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TO THE PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE.
The birds have ears that hear my spirit's voice,
And I am glad the leaping brook to see, He was not armed like those of eastern clime,
Because it does at my light step rejoice. Whose heavy axes selled their heathen foe;
Come, brothers, all who tread the grassy hill, Vor was he clad like those of later time, Whose breast worn cross betrayed no cross below; Come learn the sweet obedience of the will ;
Or wander thoughtless o'er the blooming fields, Nor was he of the tribe of Levi born,
Thence every sight and sound new pleasure yields. Whose pompous rights proclaim how vain their
Nature sha}l seem another house of thine, prayer;--
When he who formed thee, bids it live and play,
Thine own companions born for harmony.
Thou hast not left the rough-barked tree to grow
Without a mate upon the river's bank ;
Nor dost thou on one flower the rain bestow,
And burst the prison where the captive lies; His glow of health to paint the livid cheek. And one by one, new born shall join the strain, They borrow words, for thoughts they cannot feel, Till earth restores her sons to heav'n again. That with a seeming heart their tongue may speak: And in their show of life more dead they live, Than those that to the earth with many tears they give.
Is there no hope of better things for our world, THE GRA V E - YARD.
and must that, which hath been, still be ? Is our My heart grows sick before the wide spread death, life really a lie, and can it, by no possibility, come That walks and spreads in seeming life around; true? 'Twere painful inexpressibly to think thus. And I would love the corse without a breath, 'Twere to make the universe a chaos and our life a rid. That sleeps forgotten 'neath the cold, cold ground; dle. When, stepping forth in one of these perfect For these do tell the story of decay,
June mornings, we find ourself so gloriously comThe worm and rotten flesh hide not, nor lie; passed that magnificent vault above and this proBut this, though dying too, from day to day, digal earth under us-yon ever-stirring sea kissing Wità a false show doth cheat the longing eye; its shores, and the fresh early breeze wasting a And hide the worm that gnaws the core of life, blessing unto us—and then think, for a moment, on With painted cheek, and smooth deceitful skin ; the falsities, the disorders, the everlasting clash and Covering a grave with sights of darkness rife, unrest, the disunion and disharmony of this our soA secret cavern filled with death and sin;
cial condition-we cannot believe 'tis to endure as And men walk o'er these graves and know it not,
We must needs dream of man, the bler For in the body's health the soul's forgot.
being, harmonized with nature, the meaner creation.
Sprung from the same original, one wisdom and love, brightest often, has found at last its destroying supervises both.
Theseus, and life looks greener in expectancy of It needs not many years to teach us how at odds this deliverance. Madness, that thing of horrid niysis the unsophisticated spirit with the social order tery, before which, as 'twere a fiend incarnate, whereunto 'tis born. Where lives he, to whom the other days have quailed in helpless awe, has by revelation of what the world truly is was not a shock modern benevolence been looked steadily in the and an anguish unspeakable ? Evermore 'tis by a eye and tamed. Nor has the “prisoner” been for. downhill path one reaches the platform, whereon the got. No more, like the old time, leprous, are they world's tasks are to be executed and worldly suc. shut out from sympathetic interchange with the cess achieved. Were the whole truth to burst at sound, and branded irrecoverable, so left to die once upon us, we were overwhelmed. But one uncared of. 'Twas remembered that a condemned beauteous illusion after another fades away-one one accepted the Christ of God while the people's principle after another is surrendered as romantic honorable ones' fouted and murdered him, that and impracticable-compromise after compromise to one cut judicially off was - Paradise opened,” is struck with absolute verity-lash on lash of the while over the self-complacent, who settled and torturing scourge of necessity drives us into the witnessed his fate, a doom impended so appalling as beaten ways and bows us to - things as they are”- to draw tears from the guiltless victim of their bar. ray by ray goes out of our birth-star, till
barity. That most illustrious of chivalrous banners, “ At length the man perceives it die away,
the ensign of Howard, the Godfrey of the crusade And fade into the light of common day."
