To the true eye than their shapes show; for all
Were made in love, and made to be beloved.
Thus must he think as to earth's lower life,
Who seeks to win the world to thought and love,
As doth the bard whose habit is all kindness
To every thing. Kindness is wisdom.
Give me the hand that is warm, kind and ready;
Give me the clasp that is calm, true and steady;
Give me the hand that will never deceive me ;
Give me its grasp that I aye may believe thee.
Soft is the palm of the delicate woman!
Hard is the hand of the rough sturdy yeoman!
Soft palm or hard hand, it matters not―never!
Give me the grasp that is friendly forever.
Give me the hand that is true as a brother;
Give me the hand that has harmed not another;
Give me the hand that has never foreswore it ;
Give me the grasp that I aye may adore it.
Lovely the palm of the fair blue-vein'd maiden!
Horny the hand of the workman o'erladen!
Lovely or ugly, it matters not-never!
Give me the grasp that is friendly forever.
Give me the grasp that is honest and hearty,
Free as the breeze, and unshackled by party;
Let friendship give me the grasp that become her,
Close as the twine of the vines of the summer.
Give me the hand that is true as a b. other; Give me the hand that has wrong'd not another; Soft palm, or hard hand, it matters not-never! Give me the grasp that is friendly forever.
Open not your purse alone,
Its lucre to impart ;
Of the two 'tis better far
You freely ope your heart.
That which wrings the bosom most,
Your money wont allay;
Sympathy's the sun that turns
Its darkness into day.
For the body, if ye will,
Your bread and broth still dole;
Love's the only nourishment
That satisfies the soul.
Gingling change like that ye give,
May please the baser part,
But kind and gentle words and looks
Alone can reach the heart.
Warmth's not all the poor demand,
Nor shelter, nor yet food:-
Ye who pause, bestowing these,
Withhold the greater good.
What they want, and what require
All things else above,
Is kindly interest in their fate,
And sympathy, and love.
Mine is the little hand, puny and weak,
Ours are the thousand arms, mountains to break
Mine is the atom of clay for the grave,
Ours is the earth, with hill, valley and wave.
Mine will evanish like corpse in the sod,
Ours will arise to the heaven of God!
Mine is the secret prayer, breathed low and lone,
Ours is the organ of conquering tone ;
Mine is the little flower nurtured in dearth,
Ours are the blossoming Edens of Earth,
Mine will evanish like corpse in the sod,
Ours will arise to the heaven of. God,
Mine is the brain that, but gleams like a spark,
Ours are the thoughts like stars lighting the dark,
Mine is the heart that beats fearfully hurled,
Ours are the heart throbs that gladden the world.
Mine will evanish like corpse in the sod,
Ours will arise to the heaven of God
Mine is the hermit-life lone in its hours
Ours are humanity's love, thoughts and powers,
Mine, scarcely mine is this frame doomed to fall,
Ours is our God common parent of all;
Mine will ev anish like corps in the sod,
Ours will arise to the heaven of God.
LEGH RICHMOND, being asked to write in an Alḥum,
if it were but two lines, wrote,
Can two lines teach a lesson from above?
Yes, one can give a volume,-"God is Love."
Hush the loud cannon's roar,
The frantic warrior's call!
Why should the earth be drenched with gore?
Are we not brothers all?
Want, from the wretch depart!
Chains from the captive fall!
Sweet Mercy, melt the oppressor's heart,
Sufferers are brothers al!.
Churches and sects, strike down
Each mean partition wall!
Let Charity unkindness drown,-
Christians are brothers all.
Let love and truth alone
Hold human hearts in thrall
That heaven its work at length may own,
And men be brothers all.
The band of Commerce was designed
To, associate all the branches of mankind;
And, if a boundless plenty be the robe,
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe.
Wise to promote whatever end he means,
God opens fruitful nature's various scenes.
Each climate needs what other climes produce,
And offers something to the general use;
No land but listens to the common call,
And, in return receives supply from all.
This genial intercourse, and mutual aid,
Cheers what were else a universal shade,
Calls nature from her ivy-mantled den,
And softens human rock-work into men.
Ingenious art, with her expressive face,
Steps forth to fashion and refine the race;
Not only fills necessity's demand,
But overcharges her capacious hand :
Capricious taste itself can ask no more
Than she supplies from her abounding store;
She strikes out all that luxury can ask,
And gains new vigor at her endless task.
Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire,
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre ;
From her the canvass borrows light and shade;
And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade.
She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys,
Gives difficulty all the grace of ease,
And pours a torrent of sweet notes around,
Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound.
"Not to myself alone,"
The little opening flower transported cries"Not to myself alone I bud and bloom;
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