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The Union! The Union! Its heavenly light

Cheers the hearts of the nations who grope in the night-
And, athwart the wide ocean, falls, gilding the tides,

A path to the country where Freedom abides!
Division! No, never! The Union forever!
And cursed be the hand that our country would sever!

The Union! The Union! In God we repose!
We confide in the Power that vanquish'd our foes!
The God of our fathers-oh, still may He be
The strength of the Union, the hope of the free!
Division! No, never! The Union forever!
And cursed be the hand that our country would sever!

LINCOLN AT SPRINGFIELD.

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom."

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HERE stood a man in the West Countrie,
Slender and tall, and gaunt was he;

His form was not cast in a courtier's mould,
But his eye was bright, and his bearing bold.
A crowd had gather'd to hear him speak,
And the blood surged up in his sunburn'd cheek;
Familiar with toil was his outstretch'd hand,
For a man of the people was he,

Who had learn'd to obey ere call'd to command:
Such men are the pride of the West Countrie.

"My friends

elected by your choice,

From the long-cherish'd home I go,

Endear'd by heaven-permitted joys,

Sacred by heaven-permitted woe.

I go, to take the helm of state,
While loud the waves of faction roar,
And by His aid, supremely great,
Upon whose will all tempests wait,
I hope to steer the bark to shore.

Not since the days when Washington
To battle led our patriots on,

Have clouds so dark above us met,
Have dangers dire so close beset.

"And he had never saved the land
By deeds in human wisdom plann'd,
But that with Christian faith he sought
Guidance and blessing where he ought.
Like him, I seek for aid divine-

His faith, his hope, his trust, are mine.
Pray for me, friends, that God may make
My judgment clear, my duty plain;

For if the Lord no wardship take,

The watchmen mount the towers in vain.”

He ceased; and many a manly breast
Panted with strong emotion's swell,
And many a lip the sob suppress'd,
And tears from manly eyelids fell.
And hats came off, and heads were bow'd,
As Lincoln slowly moved away;
And then, heart-spoken, from the crowd,
In accents earnest, clear, and loud,

Came one brief sentence:

We will pray!"

BILL AND JOE.

OME, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by-

COM

The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright as morning dew,
The lusty days of long ago,

When you were Bill and I was Joe.

Your name may flaunt a titled trail,
Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail;
And mine as brief appendix wear
As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare;

To-day, old friend, remember still

That I am Joe and you are Bill.

You've won the great world's envied prize, And grand you look in people's eyes,

With HON. and L L. D.,

In big brave letters, fair to see

Your fist, old fellow! off they go!-
How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe?

You've worn the judge's ermine robe;
You've taught your name to half the globe;
You've sung mankind a deathless strain;
You've made the dead past live again:
The world may call you what it will,
But you and I are Joe and Bill.

The chaffing young folks stare and say,
"See those old buffers, bent and gray;
They talk like fellows in their teens!
Mad, poor old boys! That's what it means
And shake their heads; they little know
The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe-

How Bill forgets his hour of pride,
While Joe sits smiling at his side;
How Joe, in spite of time's disguise,
Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill.

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust:
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe?

The weary idol takes his stand,

Holds out his bruised and aching hand,

While gaping thousands come and go-
How vain it seems, this empty show!
Till all at once his pulses thrill:
'Tis poor old Joe's "God bless you, Bill!"

And shall we breathe in happier spheres
The names that pleased our mortal ears,
In some sweet lull of harp and song,
For earth-born spirits none too long,
Just whispering of the world below,
Where this was Bill, and that was Joe?

No matter; while our home is here
No sounding name is half so dear;
When fades at length our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say?
Read on the hearts that love us still,
Hic jacet Joe. Hic jacet Bill.

RING OUT, WILD BELLS!

An Invocation to the New Year.

ING out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

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The flying cloud, the frosty light; The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;

Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.

B

OLD.

OY the wayside, on a mossy stone,
Sat a hoary pilgrim sadly musing;
Oft I marked him sitting there alone,
All the landscape like a page perusing;
Poor, unknown—

By the wayside, on a mossy stone.

Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimmed hat,
Coat as ancient as the form 't was folding,
Silver buttons, queue, and crimped cravat,
Oaken staff, his feeble hand upholding,
There he sat!

Buckled knee and shoe, and broad-rimmed hat.

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