Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, That shook the sere leaves from the wood, Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun! Thy face is cold, thy race is run, "Tis Mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years That shall no longer flow. "What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, And triumphs that beneath thee sprang "Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recall Life's tragedy again : Its piteous pageants bring not back, Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred, "Even I am weary in yon skies My lips that speak thy dirge of death, To see thou shalt not boast. The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, "This spirit shall return to Him Who gave its heavenly spark: Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim "Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up, To drink this last and bitter cup Or shake his trust in God!" THE LITTLE GRAVE. "It's only a little grave," they said, "Only just a child that's dead ;" And so they carelessly turned away From the mound the spade had made that day. I know the coffin was narrow and small, One yard would have served for an ample pall; But I know that darling hopes were hid I knew that a mother had stood that day The little sock and half-worn shoe, "Tis a little grave, but oh, beware! DUTY OF THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. Do you ask me our duty as scholars? Gentlemen, thought, which the scholar represents, is life and liberty. There is no intellectual or moral life without liberty. Therefore, as a man must breathe and see before he can study, the scholar must have liberty, first of all; and as the American scholar is a man and has a voice in his own government, so his interest in political affairs must precede all others. He must build his house before he can live in it. He must be a perpetual inspiration of freedom in politics. He must recognize that the intelligent exercise of political rights, which is a privilege in a monarchy, is a duty in a republic. If it clash with his ease, his retirement, his taste, his study, let it clash, but let him do his duty. The course of events is incessant, but when the good deed is slighted, the bad deed is done. Scholars, you would like to loiter in the pleasant paths of study. Every man loves his ease,-loves to please his taste. But into how many homes along this lovely valley came the news of Lexington and Bunker Hill, eighty-years ago; and young men like us, studious, fond of leisure, young lovers, young husbands, young brothers and sons, knew that they must forsake the wooded hillside, the river meadows, golden with harvest, the twilight walk along the river, the summer Sunday in the war. old church, parents, wife, child, and go away to uncertain Putnam heard the call at his plough, and turned to go, without waiting. Wooster heard it, and obeyed. Not less lovely in those days was this peaceful valley, not less soft this summer air. Life was dear, and love as beautiful to those young men as they are to us who stand upon their graves. But, because they were so dear and beautiful, those men went out, bravely to fight for them and fall. Through these very streets they marched, who never returned. They fell, and were buried; but they can never die. Not sweeter are the flowers that make your valley fair, not greener are the pines that give your river its name, than the memory of the brave men who died for freedom. And yet no victim of those days, sleeping under the green sod of Connecticut, is more truly a martyr of liberty than every murdered man whose bones lie bleaching in this summer sun upon the silent plains of Kansas. Gentlemen, while we read history, we make history. Because our fathers fought in this great cause, we must not hope to escape fighting. Because, two thousand years ago, Leonidas stood against Xerxes, we must not suppose that Xerxes was slain, nor, thank God, that Leonidas is not immortal. Every great crisis of human history is a pass of Thermopyla, and there is always a Leonidas, and his three hundred to die in it, if they cannot conquer. And so long as liberty has one martyr, so long as one drop of blood is poured out for her, so long from that single drop of bloody sweat of the agony of humanity shall spring hosts as countless as the forestleaves, and mighty as the sea. Brothers! the call has come to us. I bring it to you in these calm retreats. I summon you to the great fight of freedom. I call upon you to say, with your voices whenever the occasion offers, and with your votes when the day comes, that upon these fertile fields of Kansas, in the very heart of the continent, the upas-tree of slavery, dripping death-dews upon national prosperity and upon free labor, shall never be planted. I call upon you to plant there the palm of peace, the vine and the olive of a Christian civilization. I call upon you to determine whether this great experiment of human freedom, which has been the scorn of despotism, shall, by its failure, be also our sin and shame. I call upon you to defend the hope of the world. The voices of our brothers who are bleeding, no less than of our fathers who bled, summon us to this battle. Shall the children of unborn generations, clustering over that vast Western empire, rise up and call us blessed, or cursed? Here are our Marathon and Lexington; here are our heroic fields. The hearts of all good men beat with us. The fight is fierce-the issue is with God. But God is good. THE NEW CHURCH ORGAN.--WILL CARLETON. For all their fuss an' search; They've done just as they said they'd do, And fetched it into church. They're bound the critter shall be seen, And on the preacher's right They've hoisted up their new machine, They've got a chorister and choir, For it was never my desire To praise the Lord by note! I've been a sister good an' true I've done what seemed my part to do, An' prayed my duty clear; I've sung the hymns both slow and quick, And twice, when Deacon Tubbs was sick, And now, their bold, new-fangled ways |