XI.

Pilgrims here, with bosoms swelling, Yet may come, and tears may fall O'er the dark and narrow dwelling, Of two brothers, one in all.

XII.

Rest in peace, beloved brothers— Rest in peace, oppress'd no more; Fame is yours which is no other's,

Now that all life's toils are o'er.

THE MURDERED FLY.

A TALE.

I.

I once lived in a cottage,

And its master pray'd and sung;
Every morning every evening
This little mansion rung.

I had thought that he was holy,
But if such a thought be true,
You may judge when I've related
What once happened to my view.

II.

One summer morning early

I beheld my host's young daughter

Catch a little fly, and first

She put it in a jug of water.

She took it out, tore both its wings,

And beat it every part.

Said I, has this young child been taught The feelings of the heart?

III.

I beheld her still-for now to save

The fly was all in vain

So she put it on a stone,

And beat it o'er and o'er again;

She bruised and ground it so

That it was truly out of sight.

Then she rose, ran to her playmates,
And laughed in pure delight.

IV.

Now I thought on what had happened,
And I thought upon the father;
And I thought, instead of tame dull prayers,
This holy man should rather

Take his little child and teach her

What is right and what is wrong. He was bade do so, but never bade By mystic prayers and song.

V.

As it is now, her heart will be

A rank unweeded garden;

The things gross there will grow,

And she in real crime will harden. The mind which God has gifted lost,

Time, talents, thrown away.

It were well would parents profit
From the scene I saw to-day.

WAR TO THE WORLD.

I.

Among the many visitants, since first the world began,

That have come on earth to murder and destroy the peace of man,

I stand alone and go beyond all other ills, as far As the brilliant sun of summer goes beyond the morning star.

II.

I have fatted all the fields of earth with bodies of the dead,

I have made your crystal streamlets and your rivers all run red;

And the bravest and the best of men I've buried in

the deep,

Whose dying groans were heard in heaven, and made the angels weep.