To whom, when the dread winter’s icy fingers
    Have chilled to silence the gay babbling stream,
  A memory of its summer music lingers,
    Or April violets in the future beam;
  To whom the darkness whispers of the dawning,
    And sorrow’s night tells of the coming day;
  And even death is but the twilight morning
    Of glory which shall never fade away;—­

  Teach us thy lesson.  Unto us be given
    The trusting faith the April flowers display;
  Looking in their meek confidence to heaven,—­
    Trusting to God the future of the day. 
  Our night is dark, and perils vast surround us,
    But, firm in truth and right, what shall we fear? 
  Has danger ever yet base cravens found us? 
    Who has sustained thus far will guide us here.

  Ye countless legions, where each man is holding
    Himself a bulwark for the cause of right,
  In war’s fierce furnace, where our God is molding
    Each soul for his own ends in Freedom’s fight,
  March on to victory in overwhelming number,
    Singing the peans of the noble free;
  Our Liberty has just awaked from slumber,
    To carry out the world’s great destiny.

  O mighty nation! all thy early glory
    Shall be as nothing to the great renown
  Which in the future ages shall come o’er thee,
    For thine is Liberty’s immortal crown. 
  Heed not the jealousies forever thronging,—­
    The petty envyings which gird thee round;
  ’Tis thine to carry out the world’s great longing,
    To find that liberty none else has found.

  What though across the swelling, broad Atlantic
    Comes scornful menace? it is naught to thee—­
  ’Tis but the jealous raving, wild and frantic,
    Of those who would, but never can, be free;—­
  Who, slaves to selfish passions bold ambition,
    Hold up their shackled arms in heaven’s broad light,
  And prate of freedom, boast their high position,
    And strive to turn to interest Truth and Right.

  We need more faith! What though the means be weakness? 
    With God supreme, the victory must be ours! 
  From imperfection he works out completeness;
    From feeble means makes overwhelming powers. 
  How shall this be?  The knowledge is not given;
    Each to his duty in the field of Right;
  Sure as th’ Almighty ruleth earth and heaven,
    His arm will do it in resistless might.

* * * * *

AMONG THE PINES.

‘Dee ye tink Massa Davy wud broke his word, sar?’ said the old negress, bridling up her bent form, and speaking in a tone in which indignation mingled with wounded dignity; ’p’raps gemmen do dat at de Norf—­dey neber does it har.’

’Excuse me, Aunty; I know your master is a man of honor; but he’s very much excited, and very angry with Scip.’

’No matter for dat, sar; Massa Davy neber done a mean ting sense he war born.’