for the redemption of the outcast, has gathered about Yet no time, nor custom, nor debasement itself, it a host of congenial spirits, and many a prison of can utterly destroy our inwrought impressions of ours, like that of Paul and Silas, has echoed with the existence of a somewhat purer and nobler than hymns of the « free”—of those born into the " gloriactually greets the sense, the possession whereof ous liberty of the sons of God.” 'tis man's prerogative to achieve. Manifold and un- But grateful as these movements are to the phi. mistakable are the intimations thereof. of the lanthropic heart, 'tis impossible not to see, that, myriad things, that recall our youth, not one but after all, they are neither central nor permanent. remembers us of youth's high purposes and hopes. 'Tis but shearing off the poisonous growths, the Music bears witness to us of a more exalted than roots whereof are lest intact and vigorous. The our wonted sphere. And nature, with its undying hour has come, we think, for assaying that radical harmonies and ever fresh beauty, hath perpetual re- reform, wherein all reforms else are comprised. buke for our disorder and deformity. But especially Our social order itself rests on principles unsound does poesy, the ever-living witness of the Divine to and pernicious, and why not strike at the root of the man, point unceasingly to an ideal, challenging our tree? It pains us to witness so much of honorable, real aspirations.
and faithful endeavour little better than flung away From all which causes it is that reform is mea-in tasks, which still must be renewed at the instant 'surably a demand of every age. However self of completion. Might we but live to see even the content and however absorbed by its own immediate corner-stone laid of a right Christian Society! schemes, it cannot evade the thought of a possible What now be we but sons of Ishmael ? Of a huge advance. Our own time is one altogether unwonted majority 'tis the anxious, everlasting cry, show in this regard. The reform-call is universal. One shall we exist ?" Not, - how shall we achieve the malfeasance and defect after another has been as noblest good ?" Not, « how shall we unfold most saulted, till no mountain-side but hath echoed back, completely the godlike within us?” And can it be and no remotest valley that hath not been startled, God's unrepealable ordinance that the great mass of by the vehement demand for new and better life-them bearing His impress shall drudge through their conditions. Governments, once keeping afar the life-term to supply their meanest wants, perpetually inquiries of the mass by pompous awes and terrors, overtasked, shrouded thick in intellectual night, have at last felt the pressure of the common hand uncognisant of the marvels of wisdom and beauty on their shoulders, and been fain to render, as they testifying His presence in our world, un participant might, a justification of their existence. The Church, of a joy above that of the beasts that perish? Must no longer the Ark, the touch whereof is death, has war and pestilence and famine, must crime and vice been, mayhap, even rudely handled, and anywise and sickness and remorse still hound this poor life been moved to asssign men's largest good as the of man through the whole of its quick-finished cir. sole reason for its surviving. And throughout all cle? Must the gallows yet pollute, and the prison departments of social life the same movement has gloom, and the brothel curse, and madhouse and gone. Intemperance itself-earth's coeval and uni- poorhouse shadow the green breast of earth? Wo versal curse-that foul, prodigious birth, to which for our wisdom, that to labor, the first great ordi. the world, desperate of resistance, has been fain to nance of Heaven, we have discovered no better yield an annual sacrifice, from its hopesulest and instigation than the insufferable goad of starvation !
D. H. B.
BY CHARLES WEST THOMPSON.
Wo for a social system, wherein the individual and and not the lowest enact the governing and moulding the general good stand irreconcilably opponent ! power—wherein the want and anxiety and thraldom Without prevalent sickness the physician must and everlasting clash, which now so torment man's famish. But for quarrel and litigation the lawyer's life, shall no longer be, and the individual and the hearth fire must go out. On the existence of war's general weal shall be joined in indissoluble marriage.
butch 'r-work” the soldier's hopes are based. The Who, on this broad earth, yearns not for such a monopolist grows fat on the scarcity that makes social state? And, unless reason be a will-o'-the. others lean. The builder and an associated host are wisp and figures a lie, such a state is possible, and, lighted to wealth by the conflagration that lays through association, shall ere long exist! half a city in ashes. Everywhere the same disunity prevails, and the precept, “Love thy neighbor as thyself,” is practically nullified by the very motive
EPHEMERA. powers of our social existence. The true man can remain such only by fleeing to the desert, or waging everlasting warfare with all influences about him.
