The Songs of Our Fathers. "Sing aloud Old songs, the precious music of the heart." ING them upon the sunny hills, SIN When days are long and bright, Sing them along the misty moor, Where ancient hunters roved; And swell them through the torrent's roarThe songs our fathers loved. The songs their souls rejoiced to hear, And each proud note made lance and spear The songs that through our valleys green, Sent on from age to age, Like his own river's voice, have been The peasant's heritage. The reaper sings them when the vale Is filled with plumy sheaves; The woodman, by the starlight pale Cheered homeward through the leaves: And unto them the glancing oars A joyous measure keep, Where the dark rocks that crest our shores Dash back the foaming deep. So let it be !- —a light they shed A memory of the gentle dead, THE DAY IS DONE. Murmuring the names of mighty men, And link high thoughts to every glen Teach them your children round the hearth, And on the hills of deer: So shall each unforgotten word, When far those loved ones roam, The green woods of their native land The voices of their household band MRS. FELICIA HEMANS. THE The Day is Done. HE day is done, and the darkness As a feather is wafted downward I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist; And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist; 3 A feeling of sadness and longing, As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Not from the grand old masters, For, like strains of martial music, Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, Such songs have power to quiet Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice; And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. THE SPLENDOR FALLS. And the night shall be filled with music, HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. The Splendor Falls. HE splendor falls on castle walls, THE And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying; O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! O love! they die on yon rich sky; They faint on hill, or field, or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying; And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. ALFRED TENNYSON. Song of the Stars. HEN the radiant morn of creation broke, WHEN And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath, 5 And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame, And this was the song the bright ones sang : Away, , away, through the wide, wide sky, The fair, blue fields that before us lie, Each sun, with the worlds that round him roll, "For the source of glory uncovers his face, "Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, In the infinite azure, star after star, How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass! How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass! And the path of the gentle winds is seen, Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean. "And see, "Away, away! in our blossoming bowers, |