He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP. Near the camp-fire's flickering light, in my blanket bed I lie, As I breathe my childhood's prayer," Now I lay me down to sleep." THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. Two soldiers, lying where they fell In daytime, foes; at night, in peace, Breathing their lives away. Brave hearts had stirred each manly breast; Fate only made them foes; And lying, dying, side by side, A softened feeling rose. "Our time is short," one faint voice said. "To-day we've done our best On different sides. What matters now? To-morrow we're at rest. Life lies behind. I might not care For only my own sake; But far away are other hearts That this day's work will break. "Among New Hampshire's snowy hills A woman, and a little girl And at the thought broke forth, at last, That would no longer be repressed, "O God! my wife and child!"' And," said the other dying man, "Across the Georgia plain There watch and wait for me loved ones A little girl with dark bright eyes "To-day we sought each other's lives; For soon before God's mercy-seat Forgive each other while we may ; And, right or wrong, the morning sun And the little girl with golden hair, On Hampshire's hills and Georgia plain, UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES. What are the thoughts that are stirring his breast? What is the mystical vision he sees? "Let us pass over the river, and rest Under the shade of the trees?" Has he grown sick of his toils and his tasks? Is it the far Shenandoah, whose rush Oft-time had come to him borne on the breeze, Over his tent, as he lay in the hush, Under the shade of the trees? Nay, though the rasp of the flesh was so sore, Faith, that had yearnings far keener than these, Saw the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore, Under the shade of the trees. Caught the high psalms of ecstatic delight,— Heard the harps harping like soundings of seas, Saw earth's pure-hearted ones walking in white Surely for him it was well,-it was best, War-worn, yet asking no furlough of ease, PATRIOTISM AND FREEDOM. Insensible to high heroic deeds Is there a spirit clothed in mortal weeds, Devoted to his country's glory, Shedding for freeman's rights his generous blood— Quivering nerve and glistening eye, Feeling within a spark of heavenly flame, That with the hero's worth may humble kindred claim? If such there be, still let him plod On the dull, foggy paths of care, Nor raise his eyes from the dank sod To view creation fair : What boots to him the wondrous works of God; His soul with brutal things hath ta'en its earthly lair. DEAR COUNTRY MINE! Dear country mine! far in that viewless west, BORDER SONG. March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the queen and the old Scottish glory. Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing, Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Stand to your arms, then, and march in good order. When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. 181. FROM "THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL." JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. For a cap and bells our lives we pay, Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking: 'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 'Tis only God may be had for the asking; And what is so rare as a day in June? An instinct within it that reaches and towers, The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green, The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives; And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; Now is the high-tide of the year, And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer. Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by; For other couriers we should not lack; We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,- 182. THE WAY TO HEAVEN. Heaven is not gained at a single bound; That a noble deed is a step towards God,- We rise by things that are 'neath our feet; When the morning calls us to life and light, We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, And we think that we mount the air on wings Wings for the angels, but feet for the men! |