“ What shadows we are, what shadows we pursue." How is it the world deals, and ever hath dealt Well might weep the sentimental Persian, with that extraordinary virtue, the manifestation of Looking o'er his host of armed men, the Divine to man? Alas, for the dishonoring tale! When on Greece he made his wild incursion, Lo, the noble Athenian expiring of the hemlock in Whence so few might e'er return again. the malefactor's prison! Lo, a far higher than the
Well might weep he o'er those countless millions, Athenian writhing on the « accursed tree!" Ever
Dreaming of the future and the past, 'tis crucifixion the world exacts as penalty of him
As he gazed, amid the gold pavillions who would « show it a more excellent way.” And
Round his throne, upon that crowd so vast ; what reception finds genius, that perpetual witness to a race ingulfed by sense of the immortal and in. Musing with subdued and solemn feelings, visible? Does the world hail its Avatar and rever
On the awful thoughts that filled his soul, – ently listen to its utterances, as to the oracle's
One of those most terrible revealings responses ? Alas, for the historic leaf that registers
That will sometimes o'er the spirit roll : its mortal fate! Society has no allotted place for
Thoughts, that of that multitude before him, him who, dowered with this divine attribute, sur.
Panting high for fame--athirst to striverenders himself wholly to its inspirations, speaks Ere old time had sped a century o'er him, out its unmodified suggestions, and treads, unques- Not, perhaps, would one be left alive : tioning, the path it points out. Obstructions hedge him about, penury cramps and denies him both
That those hearts now bounding in the glory instruments and occasions, calumny and ridicule dog
Of existence, would be hushed and cold , him, neglect freezes or hate turns to gall his heart's
Not their very names preserved in story, ardent loves, and, with naked feet, he is constrained
Nor upon fame's chronicle enrolled : to tread a stony, thorny way. Even so deals the All to earth, their proper home departed; world with them commissioned of God as its pro- Light heart, strong hand, all gone to kindred phets and teachers. No marvel, then, at the frequent In their vacant room a new race started, (clay ; perversion and sometimes deep de basement of genius. Careless of the millions passed away.
Want and fashion, and the broad, deep currents of immemorial opinion 'tis not given, save rarely, even
Well might weep he-well might we, in weeping, to this to resist and overcome. Blame not, then,
Make our offering at sorrow's callthat you witness Heaven's own subtle flame burn
When we ponder how our days are creeping, ing on strange altars, or the temple vessels desecrated
Like the shadow on the mouldering wall ; by heathen orgies.
When we think how soon the sunbeam, setting, But the social order, that necessitates things like Will depart, and leave it all in shadethese-is it for us to acquiesce therein, or shall we And our very friends will be forgetting demand a reorganization ?
That the day-light o'er it ever played. Verily, we crave no impracticable, no irrational thing. We ask a society wherein all God's children
Life upon a swallow's wing is flying,
O'er the earth it sparkles and is gone ; shall be sufficiently fed, and clad, and housed
All our days are but a lengthened dying wherein every individual shall find leisure, sphere,
One dark hour before the eternal dawn. and means for the fit, harmonious unfolding of all his powers of body and spirit—wherein each shall Riches, glory, honor, fame, ambitionhave his true standing place and environment, and All as swiftly fly, as soon are fled ; may act his individual self freely and fully out- Or, if gathered, mend they our condition ? wherein the highest shall be recognized as highest, What delight can these afford the dead?
