THE HASTY WORD. We are too swift to judge the hasty word To tell how sure the vengeance. But the heart,- Of lifeless forms, in trappings that they wore, Ere Death's cold care had claimed them. We should hear Wailings of smothered anguish, though no tear May tell it to the world, sounding amid The forms of mournful memories that lie hid In Time's dark treasure-house. The world,—it hath That we should scorn to heed another's pain. ANNA SAVAGE. A PRAYER*. O God! whose ear, in mercy bending, Where'er a sufferer, touched with grief, Each wild flower, 'mid the tempest raging, Pardon for all, the weak, the erring To sooth each sorrow, heal each wound? To thee their prayers in faith preferring! Oh God! let one united chorus For men made brothers rise to Thee! Let men be just! Let man be free! With Charity's sweet mantle o'er us. *From the French of Ernest Lacan, E. FRY. THE NEW ARISTOCRACY. "I do see, and I say it advisedly, a new and noble aristocracy appearing in shops and warehouses, at the desk and behind the counter-the aristocracy of mind, and ready to take the shine' out of the great aristocracy that has preceded them."-Rev. Dr. Cumming, before the Young Men's Christian Association, Feb. 8th, 1848. A title once could only show And men of rank were, years ago, The great ones of the earth; They deemed it just the crowd should shrink They thought it wrong the poor should think, These were the days when books were things And only meant for such. To work the loom, to till the soil, To tread the round of daily toil Was quite enough for them. Time was, when just to read and write Were thought a wondrous deal For those who wake with morning light The man a more submissive slave Now look abroad! the light of Truth And that which fills our English youth 'Tis Mind alone can wield the sword In spite of wealth and rank; The artizan may face a lord With thousands in the bank. We scorn not those of high degree, The prince may act a gayer part, But he who works for bread May have, perchance, a warmer heart, And p'rhaps a clearer head. Then grieve not for the "good old times," Behold a brighter day! The causes of our fathers' crimes Are wearing fast away. Before the Pen, the Press, and Rail, Must old opinions fall; The mighty project cannot fail Then aid it, one and all! TEMPERANCE HYMN. Ruler of earth, and God of heaven, Ruined souls and broken hearts, Taste the drunkard's draught—for ever. J. B. |