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WHAT TIIE VOICE SAID.
u He alone, whose hand is bounding Human power and human will,
Looking through each soul's surrounding, Knows its good or ill.
"For thyself, while wrong and sorrow
Coward wert thou not to utter
"Earnest words must needs be spoken When the warm heart bleeds or burns
With its scorn of wrong, or pity
"But, by all thy nature's weakness,
Be thou, in rebuking evil,
"Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty
To thy lips her trumpet set,
Wailings of regret."
Cease not, "Voice of holy speaking,
Whispering through the day's cool silence,
So, when thoughts of evil doers
Shall a mournful fellow-feeling
Written during the discussion in the Legislature of that StftJa in the winter of 1846-7, of a bill for the abolition of Slayery.
Thrice welcome to thy sisters of the East,
To the strong tillers of a rugged home, With spray-wet locks to Northern winds released,
And hardy feet o'er-swept by ocean's foam; And to the young nymphs of the golden West,
Whose harvest mantles, fringed with prairfo bloom, Trail in the sunset,—oh, redeemed and blest,
To the warm welcome of thy sisters come I Broad Pennsylvania, down her sail-white bay
Shall give thee joy, and Jersey from her plains, And the great lakes, where echo free alway
Moaned never shoreward with the clank of chains, Shall weave new sun-bows in their tossing spray, And all their waves keep grateful holiday. And, smiling on thee through her mountain rains,
Vermont shall bless thee; and the Granite peaks, And vast Katahdin o'er his woods, shall wear Their snow-crowns brighter in the cold keen air;
And Massachusetts, with her rugged cheeks O'errun with grateful tears, shall turn to thee,
When, at thy bidding, the electric wire
Shall tremble northward with its words of fire: Grlory and praise to God! another State is free!
[" Pure religion, and undented, before God and the Father, Is this: To visit the widows and the fatherless in their affliction, End to keep himself unspotted from the world."—James i. 27.J
The Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, And ghosts of old Beliefs still flit and moan
Round fane and altar overthrown and broken, O'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone.
Blind Faith had martyrs in those old high planes, The Syrian hill grove and the Druid's wood,
With mothers' offering, to the Fiend's embraces, Bone of their bone, and blood of their own blood.
Red altars, kindling through that night of error,
Of lawless Power and sanguinary Terror,
Beneath whose baleful shadow, overcasting
The scourge grew red, the lip grew pale with fast-
Then through great temples swelled the dismal moaning
Of dirge-like music and sepulchral prayer; Pale wizard priests, o'er occult symbols droning,
Swung their white censers in the burdened air:
As if the pomp of rituals, and the savor
Of gums and spices could the Unseen One please;
A.S if his ear could bend, with childish favor,
Feet red from war fields trod the church aisles holy
Not such the service the benignant Father
Not the poor offering of vain rites, but rather
For Earth he asks it: the full joy of Heaven
The great heart of the Infinite beats even,
He asks no taper lights, on high surrounding
No dolorous chant nor organ music sounding,
For he whom Jesus loved hath truly spoken:
Restores the lost, and binds the spirit broken,
Types of our human weakness and our sorrow I
Who, with vain longing, seeketh not to borrow From stranger eyes the home lights which haro fled?
Oh, brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother;
Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there; To worship rightly is to love each other,
Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer.
Follow with reverent steps the great example
THE DEMON OF THE STUDY. 41
80 shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple, Each loving life a psalm of gratitude.
Then shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor
Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger,
THE DEMON OF THE STUDY.
The Brownie sits in the Scotchman's room,
And beats the maid with her unused broom,
But he sweeps the floor and threshes the corn,
And hies him away ere the break of dawn.
The shade of Denmark fled from the sun,
And the Cocklane ghost from the barnloft cheer,
The fiend of Faust was a faithful one,
And the devil of Martin Luther sat
By the stout monk's side in social chat.
The Old Man of the Sea, on the neck of him
Who seven times crossed the deep,
Like the nightmare in one's sleep.
But the demon that cometh day by day
Where the casement light falls dim and gray
Is a sorrier one than any whose names
Are chronicled well by good king James.