VI. APPEAL TO CHRISTIANS.

For whom this labour, grief and sin?
Daughters of England, can it be,
That in your Isle

You sit and smile,

Yet clad in fruits of Slavery?

"Oh, touch not, taste not, handle not," The produce raised on freedom's grave! Else, while you sigh

O'er Slavery,

You press the links upon the Slave.

For you that strife on Afric's shoreyou that vessel fraught with deathThe blood, the toil,

For

That feed the soil,

The scourged limbs, the wasting breath!

VII.-FREEDOM OF THE GOSPEL.

Christians of England, haste, arise,
The Bond of Brotherhood proclaim;
Christ died to save

The Negro-Slave—

Freedom for all in Jesus' name.

Spirit of Liberty, descend!

And make our hearts with joy forego
Each tempting good,

In clothes or food,

If purchased by a brother's woe.

Let every Nation hand in hand,

In love, and peace, and strength combined,

United be,

One Family,

The Brotherhood af all Mankind.

CAROLINE M. FRY.

"WE ARE NOT OUR OWN."

WE are not our own, to live and die,
Catching at pleasures as they fly;

We are not our own-when a mighty crowd
Cries, with a voice all deep and loud,
"We perish! we perish! oh, give us bread:
"Fill us and feed us, as you have been fed;"
When the pale, shrunk lip, and the hollow eye
Bespeak them fainting, and like to die;
When the strong man groans in his bitterness,
And the infant wails in its weak distress;
Turn not away from the sigh and the moan;
Remember, oh, man, thou art not thine own.

We are not our own-when slavery's blight
Rests on this world, so fair and bright;
When millions of human beings wear
Fetters and chains, and about them bear
Letters blazoned in blood and fire,

That mark them the slaves of oppressors dire;
When war stalks forth with its murderous hand,
And deals desolation and death through the land;
When each man seems eager to stamp on his brow
The Cain-mark of crime, the sighs of woe;
While the lash is uplifted, the war-trumpet blown,
Say, shall we live to ourselves alone?

We are not our own in the eager strife

With truth and error, death and life;

There's a mission of mercy and love to fulfil ;

Shall others be stirring, and we be still?

No! through the length and breadth of the land,
Lift up the voice and stretch the hand;

Shout to the manacled slave-" Be ye free!"

To the warrior" Spare thou, as God spareth thee!"
Give food to the famished, the fainting sustain ;
Seek to strengthen the tempted, alleviate pain;
We dare not live to ourselves alone;

While there's aught to be done, "We are not our

own!"

EMMA S. MATHEWS.

THE ANGEL'S MISSION.

EVEN now a radiant angel goeth forth,
A spirit that hath healing on its wings,

And flieth east and west, and north and south,
To do the bidding of the King of kings;
Stirring men's hearts to compass better things,
And teaching Brotherhood, as that sweet source,
Which holdeth in itself all blessed springs;
And showing how to guide its silver course,
When it shall flood the world with deep exulting force.

And some shall be too indolent to teach,

And some too proud of other men to learn,

And some shall clothe their thoughts in mystic speech,
So that we scarce their meaning may discern;
But all shall feel their hearts within them burn,
(Even those by whom the Holy is denied),
And in their worldly path shall pause and turn,
Because a Presence walketh by their side,

Not of their earthlier mould-but pure and glorified.

And some shall blindly overshoot the mark,
Which others, feeble handed, fail to hit ;

And some-like that lone dove, who left the ark,
With restless and o'er-wearied wing to flit

Over a world by lurid storm-gleams lit―
Shall seek firm landing for a deed of worth,
And see the water-floods still cover it;

For "there are many languages on earth,

But only one in heaven," where all good plans have birth.

Faint not, oh Spirit, in dejected mood,

Thinking how much is planned, how little done;
Revolt not, Heart, though still misunderstood;
For gratitude, of all things 'neath the sun,

Is easier lost-and insecurest won :

Doubt not, clear Mind, that workest out the right For the right's sake-the thin thread must be spun, And patience weave it, ere that sign of might, Truth's banner wave aloft, full flashing to the lightHon. Mrs. NORTON.

THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY THE PEACE CONVENTION HELD IN PARIS, 1849,

GLORIOUS Old Paris! Europe's queenly daughter,
Fair city, wake! rejoice!

Near to thy palaces on Seine's blue water,
Rang that soft, silvery voice,