Which now afar o'er many a vale and mountain,
With strains sublime,

Bids welcome to thy bright and sunny fountain,
Sons of a distant clime!

Thou, from whose garments, dyed in blood for ages,
Sad pity weeping turns;

Thou, whose dark story traced on history's pages,
With blood-stained vision burns.

Through the dim light of half-forgotten story,
Their light we trace,

Flinging a shadow on thy wreath of glory,
Its glancing hues to chase.

From the dark days of priestly pomp and

When the stern Guise held sway,

power,

And the dark brand which stained the midnight hour, Dared not the light of day;

From the sad tale of murdered Huguenot,

When the fierce purple flood

Through thy dark streets still flowed, and ceasing not,
Swept a full tide of blood!

Trace we the links which slowly still unwinding,
Rivet a lengthening chain;

In one wide ruin peer and peasant binding,
Beneath dark terror's reign!

Sweet are those murmurs through the calm air ringing; Bright earth, rejoice!

Even from blood-steeped Paris hope is springingHail, cheering voice!

For glad words, once with angel music blending,
Are heard again;

“Peace through all regions of the world extending, Good will to men!"

LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.

ANGRY looks can do no good,

And blows are dealt in blindness;
Words are better understood,

If spoken but in kindness.

Simple love far more hath wrought
Although by childhood muttered
Than all the battles ever fought,

Or oaths that men have uttered.

Friendship oft would longer last,
And quarrels be prevented,
If little words were let go past,
Forgiven-not resented.

LYDIA.

Foolish things are frowns and sneers,
For angry thoughts reveal them ;
Rather drown them all in tears,

Than let another feel them.

WHAT MIGHT BE DONE?

WHAT might be done, if men were wise,
What glorious deeds, my suffering brother,
Would they unite,

In love and right,

And cease their scorn of one another?

Oppression's heart might be imbued
With kindling drops of loving kindness,
And knowledge pour,

From shore to shore,

Light on the eyes of mental blindness.

All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs,
All vice and crime might die together;
And wine and corn,

To each man born,

Be free as warmth in summer weather.

J. B.

The meanest wretch that ever trod,

The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow,
Might stand erect

In self-respect,

And share the teeming world to-morrow.

What might be done? This might be done, And more than this, my suffering brotherMore than the tongue

E'er said or sung,

If men were wise, and loved each other.

C. MACKAY.

THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE.

To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God's meekest angel gently comes:
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet, in tend'rest love, our dear
And heav'nly Father sends him here.

There's quiet in that angel's glance-
There's rest in his still countenance :
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,

Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure-

He kindly learns us to endure.

Angel of patience! sent to calm
Our fev'rish brow with cooling palm-
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will.

Oh, thou who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day!
He walks with thee that angel kind—
And gently whispers, "Be resigned !
Bear up, bear on the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well.

J. G. WHITTIER.

THE WORKERS.

WHо blushes for labour-for honest toil?
Who scorneth the rough, hard hand?

It is nobler far to till the soil,

Than simply to own the land.

Uncultur'd by man, only briers and thorns
Will the earth to its children yield;

But blest with his labour the wilderness blooms,
And the waste is a fruitful field.