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A SENTIMENT.

A TRIPLE health to Friendship, Science, Art,
From heads and hands that own a common heart!
Each in its turn the others' willing slave,
Each in its season strong to heal and save.

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Friendship's blind service, in the hour of need, Wipes the pale face and lets the victim bleed.

Science must stop to reason and explain;
ART claps his finger on the streaming vein.

But Art's brief memory fails the hand at last; Then SCIENCE lifts the flambeau of the past. When both their equal impotence deplore, —

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When Learning sighs, and Skill can do no more, The tear of FRIENDSHIP pours its heavenly balm, And soothes the pang no anodyne may calm!

May 1st, 1855.

SEMICENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF THE

NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY,

-NEW YORK, DEC. 22, 1855.

NEW England, we love thee; no time can erase
From the hearts of thy children the smile on thy face.
'Tis the mother's fond look of affection and pride,
As she gives her fair son to the arms of his bride.

His bride may be fresher in beauty's young flower;
She may blaze in the jewels she brings with her dower.
But passion must chill in Time's pitiless blast;
The one that first loved us will love to the last.

You have left the dear land of the lake and the hill, But its winds and its waters will talk with you still. "Forget not," they whisper, "your love is our debt," And echo breathes softly, "We never forget."

But

The banquet's gay splendors are gleaming around, hearts have flown back o'er the waves of the Sound;

your

They have found the brown home where their pulses

were born;

They are throbbing their way through the trees and the

corn.

There are roofs you remember, — their glory is fled; There are mounds in the churchyard,—one sigh for the dead.

There are wrecks, there are ruins, all scattered around; But Earth has no spot like that corner of ground.

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Here's a bumper to Maine, in the juice of the pump!

Here's to all the good people, wherever they be,
Who have grown in the shade of the liberty-tree;
We all love its leaves, and its blossoms and fruit,
But pray
have a care of the fence round its root.

We should like to talk big; it's a kind of a right,

When the tongue has got loose and the waistband grown

tight;

But, as pretty Miss Prudence remarked to her beau,

On its own heap of compost, no biddy should crow.

Enough! There are gentlemen waiting to talk,
Whose words are to mine as the flower to the stalk.
Stand by your old mother whatever befall;

God bless all her children! Good night to you all!

ODE FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.

CELEBRATION OF THE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION. FEBRUARY 22, 1856.

WELCOME to the day returning,

Dearer still as ages flow,

While the torch of Faith is burning,

Long as Freedom's altars glow!

See the hero whom it gave us

Slumbering on a mother's breast;

For the arm he stretched to save us,
Be its morn forever blest!

Hear the tale of youthful glory,
While of Britain's rescued band

Friend and foe repeat the story,

Spread his fame o'er sea and land,
Where the red cross proudly streaming,

Flaps above the frigate's deck,

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