Desert and danger are behind, and now

Sweet winds and waters murmur in our ear;
And plenteous signs of peaceful life appear,
And songs of solace greet us as we go,

And o'er the horizon's rim, not broad, but clear, The light of a new morning seems to flow We journey sunward: on! and hail the uprising glow!

That

In the sad wilderness we've wandered long,
Thirsting amid the inhospitable sand,
Cheered by that burden of prophetic song,
"The clime, the time of Freedom is at hand.”
And lo! upon the threshold of the land

We strive and hope, keep patient watch, and wait;
And few and feeble are the foes that stand
Between us and our guerdon. — Back, proud gate,

opes into the realms of Freedom's high estate!

Not ours, perchance, the destiny to see
The unveiled glories of her inner bower;
But myriads following in our steps shall be
Equal partakers of the coming hour.
The unencumbered heritage, the dower,
With its full fruits, is theirs, with all its store
Of fine fruition and exalted power,

And truth shall teach them her transcendent ore "Man toward the perfect good advanceth evermore!"

And in our upward progress through the past,
What giant evils have been trodden down!
Dread deeds, which struck the shrinking soul aghast.
Branding the doer with unblest renown;
The inquisitor's harsh face, and gloomy gowr
Girt with a thousand torture-tools; the flame

In whose fierce folds the martyr won his crown,

Are gone into the darkness whence they came; There let them rust and rot, in God's insulted name!

Knowledge hath left the hermit's ruined cell,

The narrow convent, and the cloister's gloom,
With world-embracing wings to soar and dwell
'Mid purer ether, and sublimer room.

The volleyed lightnings of her press consume
The tyrant's strength, and strike the bigot blind;
Day after day, its thunders sound the doom
Of some old wrong, too hideous for the mind
Which Reason hath illumed, which Knowledge hath refined!

Knowledge hath dignified the sons of toil,

And taught them where pure pleasures may be won;
The peasant leaves his ploughshare in the soil

For mental pastime, when the day is done;
The swart-faced miner, shut from breeze and sun,
While nature reigns in beauty unsubdued -

Creeps from his caverned workshop, deep and dun,
And in his hovel's fire-lit solitude

Storeth his craving mind with not unwholesome food.

'Mid the harsh clangor of incessant wheels,
Beside the stithy and the furnace-blaze,
Some soul, still hungering and enlarging, feels
The silent impulse of her quickening rays;
In the lone loom-cell where, for weary days,
And weary nights, the shuttle flies amain,

With his white web, the weaver weaveth lays
To speed his labor, or beguile his pain:

Lays which the world shall hear, and murmur o'er again!

Proud halls reëcho with exalted song,

With wise instruction, or impassioned speech;-
And who outnumbers the heart-listening throng?

The artisan, who learns that he may teach;

Longing, acquiring, holding, like the leech,
He cries "Give, give!" with unallayed desire;
No point of knowledge seems beyond his reach;
Efforts beget success, and higher, higher,

Like eagles toward the sun, his full-fledged thoughts aspire.

And by this patient gathering of thought,
And by this peaceful exercise of will,

What wonders have been nursed, matured, and wrought! What other wonders will they not fulfil! Upheaves the valley, yawns the opposing hill, Man and his hand-works sweep triumphant through ; Time halts, space narrows, prejudice stands still, And dwindles in the distance; high and new Are all our dreams and deeds—yet much remains to do.

But war, that tawdry yet terrific thing;

The Ethiop's brand and bondage; the vile show Of God's frail image from the gallows string Dangling, and heaving in convulsive throe: These man-made ministers of death and woe, Shall we not crush them, Reason, Mercy, say? Shall we not fling behind us, as we go, These ancient errors ? Reason answers, "Yea: Pure hearts and earnest souls will clear the encumbered way.')

Thus the old idols crumble to the dust,

Their altars shattered, and their glory shorn,

Old sophistries, once taken upon trust

As Wisdom's spirit-words, are grown outworn.
Another incubus, though newly born,

Dies of its own unholiness; a cry

Of simultaneous triumph mixed with scorn
Comes from the toil-bowed multitudes :

Al, why

Do soul-sent sounds like these ascend the placid sky?

Hail to the lofty minds, the truthful tongues,
Linked in a universal cause, as now,

Which break no rights, which advocate no wrongs,
Firm to the Loom, and faithful to the Plough!
Commerce, send out thy multifarious prow
Laden with goodly things for every land;

Labor, uplift thy sorrow-shadowed brow,

Put forth thy strength of intellect and hand, And Plenty, Peace and Joy may round thy homes expand. Hail, mighty Science, Nature's conquering lord!

Thou star-crowned, steam-winged, fiery-footed power! Hail, gentle Arts, whose hues and forms afford

Refined enchantments for the tranquil hour!
Hail, tolerant teachers of the world, whose dower
Of spirit-wealth outweighs the monarch's might!
Blest be your holy mission! may it shower
Blessings like rain, and bring, by human right,
To all our hearts and hearths, love, liberty and light.

LESSON CXI.

66 Press on!"-PARK BENJAMIN.

PRESS on! there 's no such word as fail!

Press nobly on! the goal is near

Why shouldst thou faint? Heaven smiles above,

Though storm and vapor intervene ;
That sun shines on, whose name is Love,

Serenely o'er Life's shadowed scene.
Press on surmount the rocky steeps,
Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch;
He fails alone who feebly creeps;

He wins, who dares the hero's march.

Be thou a hero! let thy might

Tramp on eternal snows its way,
And through the ebon walls of night
Hew down a passage unto day.

Press on! if Fortune play thee false
To-day, to-morrow she'll be true;
Whom now she sinks she now exalts,
Taking old gifts and granting new.
The wisdom of the present hour

Makes up for follies past and gone
To weakness strength succeeds, and power
From frailty springs-press on! press on!

Press on what though upon the ground
Thy love has been poured out like rain?
That happiness is always found

The sweetest, which is born of pain.
Oft 'mid the forest's deepest glooms,
A bird sings from some blighted tree,
And, in the drearest desert, blooms
A never-dying rose for thee.

Therefore, press on! and reach the goal,
And gain the prize, and wear the crown;

Faint not! for to the steadfast soul

Come wealth and honor and renown.

To thine own self be true, and keep

Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil;

Press on! and thou shalt surely reap

A heavenly harvest for thy toil!

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