Part 13 (2/2)

”Pray that your mind be strong and clear, And vigorous your frame, Your heart inspir'd with love and fear For your Creator's name.”

A HERO'S DECISION.

He just had reached the time of life, When cares are felt by men, But when they're strong to bear them well,-- A score of years and ten.

”Heigh ho!” says he, ”and this is life, The dream of earlier years, In which we see so much of joy, And naught of bitter tears.

”I've lived a half a score of years, In search of fame and glory, For all earth's boasted joys I've sought, But ah! what is the story?”

The story! 'tis the same old tale, Told long, long years ago, But strange, each for himself must learn This earth's a 'fleeting show.'

”The dreams of sanguine, hopeful youth, Are chiefly dreams alone, Whose falseness often breaks the heart, Or turns it into stone.

Fame's or ambition's giddy height Is only seldom gain'd, And often half the pleasure leaves, Just when the height's attain'd.”

But still I strive, and still I hope, And still I fight the battle, Besieg'd by earth's artillery, With all its horrid rattle.

Then come, ye mocking earthly foes, E'en come like fiends of h.e.l.l, I'll fight the battle till I die, And I will fight it well.

”I'll change my tactics quickly, tho', Fight on a diff'rent line, And on my waving battle flag, I'll mark a diff'rent sign.

Until this present moment, I Have fought in single strife, But I will fight no more alone, I'll get myself a wife.

We'll then fight all who dare oppose, E'en should it be her brother, And when we've vanquish'd all our foes, We'll turn and fight each other.”

ODE TO MAN.

A man is not what oft he seems, On this terrestrial sphere, No pow'r to wield, no honor'd place, Oft curb his spirit here.

He knows not what within him lies, Until his pow'rs be tried, And when for them some use is found, They spring from where they hide,

To startle and to puzzle him, Who never knew their force, Because his unfreed spirit kept A low and shackl'd course.

Dishearten'd and despairing, he Had often sigh'd alone, Not thinking that in other ways His spirit might have grown.

Not thinking that another course, Which needed pluck and vim, Might raise his drowning spirit high, And teach it how to swim;

To battle with the rolling tide, That hurries onward men, And raise his head above the waves, That come and go again.

A SWAIN TO HIS SWEETHEART.

What subtle charm is in thy voice, That ever, when I hear its tone, My heart doth pleasantly rejoice, And fondly turns to thee alone?

The mem'ries of a toilsome life Are banish'd by its potent spell, And earthly care, and earthly strife, No whisper'd sorrows dare to tell.

Where hope had fled, new hope inspires; Comes life, where lately life had gone; New purposes my bosom fires, To battle hard and bravely on.

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