BY RICHARD CHENEVIX FRENCH.
Chase no more the phantom of thy dreaming
How long shall weary nations toil in blood,
How often roll the still-returning stone
Up the sharp painful height, ere they will own,
Of virtue, manners, and pure homes endued
With household graces--that on this alone They alone will never pass away.
Shall social freedom stand, where these are gone,
There is a nation doomed to servitude ?
0, suffering, toiling France, thy toil is vain!
Where men are selfish, covetous of gain,
Heady and fierce, unholy and impure,
Their toil is lost, and fruitless all their pain ;
They cannot build a work which shall endure.
How thick the wild flowers blow about our feet, Their homeward bark was sailing swiftly past;
Thick strewn and unregarded, which, if rare, And thus the peril they behind them cast,
We should take note how beautiful they were, Though chased by those weird voices many a mile.
How delicately wrought, of scent how sweet. But yet a nobler cunning Orpheus used :
And mercies which do every where us meet, No setter he put on, nor stopped his ear,
Whose very commonness should win more praise, But ever, as he passed, sang high and clear
Do for that very cause less wonder raise, The blisses of the Gods, their holy joys,
And thus with slighter thankfulness we greet. And with diviner melody confused
Yet pause thou often on life's onward way,
Of these sweet wild-flowers-time enough to tell
Its beauty over-this when thou has done,
And marked it duly, then if thou canst lay
It wet with thankful tears into thy bosom, well!
ALL MORTGAGED !
To one born and bred in New England, the senti" Oh! and her mood of anger did not last
ment must be inevitable, that it is a « free country.' More than an instant ; but her work of peace,
The language of every-day life teems with that ca. Restoring and repairing, comforting
pital idea. It is the first idea that infancy is taught, The earth, her stricken child, will never cease ;
and the last one forgotten by old age. Freedom, For that was her strange work, and quickly past ;
Liberty, Free Institutions, Free Soil, &c. are terms To this her genial toil no end the years shall bring. of costly water in the jewelry of our patriotism. That her destroying fury was with noise
How pleasant it is to think-be it true or falseAnd sudden uproar-but far otherwise,
that cold, hard-soiled, pure-skyed New England, is, With silent and with secret ministries,
indeed, a free laud ! that in her long struggle for Her skill in renovation she employs :
freedom, she expunged from her soil every crimson For Nature only loud, when she destroys,
spot, every lineamentof human slavery, and severed Is silent when she fashions; she will crowd every ligament that connected her with that inhuThe work of her destruction, transient, loud, man institution! And so we thought. We got out Into an hour, and then long peace enjoys.
of our cradle with that idea. It was in our heart Yea, every power that fashions and upholds when we first looked up at the blue-sky, and listenWorks silently—all things, whose life is sure, ed to the little merry birds that were swimming in Their life is calm ; silent the light that moulds its bosom. It was in our heart, like thoughts of muAnd colors all things; and without debate
sic, when the spring winds came, and spring voices The stars, which are for ever to endure,
twittered in the tree tops; when the swallow and Assume their thrones and their unquestioned state. the lark and all the summer birds sang for joy, and
the meadow-stream chimed in its silvery treble, | ada. Canada and heaven, he said, were the only two destly singing to the daisies. When every thing was places that the slave sighed for, and he tied up his alive with the rapture of freedom, we thought, clouted shoes to go. He laid his hand on the latch, among other bright and boyish vagaries, that this and his eyes asked if he might go. We knew what land was free-free as the air; otherwise we would was in his heart, and he what was in our own, when never have slid down hill on it, or rolled up a snow. the children came near and asked their parents why fort, or have done any thing of the kind by way of the negro boy might not live in Massachussetts, and sport. And we were told that it was free. Old men why he should go so far to find a home. And we that wore queues and hobbled about on crutches, came looked in each other's faces and said not a word, for and set by our father's fireside, and showed great our hearts were troubled at their questions. scars on their flesh, and told how much it had cost Some one asked for « the bond," and it was read; to make this land free. And on a hot summer day and there, among'great swelling words about liberty, of