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The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,

His brow was sad; his eye beneath
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath;
And like a silver clarion rung

The accents of that unknown tongue,

In happy homes he saw the light

Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,

"Try not the pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead; The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior!

"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered with a sigh,

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branchBeware the awful avalanche !"

This was the peasant's last good night:
A voice replied, far up the height,

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of St. Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,

A voice cried through the startled air,

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay;
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real-life is earnest

And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act-act in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footsteps on the sands of time. Footsteps, that perhaps another

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and ship-wrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us then be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.


I shot an arrow into the air,

It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where ;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak,
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

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Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams? O, no! from that blue tent above, A hero's armor gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise,
When I behold afar,

Suspended in the evening skies,
The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;
Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,
And I am strong again.

Within my breast there is no light, But the cold light of stars;

I give the first watch of the night To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,
And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.

O, fear not in a world like this, And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong.


A new year of labor has begun in the stillness of winter. In the moral world, however, the fields are ever white for the harvest, and the reaper has only to put in the sickle, and do his part towards the great in-gathering. There are no seasons of repose to the reformer. It is ever, with him, seed-time and harvest. Though the seed he scatters broadcast over the world, is invisible to the unanointed eye, it is still a reality-the only reality-for that seed is truth. It becomes him ever to be ready, with his loins girded, and his seed in his hand, to go abroad, scattering the unseen, but almighty germs of happiness. Much discouragement and disheartening will he meet with from a froward and perverse generation-because they look still for an outward redemption, for an earthly Messiah. The evils of outward condition absorb their sight. They scoff at, and belie, and, it may be, crucify him who would draw them from their physical bondage, by the mighty

leading of great principles. What they do not see with their eyes, they cannot receive. Their faith in the unseen God, is but traditional, and not vital. He is an unknown God to them as much as he was to the scoffing Athenians. They do not believe in the soul, but in the body. Motion is to them volition -action is thought-meeting-houses are religionstate-houses are government. They do not look behind the shows and forms with which the world is filled, and discern the secret principles which they outshadow. This it is that makes the path of the reformer hard. He is misunderstood. His method is not comprehended. The connection between his means and his ends is not perceived-and men say, he hath a devil and is mad. But, still, he hath his reward. The veil is lifted from his eyes, in degree as he is true and worthy, and he sees the secrets of the machinery in the midst of whose operations he lives. He discerns the causes of its disarrangements, and how it is that a Divine contrivance for the happiness of mankind, has become perverted to their misery and wo. He sees that no half measures are of any virtue. False and disturbing principles have been introduced which destroy the harmony of the machine, and make it produce results the opposite of the Inventor's design. Nothing can repair the ruin but the removal of the disturbing forces, and the restoration of the true motive power. To this work he applies himself, and proclaims aloud the error which has obtained, and the remedy for it. He heeds not the sneers of the faithless, nor the doubts of the timid good. He knows that he has an omnipotent engine in his hands, which, though he may not live to see the day, will rectify the disordered frame of things, and reduce the chaotic scene to order and beauty.

How few there are who truly perceive the omnipotence of a principle! How is the true life concealed by its visible manifestations! And yet can there be anything more apparent than that principles of Truth are all that is conservative and recuperative in the world? And that the dissemination and true reception of these principles, are the only means by which abuses can be reformed? And yet men will look at Presidents, and Congresses, and Courts, for the help which they themselves alone can give themselves. Outward victory-the ascendancy of this or that party-the predomination of this or that sect is regarded as the sign of reform and of progress. And yet, how continually has disappointment been written on every page of history that has recorded such triumphs! As wise were the fanatic reformers who destroyed miracles of art and of architecture, thinking that thereby they exterminated Popery-or the republican zealots who rifled the sepulchres of St. Denys, and scattered to the winds the ashes of a hundred kings, as an additional bulwark of freedom. It is by slow degrees, and difficult experience, that the world grows wise-for, by a

strange infirmity, it is apt to look upon the old errors and sins of the past, as precedents to be followed, rather than as warnings to be shunned. But it will yet grow wise, and learn the things that pertain unto peace.

