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large retinues for military distinction and strength,,prevented the monoply of land from displaying all its horrors. But in commiercial times, when law and order secure the estates of capitalists, without the need of maintaining knights, squires, and bowmen in their castles; when distinction is to be obtained by expenditures in carriages and horses, and dogs, in sumptuous dress, diamond-headed canes or rings, magnificent watches and jewelry, and entertainments to the rich, instead of the substantial hospitality of old baronial days,–in this commercial time of Mammon, who estimates a working man by his value as an adjunct to a machine, land monoply is fast assuming all its direct and most hideous deformities. France, England, and Ireland are convulsed by the famine-grasp of this monster Iniquity. Blood has been shed, and oceans will be poured out, unless God's peaceful method of Reform be adopted by constructing society anew, and establishing the rights of property in land, so that the laborer shall really stand ennobled and free upon God's earth, the rightful possessor of the wealth created by his own industry and skill. If the high and the mighty, who at present hold the power in nations, do not acquiesce in this change; if they fight against Man and Nature, and God; be assured that dreadful will be their retribution. The day for deliverance is come; it cannot be put back! Oppressed labor will go forth, though it shall be through a sea of blood, and through many years of troubled wanderings in the wilderness. The question is not, whether the mighty men, the monarchs and the captains shall be brought low. FOR THAT IS FIXED, THAT IS CERTAIN. The only question is, as to the manner in which it shall be done ; whether the toiling millions shall stand by the sides of their former masters on terms of equality and brotherhood, or whether Pharaoh and his host shall perish! How important then, that the truths of Divine order and justice should be known, that insurrections, wars, and bloodshed may be obviated, and that the vast, emancipating Mission of the NINETEENTH CENTURY may be peacefully and happily acconiplished.

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THE SPIRIT VOICE.

BY J. M. KNOWLTON.

When Autumn comes with its milder days,
With its varied fruits and its dreamy haze,
And the west wind blows when the sun is gone
With a cooler breath and a fainter moan;
When fragrant and fresh is the frosty morn,
And the fields are bright with the golden corn,
Oh, sad is the heart, as the

eye looks forth
On the bending bough and the teeming earth,
On the withered flower and the leaflet sear,
That marks the decay of the passing year.

Hast thou never heard in the dusky ray
Of the dim twilight of the autumn day,
When thy soul for an unknown something sought,
And thy brain was dim with its intense thought,
A voice that spoke to thy longing ear,
Like a spirit voice from another sphere :
A voice that came on the cool night breeze
As it played with the arms of the forest trees-
That seemed on the silent air to float
Like the far-off sound of a singer's note-
With a cadence sweet in its whisper'd tone
Like the long lost strain of some cherished one,
That call’d and that urged thee with gentlest sway
Away from the earth, from thy cares away.

Thou canst hear it oft when the heart is lone
And sad with the thoughts of its joys by-gone,
When Memory comes with its treasured store
And the misty forms of the loved of yore,
And Fancy brings, with its magic power
The faded dreams of our childhood's hour,

And the care-clouds seem on the soul to rest,
Like a heavy weight on each thought impressid
While we sigh that our present joys are few
Compared with the joys that our childhood knew :
When longs the soul for a purer bliss
Than that which attends on a world like this
For the land that it sees in its noonday dream-
For the golden land of the poet's theme.
The spirit roams and its course is fraught
With the fancied forms of embodied thought,
And we soar away to the realms of air
And converse hold with the spirits there,
While above and around, as we journey on
Is that self-same voice with its gentle tone,
Still gentle and low, yet it thrills us through,
And cheers the heart while it saddens too.
I can hear it now-'tis as sweet and clear
As a maiden's voicc to her lover's ear,
'Tis as sweet and clear as the silvery song
That the ripple sings, as it bounds along,
Like the soothing strain that the Zephyr wakes
As the dark fringed bough of the pine he shakes,
Like the distant crowd with its busy hum
As gentle it whispers—come oh come,
With a tone as low and fond and mild
As a mother speaks to her new born child.

1

When midnight sits on the silent sky
And Wisdom mounts to her zenith high,
When the stars look down on the glassy deep
And the earth below in its balmy sleep-
Arise and look forth, if thine eyes would see,
The hidden things of earth's mystery!
There are forms that flit through the forest glade,
Through the silvery bowers by the moonbeams made-
That roam by her light through the wildwood free,
That dance by her light on the verdant lea
There are forms that sit in the murky gloom,
In the darkened light of thy lonely room,
And spirits that guard and attend thee there
And watch o'er thy rest with the gentlest care,
By whose aid and strength is each impulse brought
That urges thee on through the realms of thought,
That thy fancies guide though they seem so free,
And rule in their power o'er thy revery-

There are forms that speak from the earth and air,
From the dew-drop bright and the flow'ret fair,
The fays of the fountain, and lake and wood,
Spirits of evil, and spirits of good-
Spirits that rule o'er the mountain and grove
Spirits of Music and Beauty and Love.
Uncertain and faint, do their voices come,
Scarce heeded by thee, through the midnight gloom,
But that well known voice is above them all,
By thy very ear, with its spirit call,
The spirit whose voice is alone for thee-
The spirit that governs thy destiny.

It never comes when thy skies are bright
Or thy heart beats high with its keen delight,
When Pleasure thrills to thy very soul
And the clouds of doubt from thy pathway roll ;
Nor does it come in the vine-clad bowers
With the golden dreams of the summer hours,
When Nature is smiling and blithe and gay,
And thy heart as warm as the summer day-
When friends are around thee, and Love and Truth
Their flowers have strewn on the path of Youth;
When happy each hour as thine own bless'd fate,
And thy soul is strong in its power innate ;
It speaks not then to the spirit proud,
But it watches thy course from the snow-fring'd cloud,
From the golden west when the sun is low
And the purple tinge of the morning's glow;
From the mingled tints of the rainbow gay,
And the silvery pearl of the moonbeam's ray-
Though thou heedest it not, yet its spell it weaves
With the songster's notes and the flapping leaves.

When weary and worn with thy weight of years,
And lowering darkly, thy fate appears,
When the summer sun from the sky has pass'd,
And lonely and chill, comes the Autumn blast,
And the winter of age on thy once dark hair
Shall sprinkle the frost of his gathering care-
When thy withered hopes like the leaves are strewn,
And thy youth's bright dreams are forever gone;
Oh then it shall come, and shall call away
To the brighter realms of unending day.

Oh faint not then ! for the spirit still
Shall its helping lend to thy weary will,
Shall whisper peace to thy way-worn soul
And guide it on to its wished for goal.
Like the dew that falls on the drooping flower,
It shall raise thy heart in its darkest hour
An earnest bright in the deepest gloom
Of a better, happier day to come.
Then welcome give to its cheering smile,
Though dreary and dark be thy fate the while,
Lift up thy soul—and rejoice! rejoice !
When thou hearest the sound of the spirit's voice.

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