CUPIDO. 'HE solid, solid universe TH With bandaged eyes he never errs, His blinding light He flingeth white On God's and Satan's brood, And reconciles By mystic wiles The evil and the good. THE NUN'S ASPIRATION. HE yesterday doth never smile, THE To-day goes drudging though the while, Yet in the name of Godhead, I The morrow front, and can defy; Though I am weak, yet God, when prayed, My heart's content would find it right. Hearing as now the lofty dirge Which blasts of Northern mountains hymn, Nature's funeral, high and dim,—— Sable pageantry of clouds, Mourning summer laid in shrouds. Many a day shall dawn and die, And passing, light my sunken turf, Yet wreathed and hid by summer blooms. Think me not numbed or halt with age, I pass with yonder comet free,- Realm beyond realm,—extent untold; HYMN. SUNG AT THE SECOND CHURCH, BOSTON, AT THE ORDINATION OF THE REV. CHANDLER ROBBINS. E love the venerable house WE Our fathers built to God; In heaven are kept their grateful vows, Here holy thoughts a light have shed And prayers of humble virtue made The perfume of the place. And anxious hearts have pondered here And prayed the eternal Light to clear Their doubts, and aid their strife. From humble tenements around For faith and peace and mighty love They live with God; their homes are dust; And in this fleeting lifetime trust To find the narrow way. On him who by the altar stands, Speak through his lips thy pure commands, BOSTON. Sicut patribus, sit Deus nobis. READ IN FANEUIL HALL, ON DECEMBER 16, 1873, ON THE CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF THE TEA IN BOSTON HARBOUR. HE rocky nook with hill-tops three THE Looked eastward from the farms, The men of yore were stout and poor, And where they went on trade intent Their dauntless ways did all men praise, The world was made for honest trade,— The waves that rocked them on the deep Said the winds that sung the lads to sleep : "Like us be free and bold!" The honest waves refused to slaves Old Europe groans with palaces, For day by day could Boston Bay We grant no dukedoms to the few, For what avail the plough or sail, The noble craftsman we promote, Each honest man shall have his vote, The wild rose and the barberry thorn Where now on heated pavements worn Fair rose the planted hills behind And where the western hills declined What care though rival cities soar Penn's town, New York, and Baltimore, They laughed to know the world so wide; We greet you well, you Saxon men, The world was made for honest trade, "For you," they said, "no barriers be, Each street leads downward to the sea, O happy town beside the sea, Whose roads lead everywhere to all; Than thine no deeper moat can be, No stouter fence, no steeper wall! Bad news from George on the English throne: 'Tis very small,-no load at all,— "Not so," said Boston, "good my lord, But for tribute never a cent." |