every year, the people stuck up a long pole in the we found it written, that there was not an acre nor middle of the village green; and they tied to the an inch of ground within the limits of the great top a large piece of striped cloth ; and they rung American Republic which was not mortgaged to the bell in the steeple; and they shot off a hollow slavery. And when the reader came to that passage log of cast iron ; and the hills and woods trembled in the bond, his voice fell, lest the children should at the noise, and father said, and every body said, it hear it, and ask more questions. He passed the inwas because this land was free. It was our boyhood's strument around, and he saw it written,—too fair. thought, and of all our young fancies, we loved itly writ”-that there was not a foot of soil in New best; for there was an element of religion in it. We England—not a spot consecrated to learning, liberhave clung fondly to the patriotic illusion, and ty, or religion-not a square inch on Bunker Hill, or should have hugged it to our bosom through life, but any other hill, nor cleft, or cavern in her mountain for an incident that suddenly broke up the dream. sides, nor nook in her dells, or lair in her forests, nor
While meditating one Sabbath evening, a few years a hearth, nor a cabin door, which did not bear the ago, upon the blessings of this free, gospel land, and bloody endorsement in favor of slavery.
" It was with the liberty wherewith God here sets his child in the bond"—the bond of our union, v ordained to ren free, a neighbour opened the door, and whispered establish justice, promote the general welfare and se. cautiously in our ear, that a young, sable fugitive cure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and to our from Slavery had knocked at his door, and he had posterity;" it was in that anomalous instrument, that given him a place by his fire. " A slave in New the slave hunter and his hounds might seize upon his England !” exclaimed we as we took down our hat : trembling victim on the holiest spot of this land of " is it possible that slaves can breathe here and not the free. be free!"
It was a bright night. The heavens were full of There were many of us that gathered around that eyes looking down upon the earth; and we wished young man; and few of us all had ever seen a slave. that they were closed for an hour ; that the clouds There were mothers in the group that had sons of would come over the moon; for the man-hunters had the same age as that of the boy; and tears came into come. They had tracked the young fugitive, and their eyes when he spoke of his widowed slave mo- were lying in wait to seize him even on the hearth ther; and there were young sisters with Sunday. of a freeman. We never shall forget that hour. We school books in their hands, that surrounded him had attired the young slave in a female garb, and put and looked in his face with strange and tearful earn- his hand within the arm of one of our number. A estness, as he spoke of the sister he had left in bond passing cloud obscured the moon, and the two is. age. He had been • hunted like a partridge upon the sued into the street. Softly and silently we followmountains,' and his voice trembled as he spoke. His ed them at a distance, and our hearts were heavy pursuers had tracked him from one place to another; within us, that Massachusetts had no law that could they were even now hard at his heels; his feet were extend protection to that young human being, or perbruised and swollen from the chase ; he was faint mit him to be protected without law. It was a and weary, and he looked around upon us imploring. strange feeling to walk the streets of Worcester, as ly for protection. Starting at every sound from if treading on enemies' ground; to avoid the houses without, he told with a tremulous voice, the story of and faces of our neighbours and friends, as if they his captivity, and re-capture, for thrice had he fled were all slaveholders, and in pursuit of the fugitive; from slavery, and twice had he been delivered up to as if here, in the heart of the Old Bay State, there
He was checkered over with the was something felonious in that deed of mercy that marks of the scourge, for his master had prescribed would obliterate the track of the innocent image of a hundred lashes to cure him of his passion for free. God flying for life and liberty before his relentless dom. A worse fate awaited him if he failed in his pursuer. We passed close by the old Burial Ground, third attempt to be free; and he walked to the where slumbered many a hero of Seventy Six. window and softly asked the nearest way to Can- | There, within a stone's throw, was the grave of