These are the weapons which a man

Will buckle to his side;

With these, life's battle he may scan

Serene, in honest pride.

These, in the thickest of the fight,

He knows full well to save ;

These, like a true and valiant knight,

He carries to the grave.

7. G. SEIDL.-Männerwaffen.

THE SHEPHERD'S SUNDAY.

It is the Lord's own day.

A lonely plain is stretching round,

One morning chime has yet to sound .

And now it dies away.

A suppliant here I bend.

O breathing silence, dread delight,

What hosts are kneeling, hid from sight,

With mine their vows to blend !

Far as the eye can stray,

The heavens are clear, as though about

Their golden gates to open out.

It is the Lord's own day.

UHLAND.-Schäfer's Sonntagslied.

Has not each bloom been gathered

Each fount begun to fail?'

So long as rolls through ether
The chariot of the sun;

1 Wann wird einst ausgesungen
Das alte, ewge Lied?

So long as gazes upward

Of humankind but one;

So long as, after tempest,

The rainbow spans the sky, And tells one stricken spirit

Of peace and pardon nigh;

So long as night is sowing

The heaven with starry seed,

And of the golden writing

One man the signs can read ;1

So long as in the moonlight

One heart a transport knows;

So long as woods are wooing

One pilgrim to repose;

So lang die Nacht den Aether
Mit Sternensaat besät,
Und noch Ein Mensch die Züge

Der goldnen Schrift versteht.

So long as spring is verdant,
And roses greet the sight;
So long as eyes are smiling,

Or sparkle with delight;

So long as, decked with cypress,
The grave can grief awake;

So long as falls one tear-drop,

One heart is left to break;

So long, on earth a Power,

Shall Poesy abide,

And they whom she has chosen

Shall triumph at her side;

And through the old world singing,

In ages beyond ken,

The last of bards to leave it

Shall be the last of men.