Part Third.

100

CHOICE SELECTIONS.

No. 3.

E PLURIBUS UNUM.

Though many and bright are the stars that appear
In that flag by our country unfurled,

And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there,
Like a rainbow adorning the world,—

Their light is unsullied as those in the sky,
By a deed that our fathers have done,

And they're linked in as true and as holy a tie,
In their motto of "Many in One."

From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung
That banner of starlight abroad,

Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung
As they clung to the promise of God.

By the bayonet traced at the midnight of war,

On the fields where our glory was won

Oh! perish the heart or the hand that would mar

Our motto of "Many in One."

'Mid the smoke of the conflict, the cannon's deep roar,

How oft it has gathered renown!

While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore,

Where the cross and the lion went down;

And though few were their lights in the gloom of that hour,

Yet the hearts that were striking below

Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power,

And they stopped not to number their foe.

17*

Q*

9

From where our green mountain-tops blend with the sky,
And the giant St. Lawrence is rolled,

To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lic,
Like the dream of some prophet of old,

They conquered, and, dying, bequeathed to our calo
Not this boundless dominion alone,

But that banner whose loveliness hallows the air,
And their motto of "Many in One,"

We are many in one, while there glitters a star
In the blue of the heavens above,

And tyrants shall quail, 'mid their dungeons afar,
When they gaze on that motto of love.

It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm,
Over tempest, and battle, and wreck,-

And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm, 'Neath the blood on the slippery deck.

The oppressed of the earth to that standard shall fly,
Wherever its folds shall be spread,

And the exile shall feel 'tis his own native sky,

Where its stars shall wave over his head :

And these stars shall increase till the fullness of time

Its millions of cycles have run,

Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime, And the nations of earth shall be one.

Though the old Alleghany may tower to heaven,
And the Father of Waters divide,

The links of our destiny cannot be riven

While the truth of those words shall abide.
Oh! then, let them glow on each helmet and brand,
Though our blood like our rivers should run;
Divide as we may in our own native land,

To the rest of the world we are ONE.

Then, up with our flag!-let it stream on the air;
Though our fathers are cold in their graves,

They had hands that could strike, they had souls that could

dare,

And their sons were not born to be slaves.

Up, up with that banner !-where'er it may call,
Our millions shall rally around,

And a nation of freemen that moment shall fall,
When its stars shall be trailed on the ground.

George W. Cutter.

THE BURNING PRAIRIE.

The prairie stretched as smooth as a floor,
As far as the eye could see,
And the settler sat at his cabin door,
With his little girl on his knee;
Striving her letters to repeat,

And pulling her apron over her feet.

His face was wrinkled but not old,
For he bore an upright form,

And his shirt sleeves back to the elbow rolled,
They showed a brawny arm.

And near in the grass with toes upturned,
Was a pair of old shoes, cracked and burned.

A dog with his head betwixt his paws,
Lay lazily dozing near,

Now and then snapping his tar black jaws
At the fly that buzzed in his ear;

And near was the cow-pen, made of rails,
And a bench that held two milking pails.

In the open door an ox-yoke lay,
The mother's odd redoubt,

To keep the little one, at her play

On the floor, from falling out;

While she swept the hearth with a turkey wing,

And filled her tea-kettle at the spring.

The little girl on her father's knee,
With eyes so bright and blue,
From A, B, C, to X, Y, Z,

Had said her lesson through;

When a wind came over the prairie land,
And caught the primer out of her hand.

The watch dog whined, the cattle lowed
And tossed their horns about,

The air grew gray as if it snowed,

"There will be a storm, no doubt,"

So to himself the settler said;

But, father, why is the sky so red?"

The little girl slid off his knee,
And all of a tremble stood;

"Good wife," he cried, "come out and see,
The skies are as red as blood,"