This has ever been the process of reform, as far as it has yet effected the interests of mankind. A single mind perceives a truth, which had been before hidden from men's eyes-because they would not see it. He that has perceived the truth, states it. The mass of men reject it and him. Perhaps they persecute him to strange cities, or even unto death itself. Whatever be the form in which men revenge themselves upon those who disturb them in their hereditary slumbers, in the particular age in which he lives, he is sure to eudure it. But almost from the very first, there are some minds to which the new truth commends itself, as a newly-discovered part of their own being, and these cluster around the original truth-founder. Perhaps they but imperfectly understand its meaning and the extent of its bearing; but according to their capacity, they are filled with its power. From them the circle widens and widens till it embraces within its ring a sea, or perhaps, an ocean. This was the truth which Christ shadowed forth in the parables of the grain of mustard seed, and of the leaven which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal. And how strong an illustration does his own mission furnish of this growth of reform! Even his disciples, during his life, and even after his death, but imperfectly comprehended his doctrine. And what lies have been extorted from it, from that day to this! What streams of human blood has the Prince of Peace been made to shed! Of what abominations has he not been made the patron and the founder. The world is but little in advance of his contemporaries in the reception of the great truths which he perceived and stated. But still there are some minds which do begin to discern with a perfect vision the laws of the soul, and to recognize their Divine beauty and almighty power. The circumstances of the times are in many respects favorable to their more general reception. The great doctrine of the equality and brotherhood of mankind is now, in this country at least, universally acknowledged, though in but too many instances with lying lips. This great idea is becoming more and more practically familiar to men's minds. Gross physical persecution is almost obsolete. The right of free inquiry and discussion is admitted by almost all lips, though denied by many hearts, and still obstructed by inveterate prejudice, spiritual tyranny, and sometimes by popular violence. The old ideas are losing their hold upon men's minds, and the institutions that stand for them are tottering to their foundations. Men are looking about them for some surer foundation on which to build their hopes, and some will be found ready to embrace the only ground of truth. A state of moral

movement prevails, which is the atmosphere in which reform takes deepest root, and sheds forth its most vigorous branches. These are hopeful days for the reformer. Let him not allow the appointed time to pass by unimproved.

And let not his soul be troubled because his progress seems to be slow. The generation in whose ears he first utters the unwelcome message may refuse to receive it—but how soon it melts away, and another reigns in its stead! At first, it seems almost impossible to produce any impression upon the unbelieving multitudes in the high places and in the Icw places. But by the gradual, but mighty, process of nature, the world is by degrees filled with new life, and the old passes silently into the sepulchre of the past. The mighty men who seemed to fill up the whole field of vision now, whither will twenty years bear them away? Whence have come the new multitudes which throng this breathing world, that were but just born into time a score of years since? What a change has come over men's minds in the quarter century that has passed over the world since Napoleon shook the scene! With new minds come new ideas-and with new ideas, will, in due time, come a new world. What a change will twenty years make in the aspect of the anti-slavery movement, for example, should chattle slavery endure so long! Where will be Webster, and Tyler, and Clay, and Calhoun ? Where will be the troops of honorable and reverend asserters of the divinity and inviolability of the peculiar institution? They will be all gone, and their places will be filled by a race taught in other schools. So with respect to the systems of violence with which the earth is filled. The pillars of these systems will have fallen. Younger minds, pervaded with new views, will suc. ceed them, and by degrees the institutions of society will conform to the changed current of men's minds. Mighty revolutions will be achieved without a blow, and freedom and happiness purchased without the price of bloodshed and misery. The leaven will change the mass of society just as fast and as far as its virtue pervades it. Nothing can retard the progress of this peaceful revolution-for its theatre is the unseen soul. Its battles are there fought and won. It is from thence that its triumphal movements, which are to be seen in the out, ward world, are projected. In this revolution of thoughts and opinions, we must all needs take a part, whether we will or no. It rests with ourselves to decide whether our part shall be magnanimous or pitiful-whether our efforts shall be directed to spread or retard the coming triumph.

MY PHILOSOPHY. Bright things can never die, E'en though they fadeBeauty and minstrelsy Deathless were made.

What though the summer day
Passes at eve away,

Doth not the moon's soft ray
Silence the night?-
"Bright things can never die,"
Saith my philosophy-
Phoebus, though he pass by.

Leaves us his light.

Kind words can never die-
Spoken in jest,

God knows how deep they lie
Stored in the breast;
Like childhood's simple rhymes,
Said o'er a thousand times,
Aye-in all years and climes,

Distant and near.
"Kind words can never die,"
Saith my philosophy-
Deep in the soul they lie,

God knows how dear.

Childhood can never die—
Wrecks of the past
Float on the memory

E'en to the last.

Many a happy thing-
Many a daisied Spring,

Flown on Time's ceaseless wing,
Far, far away.

"Childhood can never die," Saith my philosophyWrecks of our infancy

Live on for aye.

Sweet fancies never die—
They leave behind
Some fairy legacy

Stored in the mind-
Some happy thought or dream,
Pure as day's earliest beam
Kissing the gentle stream,

In the lone glade.

Yet though these things pass by,
Saith my philosophy-
"Bright things can never die,
F'en though they fade."



The highest gifts my soul has received, during its world-pilgrimage, have often been bestowed by those who were poor, both in money and intellectual cultivation. Among these donors, I particularly remember a hard-working, uneducated mechanic, from Indiana or Illinois. He told me that he was one of thirty or forty New Englanders, who, twelve years

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