OUR STATE. All else is gone; from those great eyes When faith is lost, when honor dies, Then, pay the reverence of old days Walk backward, with averted gaze, OUR STATE. HE South-land boasts its teeming cane, T The prairied West its heavy grain, And sunset's radiant gates unfold Rough, bleak and hard, our little State From Autumn frost to April rain, Yet, on her rocks, and on her sands, And wintry hills, the school-house stands, The harvest of the mind supplies. The riches of the commonwealth Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health; And more to her than gold or grain, The cunning hand and cultured brain. 79 For well she keeps her ancient stock, Nor heeds the sceptic's puny hands, While near her school the church-spire stands ; Nor fears the blinded bigot's rule, While near her church-spire stands the school! STANZAS FOR THE TIMES. 1850. HE evil days have come, the poor TH Are made a prey; Bar up the hospitable door, Put out the fire-lights, point no more For Pity now is crime; the chain Is melted at her hearth in twain, Our Union, like a glacier stirred Or bell of kine, or wing of bird, Poor, whispering tremblers!. Our blood and name; Bursting its century-bolted frost, yet we boast Each gray cairn on the Northman's coast STANZAS FOR THE TIMES. O for the open firmament, The prairie free, The desert hillside, cavern-rent, The Pawnee's lodge, the Arab's tent, Than web of Persian loom most rare, Better the rough rock, bleak and bare, I hear a voice: "Thus saith the Law, Clasping her liberal hands in awe, I hear another voice: "The poor Turn not the outcast from thy door, Dear Lord! between that law and thee Not mine Sedition's trumpet-blast I read the lesson of the Past, O, clear-eyed Faith, and Patience, thou Lend strength to weakness, teach us how 81 A SABBATH SCENE. When down the summer shaded street With dusky brow and naked feet, She saw the white spire through the trees, That poor one in thy dwelling! Like a scared fawn before the hounds, She raised a keen and bitter cry, A score of stout hands rose between Age clenched his staff, and maiden eyes "Who dares profane this house and day ?” "Why, bless your soul, the wench's a slave, And I'm her lord and master! "I've law and gospel on my side, And who shall dare refuse me?" Down came the parson, bowing low, "My good sir, pray excuse me! "Of course I know your right divine 83. |