was begging back her way. I turned me to the rich man then, "You asked me why the poor complain, And these have answered thee." -Southey. 135 ALL MEN ARE BRETHREN. CHILDREN we are all Of one Great Father, in whatever clime His Providence hath cast the seed of life All tongues, all colours. Neither after death Shall we be sorted into languages And tints-white, black, and tawny-Greek and Goth, The All-seeing Father-He in whom we live and move- Nations, and hues, and dialects alike. According to their works shall they be judged, -Southey THE INCHCAPE ROCK. No stir in the air, no stir in the sea: Without either sign or sound of their shock, The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok When the rock was hid by the surges' swell, The sun in heaven was shining gay. The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen, He felt the cheering power The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, And he cut the bell from the Inchcape Float. |