THE SOLDIER-BOY

I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade,

In fair Damascus fashion'd well;
Who first the glittering falchion sway'd,
Who first beneath its fury fell,
I know not; but I hope to know

That for no mean or hireling trade,
To guard no feeling base or low,
I give my soldier-boy a blade.

Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood

In which its tempering work was done : As calm, as clear, as cool of mood,

Be thou whene'er it sees the sun.

For country's claim, at honor's call, For outraged friend, insulted maid, At mercy's voice to bid it fall,

I give my soldier-boy a blade.

The eye which mark'd its peerless edge, The hand that weigh'd its balanced poise,

Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge,
Are gone with all their flame and

noise

And still the gleaming sword remains; So, when in dust I low am laid, Remember by these heart-felt strains, I gave my soldier-boy a blade.

ing,

The joyous playmate of the buxom breeze,
The fearless fondling of the mighty seas.

Thou the light sail boldly spreadest,
O'er the furrow'd waters gliding,
Thou nor wreck nor foeman dreadest,
Thou nor helm nor compass needest,
While the sun is bright above thee,
While the bounding surges love thee :
In their deepening bosoms hiding

Thou canst not fear,
Small Marinere,

For though the tides with restless motion
Bear thee to the desert ocean,
Far as the ocean stretches to the sky,
"Tis all thine own, 't is all thy empery.

Lame is art, and her endeavor
Follows nature's course but slowly,
Guessing, toiling, seeking ever,
Still improving, perfect never;
Little Nautilus, thou showest
Deeper wisdom than thou knowest,
Lore, which man should study lowly :
Bold faith and cheer,

Small Marinere,

Are thine within thy pearly dwelling :
Thine, a law of life compelling,
Obedience, perfect, simple, glad and free,
To the great will that animates the sea.

THE BIRTH OF SPEECH

WHAT was 't awaken'd first the untried

ear

Of that sole man who was all human kind? Was it the gladsome welcome of the wind, Stirring the leaves that never yet were sere? The four mellifluous streams which flow'd so near,

Their lulling murmurs all in one combin'd? The note of bird unnam'd? The startled hind

Bursting the brake — in wonder, not in fear,
Of her new lord? Or did the holy ground
Send forth mysterious melody to greet
The gracious pressure of immaculate feet?

THE Soul of man is larger than the sky,
Deeper than ocean or the abysmal dark
Of the unfathom'd centre. Like that Ark
Which in its sacred hold uplifted high,
O'er the drown'd hills, the human family,
And stock reserv'd of every living kind,
So, in the compass of the single mind,
The seeds and pregnant forms in essence lie,
That make all worlds. Great Poet, 't was
thy art

To know thyself, and in thyself to be
Whate'er love, hate, ambition, destiny,
Or the firm, fatal purpose of the heart,
Can make of Man. Yet thou wert still the
same,

Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame.

BE not afraid to pray to pray is right. Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray, Though hope be weak, or sick with long

delay;

Pray in the darkness, if there be no light. Far is the time, remote from human sight, When war and discord on the earth shall

cease;

Yet every prayer for universal peace
Avails the blessed time to expedite.
Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of
Heaven,

Though it be what thou canst not hope to

see:

Pray to be perfect, though material leaven Forbid the spirit so on earth to be;

But if for any wish thou darest not pray, Then pray to God to cast that wish away.