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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!
How the belfries rock and reel !
How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town!
Ring, O bells !
Loud and long, that all may hear,
Ring for every listening ear
Let us kneel :
Lord, forgive us! What are we,
That our eyes this glory sec,
For the Lord
He has smitten with his thunder
The iron walls asunder,
Loud and long
He has cast the mighty down;
Horse and rider sink and drown; He has triumphed gloriously!
Did we dare,
FROM "CHILDE HAROLD." Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! Immortal, though no more ; though fallen,
great! Who now shall lead thy scattered children
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,
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 :
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,