There in the pastoral homes whose hearths What taint is alive in that free, clear air, These wandering daughters to us? Ah, me! to see the faces that haunt And then to think of the mother's hope, As she smiles on the babe on her breast? They dream of the girl in her bridal dress, O City, rich in money and men, And richer in work divine! Whose is the sorrow and whose the sin ? That the sorrow and sin can be cleansed away Enough to know that the broken heart Needs the beauty of Christ to mend it; That ere we labor to kill the sin, We must labor to comprehend it. We men are narrow, and harsh, and vain, But oh! to gaze on the crowded street Where the sinners wander forlorn ; THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. And then to kiss our daughters and wives And our little babes new-born! To see the sin and sorrow flaunt When the beautiful day is done, And then to think of the homeless heart THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.-F. M. FINCH. BY the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Waiting the judgment-day; Under the one, the Blue, Under the other, the Gray. These in the robings of glory, 127 128 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. So, with an equal splendor, The morning sun-rays fall, So, when the Summer calleth, Sadly, but not with upbraiding, No more shall the war-cry sever, They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead! Waiting the judgment-day; Tears and love for the Gray. NOBODY'S CHILD. NOBODY'S CHILD.-PHILO H. CHILD. ALONE, in the dreary, pitiless street, With my torn old dress and bare cold feet, Just over the way there's a flood of light, Are caroling songs in rapture there, Oh! what shall I do when the night comes down On the cold, hard pavements alone to die, When the beautiful children their prayers have said, Why is it, I wonder, that I'm nobody's child? No father, no mother, no sister, not one In all the world loves me; e'en the little dogs run And a host of white-robed, nameless things, . 129 130 MEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FREEDOM. A hand that is strangely soft and fair And a voice like the carol of some wild bird The sweetest voice that ever was heard Calls me many a dear pet name, Till my heart and spirits are all aflame; And tells me of such unbounded love, I am going up to the world of light, And away from the hunger and storms so wild- MEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FREEDOM.-T. B. MACAULAY. THER HERE is only one cure for the evils which newly-acquired freedom produces, and that cure is freedom! When a prisoner leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light of day; he is unable to discriminate colors or recognize faces; but the remedy is not to remand him into his dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder nations which have become half blind in the house of bondage; but let them gaze on and they will soon be able to bear it. In a few years men learn to reason; the extreme violence of opinion subsides; hostile theories correct each other; the scattered elements of truth cease to conflict, and begin to coalesce; and, at length, a system of justice and order is educed out of the chaos. Many politicians of our time are in the habit of laying it down as a self-evident proposition, that no people ought to be free till they are fit to use their freedom. The maxim is worthy of the fool in the old story, who resolved not to go into the water till he had learned to swim! If men are to wait for liberty till they become wise and good in slavery, they may, indeed, wait forever! |