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It is done! In the circuit of the sun Shall the sound thereof go forth.

It shall bid the sad rejoice,

It shall give the dumb a voice, It shall belt with joy the earth !

Ring and swing, Bells of joy! On morning's wing Send the song of praise abroad! With a sound of broken chains,

Tell the nations that He reigns, Who alone is Lord and God!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

It is done!
Clang of bell and roar of gun
Send the tidings up and down.

How the belfries rock and reel !

How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town!

Ring, O bells !
Every stroke exulting tells
Of the burial hour of crime.

Loud and long, that all may hear,

Ring for every listening ear
Of Eternity and Time !

Let us kneel :
God's own voice is in that peal,
And this spot is holy ground.

Lord, forgive us! What are we,

That our eyes this glory sec,
That our ears have heard the sound !

For the Lord
On the whirlwind is abroad ;
In the earthquake he has spoken ;

He has smitten with his thunder

The iron walls asunder,
And the gates of brass are broken !

Loud and long
Lift the old exulting song;
Sing with Miriam by the sea :

He has cast the mighty down;

Horse and rider sink and drown; He has triumphed gloriously!

Did we dare,
In our agony of prayer,
Ask for more than He has done?

GREECE.

FROM "CHILDE HAROLD." Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! Immortal, though no more ; though fallen,

great! Who now shall lead thy scattered children

forth,
And long-accustomed bondage uncreate ?
Not such thy sons who whilome did await,
The hopeless warriors of a willing doom,
In bleak Thermopyla's sepulchral strait, -

0, who that gallant spirit shall resume, Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from

the tomb ?

Spirit of Freedom ! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forbode the dismal hour which

now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, But every carle can lord it o'er thy land; Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain,

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FRANCES BROWN.

O those blessed times of old, with their chivalry

and state !

I love to read their chronicles, which such brave O THE PLEASANT DAYS OF OLD!

deeds relate ; O THE pleasant days of old, which so often peo

I love to sing their ancient rhymes, to hear their

legends told, ple praise ! True, they wanted all the luxuries that grace our But, Heaven be thanked ! I live not in those

blessed times of old ! modern days : Bare floors were strewed with rushes, the walls

let in the cold ; 0, how they must have shivered in those pleasant

THE REFORMER. days of old !

All grim and soiled and brown with tan, O those ancient lords of old, how magnificent I saw a Strong One, in his wrath, they were !

Smiting the godless shrines of man They threw down and imprisoned kings, – to

Along his path. thwart them who might dare ? They ruled their serfs right sternly ; they took The Church beneath her trembling domo from Jews their gold,

Essayed in vain her ghostly charm : Above both law and equity were those great lords Wealth shook within his gilded home of old !

With strange alarm.

O the gallant knights of old, for their valor so

renowned ! With sword and lance and armor strong they

scoured the country round;

Fraud from his secret chambers fled

Before the sunlight bursting in :
Sloth drew her pillow o'er her head

To drown the din.

And with the idle gallows-rope

The young child played.

Where the doomed victim in his cell

Had counted o'er the weary hours, Glad school-girls, answering to the box

Caine crowned with flowers.

Grown wiser for the lesson given,

I fear no longer, for I know That where the share is deepest drive

The best fruits grow.

The outworn rite, the old abuse,

The pious fraud transparent grown The good held captive in the use

Of wrong alone,

These wait their doom, from that gre

Which makes the past time serve And fresher life the world shall draw

From their decay.

O backward-looking son of time !

The new is old, the old is new, The cycle of a change sublime

Still sweeping through,

So wisely taught the Indian seer;

Destroying Seva, forming Brahm, Who wake by turn Earth's love and

Are one, the same.

Idly as thou, in that old day

Thou mournest, did thy sire repine So, in his time, thy child grown gray

Shall sigh for thine.

But life shall on and upward go ;

Th' eternal step of Progress beats To that great anthem, calm and slow,

Which God repeats.

Take heart !- the Waster builds aga

A charméd life old Goodness hath The tares may perish, but the grai

Is not for death,

God works in all things; all obey

His first propulsion from the night Wake thou and watch !- the world is With morning light !

JOHN GREENLEAF W.

“Spare,” Art implored, “yon holy pile ;

That grand old time-worn turret spare Meek Reverence, kneeling in the aisle,

Cried out, “ Forbear!”

Gray-bearded Use, who, deaf and blind,

Groped for his old accustomed stone, Leaned on his staff, and wept to find

His seat o'erthrown.

Young Romance raised his dreamy eyes,

O’erhung with paly locks of gold, “Why smite,” he asked in sad surprise,

“The fair, the old ?”

Yet louder rang the Strong One's stroke,

Yet nearer flashed his axe's gleam ; Shuddering and sick of heart I woke,

As from a dream.

I looked : aside the dust-cloud rolled,

The Waster scemed the Builder too ; Up springing from the ruined Old

I saw the New.

'T was but the ruin of the bad,

The wasting of the wrong and ill ; Whate'er of good the old time had

Was living still

Calm grew the brows of him I feared ;

The frown which awed me passed away, And left behind a smile which cheered

Like breaking day.

The grain grew green on battle-plains,

O'er swarded war-mounds grazed the cow; The slave stood forging from his chains

• The spade and plough.

Where frowned the fort, pavilions gay

And cottage windows, flower-intwined, Looked out upon the peaceful bay

And hills behind.

Through vine-wreathed cups with wine once red,

The lights on brimming crystal fell, Drawn, sparkling, from the rivulet head

And mossy well.

Through prison walls, like Heaven-sent hope,

Fresh breezes blew, and sunbeams strayed,

POEMS OF THE SEA.

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