Enough for him the silent grasp
That knits us hand in hand,

And he the bracelet's radiant clasp
That locks our circling band.

Strength to his hours of manly toil!
Peace to his starlit dreams!

Who loves alike the furrowed soil,
The music-haunted streams!

Sweet smiles to keep forever bright
The sunshine on his lips,

And faith that sees the ring of light
Round nature's last eclipse!

February 22, 1859.

A BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE.

TO J. F. CLARKE.

WHO is the shepherd sent to lead,

Through pastures green, the Master's sheep?

What guileless" Israelite indeed "

The folded flock may watch and keep?

He who with manliest spirit joins

The heart of gentlest human mould,
With burning light and girded loins,
To guide the flock, or watch the fold;

True to all Truth the world denies,

Not tongue-tied for its gilded sin; Not always right in all men's eyes,

But faithful to the light within ;

Who asks no meed of earthly fame,

Who knows no earthly master's call,

Who hopes for man, through guilt and shame, Still answering, "God is over all;

Who makes another's grief his own,

Whose smile lends joy a double cheer; Where lives the saint, if such be known? such an one is here!

Speak softly,

O faithful shepherd! thou hast borne
The heat and burden of the day;
Yet, o'er thee, bright with beams unshorn,
The sun still shows thine onward way.

To thee our fragrant love we bring,
In buds that April half displays,
Sweet first-born angels of the spring,
Caught in their opening hymn of praise.

What though our faltering accents fail,

Our captives know their message well, Our words unbreathed their lips exhale,

And sigh more love than ours can tell.

April 4, 1860.

THE GRAY CHIEF.

FOR THE MEETING OF THE MASSACHUSETTS MEDICAL SOCIETY,

1859.

'TIS sweet to fight our battles o'er,

And crown with honest praise

The gray

old chief, who strikes no more

The blow of better days.

Before the true and trusted

sage

With willing hearts we bend,

When years have touched with hallowing age

Our Master, Guide, and Friend.

For all his manhood's labor past,
For love and faith long tried,

His age is honored to the last,

Though strength and will have died.

But when, untamed by toil and strife,

Full in our front he stands,

The torch of light, the shield of life,

Still lifted in his hands,

No temple, though its walls resound
With bursts of ringing cheers,

Can hold the honors that surround
His manhood's twice-told years!

10*