In the bright field of Fair Renown,
The right of eminent domain !

*

The heights by great men reached and kept,
Were not attained by sudden flight;
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.

Standing on what too long we bore,
With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern, unseen before,

A path to higher destinies.

Nor deem the irrevocable past
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,

If, rising on its wrecks, at last

To something nobler we attain.

So there is practical, wise, and solid counsel for us here, although perhaps in the "Psalm of Life" Longfellow is sweetest and most powerful-as, indeed, there he is most admirably concise.

PHILANTHROPY

AND

IV. LONGFELLOW'S CHARITY.-Yet the strictly philanthropic and charitable side of the poet remains; and when he calls us to remember the sufferings he has so deeply felt himself, and bids us turn away from our own hours of selfishness or idle enjoyment, there

seems to be a lesson for us, especially in the present day, which is full of so much selfishness, pleasure seeking, money making, and money spending, without a care by those who have for those who want, so that if a man struggles a little to the front himself, he heeds not what becomes of his brother who toils-when, if you have enough for yourselves you cease to feel for the sufferings of others—and, surrounded by comforts, you care not who "goes bare, goes bare."

Friends, whilst at this bitter Christmas season * your houses are lighted up with feasting, and revelry and the songs of rejoicing are ringing through your rooms-a cry of distress comes up, which you cannot well drown, and which you should never forget.

You cannot take up a newspaper without reading of fearful distress in the north of England, where trade is paralyzed to such an extent that hundreds and thousands cannot get the necessaries of life. It is not only the ordinary workman, but the small trader, and the small dealer with whom he deals-the retail dealer-seem at last

* The winter of 1878 was one of unusual severity, coincident with exceptional commercial depression.

to be suffering.

And this sad cry, which has begun too early in the winter, is likely to go on increasing until the spring. And although the present distress may be exceptional-remember, the poor ye have always with you there is never a dearth of famine, or pain, or poverty; and you have no right to be comfortable in your warm homes, unless you have done what you can for the homeless-or to sit at your Christmas feasts, unless you have tried to feed the hungry—or to rejoice, unless you have helped to comfort the afflicted.

The poet shall here take his place in the pulpit, and preach you this short but powerful

sermon :

I have a vague remembrance

Of a story that is told,

In some ancient Spanish legend,

Or chronicle of old.

It was when brave King Sanchez,
Was before Zamora slain,
And his great besieging army

Lay encamped upon the plain.

Don Diego de Ordoñez

Sallied forth in front of all,
And shouted loud his challenge

To the warders on the wall.

All the people of Zamora,

Both born and the unborn,
As traitors did he challenge,
With taunting words of scorn:

The living, in their houses;

And in their graves, the dead; And the waters of their rivers,

And their wine, and oil, and bread!

There is a greater army,

That besets us round with strife,—

A starving, numberless army,

At all the gates of life.

The poverty-stricken millions,

Who challenge our wine and bread,
And impeach us all as traitors,
Both the living and the dead.

And whenever I sit at the banquet,
Where the feast and song are high,
Amid the mirth and the music
I can hear that fearful cry.

And hollow and haggard faces
Look into the lighted hall,

And wasted hands are extended
To catch the crumbs that fall.

For within there is light and plenty,
And odours fill the air;

But without there is cold and darkness,
And hunger and despair.

And there in the camp of famine,

In wind, and cold, and rain,
Christ, the great Lord of the army,
Lies dead upon the plain !

V. LONGFELLOW'S FAITH AND HOPE.-So with thoughts like these we come to our last poem of "The Christmas Bells." They are about to sound a very sad peal to some of us, with much of mournful irony, when we think how far we are from that peace on earth and good will towards men of which they are meant to remind us. And some perhaps are inclined to take a pessimist view of life, as they recall the bright and beneficent doctrines of Christianity, and perceive how little effect they have in allaying, not only the distress and sorrow, but the violence and malice of the world about us. And others ask, where is God? Why does He not show His arm? Why does He not disperse want, and hunger, and sin? Why does He not put a stop to war? If people are Christians, and the kingdoms of this world are becoming the kingdoms of our God and of His Christ, why does not Christianity triumph? why do not men settle disputes by arbitration? why do nations rise one against another? why are