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My palace is the people's hall,
The ballot-box my throne!
Who serves to-day upon the list
Beside the served shall stand;
Alike the brown and wrinkled fist,
The gloved and dainty hand!
The rich is level with the poor,
The weak is strong to-day;
And sleekest broadcloth counts no more
Than homespun frock of gray.

To-day let pomp and vain pretence
My stubborn right abide;

I set a plain man's common sense
Against the pedant's pride.
To-day shall simple manhood try

The strength of gold and land;
The wide world has not wealth to buy
The power in my right hand!

While there's a grief to seek redress,
Or balance to adjust,

Where weighs our living manhood less
Than Mammon's vilest dust, -

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While there's a right to need my vote,
A wrong to sweep away,

Up! clouted knee and ragged coat!

A man's a man to-day!

THE EVE OF ELECTION.

ROM gold to gray

FRO

Our mild sweet day

Of Indian Summer fades too soon;

But tenderly

Above the sea

Hangs, white and calm, the Hunter's moon.

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And hear the tread of uncrowned kings!

Hark! through the crowd
The laugh runs loud,

Beneath the sad, rebuking moon.

God save the land

A careless hand

May shake or swerve ere morrow's noon!

No jest is this;

One cast amiss

May blast the hope of Freedom's year.
O, take me where

Are hearts of prayer,

And foreheads bowed in reverent fear!

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O martyrs, with your crowns and palms,
Breathe through these throngs

Your battle songs,

Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms!

Look from the sky,

Like God's great eye,

Thou solemn moon, with searching beam;

Till in the sight

Of thy pure light

Our mean self-seekings meaner seem.

LE MARAIS DU CYGNE.

Shame from our hearts

Unworthy arts,

The fraud designed, the purpose dark;

And smite away

The hands we lay Profanely on the sacred ark.

To party claims,

And private aims,

Reveal that august face of Truth,
Whereto are given

The age of heaven,

The beauty of immortal youth.

So shall our voice

Of sovereign choice

Swell the deep bass of duty done,
And strike the key

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