Yes, ours to battle relentless gales,
    And yours the brave and the patient way;
  But we hold the storms in our trusty sails,
    And for you the life-giving fountains play.

  There are stars above us, and stars for you,—­
    Rest on the path, and calm on the main: 
  Storms are but zephyrs, when hearts are true;
    We are no weaklings, quick to complain,

  When lightnings flash bivouac-fires into gloom,
    And with crashing of forests the rains sheet down,—­
  Or when ships plunge onward where night-clouds loom,
    Defiant of darkness and meeting its frown.

  These are the days of motion and march;
    Now we are ardent, and young, and brave: 
  Let them that come after us build the arch
    Of our triumph, and plant with the laurel our grave.

  Time enough to rear temples when heroes are dead,
    Time enough to sing paeans after the fight: 
  Prophets urge onward the future’s tread;
    We,—­we are to kindle its beacon-light.

  Our sires lit torches of quenchless flame
    To illumine our darkness, if night should be;
  But day is a friend to our standards, and shame
    Be ours, if we win not a victory!

  Man is nobler than men have been,
    Souls are vaster than souls have dreamed;
  There are broader oceans than eyes have seen,
    Noons more glowing than yet have beamed.

  Creeping shadows cower low on our land;
    These shall not dim our grander day: 
  Stainless knights must be those who stand
    Full in the van of a world’s array!

  When shall we cease our meagre distrust? 
    When to each other our true hearts yield? 
  To make this world an Eden, we must
    Fling away each weapon and shield,

  And meet each man as a friend and mate,
    Trample and spurn and forget our pride,
  Glad to accept an equal fate,
    Laboring, conquering side by side.

PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF THE LATE HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE.

Cairo, Egypt, February 6th, 1862. I am afraid I repeat myself in talking about the beauty of the climate here, but to-day is so lovely that I cannot refrain from recurring to the subject.  While you are shivering under the blasts of winter, we have a genuine June morning:  the air soft and pure, the atmosphere clear, innumerable birds chirping in the trees opposite the windows, (for the Arabs never interfere with birds,) and the aspect of things from our balcony overlooking the Esbekieh, or public square, as pleasant as one could wish.  The beautiful weather, too, is constant.