His clothes were common, for he wore
No better than he could afford ;
His food was simple, at his home

No unpaid luxuries filled his board.

When he went out on Voting Day,
He did as his convictions led,

Walked where true Honor showed the way!
No thoughts of office crazed his head.

He wandered off the other day

('Twas not because he forged a note !) His neighbors surmised 'twas foul play, That some street robber did garrote.

(Robbers are those who can't afford

To dress up fine and join the Ring,
To sport a brougham, have a valet,
Cheat town and state! a different thing!)

Of Honesty naught has been heard
In village, city, town or state;
Whoever meets him, send a line
Unto his friends who anxious wait.

THE INDIAN'S WISH.

A dying Indian wished to be dressed in blue for his burial, because it was the color of the sky.

"Dress me in blue," said the Child of the Forest,

"When 'neath the green sod you lay me at rest;

"Tis the hue of the sky that stretches above me, Its soft, starry eyes will watch over and love me, When hidden from sight 'neath the earth's flowery breast."

"Life had its colors, its war paint, its beauty,
Feathers have crowned me of every hue,

My wampum, my moccasins glowed like the flowers;
But beauty and warmth are for life's sunny hours;
For my last slumber, oh ! deck me in blue."

"Blue is the roof of the vast spreading forest,

Blue is the tint of the wood's sweetest flowers,
Blue is the hue of the wide-bounding billow;
Robe me in blue, when I rest on earth's pillow

Fading away like the twilight's gray hours!"

"Fading away, as our tribes have been fading,

Like the dry leaves in the autumn's fierce blastLike the clear dew in the steps of the morningLike the red sunset the tree-tops adorning

How like a dream they will vanish at last!"

Robed in his blue, to his slumber they laid him, Where the soft winds o'er the forest breathed low, Where the bright waters were rippling and playing, Where the red deer in freedom were straying,

Where the first flowers of the Spring time would blow.

LET IN THE LIGHT.

Shut out the light? God made and called it good!
Sent it far wandering o'er land and sea,

Tinting each leaf and flower in lonely wood,

Each grass-blade on the lea.

God called it good!

Shut out the light, lest gorgeous carpets fade

And cheeks grow rosy with the sun's warm kiss;

Lest in the sunbeams sport the bee and fly

Their little round of bliss.

Shut out the light!

Shut out the light! folks think you are away
At Saratoga, or beside the beach.

Like bats and owls hide from the face of day
Both poor and rich.

Shut out the light!

Shut out the light e'en from the House of God,
Let not a ray of sunshine venture there;
Twould interrupt the sleepy souls who nod,
And lend a brightness to each gloomy prayer.
Shut out the light!

Let in the light! God made and called it good,
And sent His golden blessing round the world.

Sun, moon and stars a glorious brotherhood,

O'er earth's dark hills and vales God's Flag unfurled. Let in the light!

CHILDREN.

Oh well it is, when life seems dark and dreary,
And the dull eye looks feebly on the earth,
That children are around with voices cheery,
Filling the air with joyous, ringing mirth.

For with the sound of gleeful, happy voices,
The spirit of our youth returns once more,
With rosy face and beaming eye rejoices,

Recounts its tale of simple pleasures o'er.

A shell, or pebbles gathered by the way-side,
A few old sticks, some one's rejected flowers,
Have formed a garden viewed with childish pride,
That seemed far lovelier than Eden's bowers.

The same old games thro' generations handed,
Ring out their carols, bring the same old joy,
And though life's early hopes are roughly stranded,
Pleasures once felt, no time can e'er destroy.

O'er many lives like forest trees grown hoary,
Children like fresh, green vines arise and cling,
Weaving through life's last page a brighter story,
And making age grow gay with blossoming.

Thus lives that else would sink in apathy,

Are forced to take their childhood up again, Recall the time when 'twas a joy to be,

And make the present glow with what has been.

So in the steps of Winter ever treading

Spring brings her flowers from out his cold, white

snows,

Pulls her green quilt from out his snowy bedding, And with her bird-like songs breaks his repose.

THE POOR.

"The poor ye have always with you.”

They are around;

How they abound,

The suffering poor!

Christ left them here

With little to cheer,

Much to endure !

Throughout Winter,
Scarce a splinter

Possess they to burn!

Do they feel cold?

It need not be told

Change places to learn!

Green leaves quiver,

And the river

The green earth adorns ;

Summer's showers

May bring forth flowers,

They find but thorns.