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would the gift I offer here Might graces from thy favor take, And, seen through Friendship's atmosphere, On softened lines and coloring, wear The unaccustomed light of beauty, for thy sake.
Few leaves of Fancy's spring remain : But what I have I give to thee,_ The o'er-sunned bloom of summer's plain, And paler flowers, the latter rain Calls from o westering slope of life's autumnal €3.
Above the fallen groves of green, Where youth's enchanted forest stood, Dry root and mosséd trunk between, A sober after-growth is seen, As springs the pine where falls the gay-leafed
Yet birds will sing, and breezes play Their leaf-harps in the sombre tree; And through the bleak and wintry day It keeps its steady green alway,+ So, even my after-thoughts may have a charm for thee.
Art's perfect forms no moral need, And beauty is its own excuse; " But for the dull and flowerless weed Some healing virtue still must plead, And the rough ore must find its honors in its use.
So haply these, my simple lays Of homely toil, may serve to show The orchard bloom and tasselled maize That skirt and gladden duty's ways, The unsung beauty hid life's common things below
Haply from them the toiler, bent Above his forge or plough, may gain A manlier spirit of content, And feel that life is wisest spent Where the strong working hand makes strong the working brain.
The doom which to the guilty pair Without the walls of Eden came, Transforming sinless ease to care And rugged toil, no more shall bear The burden of old crime, or mark of primal shame.
A blessing now—a curse no more; Since He, whose name we breathe with awe, The coarse mechanic vesture wore, A poor man toiling with the poor, In labor, as in prayer, fulfilling the same law
SONGS OF LABOR.
THE sky is ruddy in the East,
Hark!—roars the bellows, blast on blast,
From far-off hills, the panting team
Up!—up !—in nobler toil than ours
Where'er the keel of our good ship
Her oaken ribs the vulture-beak
Ho!—strike away the bars and blocks,
Why lingers on these dusty rocks
Look 1 how she moves adown the grooves,
How lowly on the breast she loves
God bless her l wheresoe'er the breeze