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Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus,

Unintermitting, goes up into heaven!

Labor is glory!-the flying cloud Only the waving wing changes and lightens; brightens;

Idle hearts only the dark future frightens;

Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune!

Never the ocean wave falters in flow- Labor is rest,- from the sorrows that

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OSGOOD.

Droop not, though shame, sin, and

anguish are round thee! Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee!

Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee!

Rest not content in thy darkness, -a clod!

slowly;
Work-for some good, be it ever so

lowly:
Cherish some flower, be it ever so

Labor!-all labor is noble and

holy:

Let thy great deeds be thy prayer
to thy God.

KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.

BEFORE THE PRIME.

You think you love me, Marguerite,
Because you find Love's fancy sweet;
So, zealously, you seek a sign
To prove your heart is wholly mine.

Ah, were it so! But listen, dear!
Bethink you how, this very year,
With fond impatience you were fain
To watch the earth grow green again;

When April's violets, here and there,
Surprised the unexpectant air,
You searched them out, and brought

me some,

To show, you said, that spring was

come.

But, sweetheart, when the lavish May
Rained flowers and fragrance round

your way,

You had no thought her bloom to
bring,

To prove the presence of the spring!

Believe me, when Love's April-time
Shall ripen to its perfect prime,
You will not need a sign to know
What every glance and breath will
show!

DRIVING HOME THE COWS.

OUT of the clover and blue-eyed grass
He turned them into the river lane;
One after another he let them pass,
Then fastened the meadow - bars
again.

Under the willows, and over the hill,
He patiently followed their sober
pace;
The merry whistle for once was still,
And something shadowed the sun-
ny face.

Only a boy! and his father had said
He never could let his youngest go:
Two already were lying dead,
Under the feet of the trampling
foe.

But after the evening work was done,
And the frogs were loud in the

meadow-swamp,
Over his shoulder he slung his gun,
And stealthily followed the foot-
path damp.

Across the clover, and through the

wheat,

With resolute heart and purpose grim, [him. rying feet, Though cold was the dew on his hur

And the blind bat's flitting startled

Thrice since then had the lanes been white,

And the orchards sweet with applebloom;

And now, when the cows came back at night,

The feeble father drove them home.

farm For news had come to the lonely

That three were lying where two had lain;

And the old man's tremulous, pal- And worn and pale, from the crisp

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I FOUND a fellow-worker when I deemed I toiled alone:

My toil was fashioning thought and sound, and his was hewing stone;

I worked in the palace of my brain, he in the common street;

And it seemed his toil was great and hard, while mine was great and sweet.

I said, "O fellow-worker, yea, for I am a worker too,

The heart nigh fails me many a day, but how is it with you?
For while I toil, great tears of joy will sometimes fill my eyes,
And when I form my perfect work, it lives and never dies.

"I carve the marble of pure thought until the thought takes form,
Until it gleams before my soul and makes the world grow warm;
Until there comes the glorious voice and words that seem divine,
And the music reaches all men's hearts and draws them into mine.
"And yet for days it seems my heart shall blossom never more,
And the burden of my loneliness lies on me very sore:
Therefore, O hewer of the stones that pave base human ways,
How canst thou bear the years till death, made of such thankless days ?"

Then he replied: "Ere sunrise, when the pale lips of the day
Sent forth an earnest thrill of breath at warmth of the first ray,
A great thought rose within me, how, while men asleep had lain,

The thousand labors of the world had grown up once again.

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The sun grew on the world, and on my soul the thought grew too,

A great appalling sun, to light my soul the long day through.

I felt the world's whole burden for a moment, then began
With man's gigantic strength to do the labor of one man.

PALFREY.

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"I went forth hastily, and lo! I met a hundred men,
The worker with the chisel and the worker with the pen,
The restless toilers after good, who sow and never reap.
And one who maketh music for their souls that may not sleep.

"Each passed me with a dauntless look, and my undaunted eyes
Were almost softened as they passed with tears that strove to rise
At sight of all those labors, and because that every one,
Ay, the greatest, would be greater if my little were undone.

"They passed me, having faith in me, and in our several ways,
Together we began to-day as on the other days:

I felt their mighty hands at work, and, as the days wore through,
Perhaps they felt that even I was helping somewhat too.

"Perhaps they felt, as with those hands they lifted mightily
The burden once more laid upon the world so heavily,
That while they nobly held it as each man can do and bear,
It did not wholly fall my side as though no men were there.

"And so we toil together many a day from morn till night,
I in the lower depths of life, they on the lovely height;

For though the common stones are mine, and they have lofty cares,
Their work begins where this leaves off, and mine is part of theirs.

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"And 't is not wholly mine or theirs, I think of through the day,

But the great, eternal thing we make together, I and they;

Far in the sunset I behold a city that man owns,

Made fair with all their nobler toil, built of my common stones.

"Then noonward, as the task grows light with all the labor done,
The single thought of all the day becomes a joyous one;
For, rising in my heart at last where it has lain so long,
It thrills up seeking for a voice, and grows almost a song.

"But when the evening comes, indeed, the words have taken wing,
The thought sings in me still, but I am all too tired to sing:
Therefore, O you my friend, who serve the world with minstrelsy,
Among our fellow-workers' songs make that one song for me.

REBECCA S. PALFREY.

WHITE UNDERNEATH.

INTO a city street,
Narrow and noisome, chance had led
my feet;

Poisonous to every sense; and the

sun's rays
Loved not the unclean place.

It seemed that no pure thing
bring;
Its whiteness here would ever dare to

low,
Yet even into this dark place and

God had sent down his snow.

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THE WAY, THE TRUTH AND THE LIFE.

O THOU, great Friend to all the sons of men,

Who once appeared in humblest guise below,

Sin to rebuke, to break the captive's chain,

And call Thy brethren forth from want and woe,

We look to thee! Thy truth is still the Light

Which guides the nations, groping on their way, Stumbling and falling in disastrous night,

Yet hoping ever for the perfect day.

Yes; Thou art still the Life, Thou art

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THE HIGHER GOOD.

FATHER, I will not ask for wealth or fame,

Though once they would have joyed my carnal sense;

I shudder not to bear a hated name, Wanting all wealth, myself my sole defence.

But give me, Lord, eyes to behold the truth;

A seeing sense that knows the eternal right;

A heart with pity filled, and gentlest ruth;

A manly faith that makes all darkness light. [kind; Give me the power to labor for manMake me the mouth of such as

cannot speak:

Eyes let me be to groping men, and blind; [weak

A conscience to the base; and to the Let me be hands and feet; and to

the foolish, mind:

And lead still further on such as Thy kingdom seek.

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