Forbid them to sell when the poor wretch is drunk,

But first let them make him as drunk as they please. The line no doubt falls when his purse is cleaned out, Let them stop but at that, 'twill your consciences

ease.

'Twill your consciences ease.

And when the poor wretch hath drunk year after year, And needs it in pity his torments to quell,

When his flesh burns with anguish and madness is near, If he get not a little, forbid them to sell;

Forbid them to sell.

Ay, license them all! they are powerful, you know; Men ride on their shoulders far upward to power ; But when up, spurn them back to their places so low, To think themselves mighty-poor tools of an hour, Poor tools of an hour!

Ay, license them all, that our jails may be full;
That our land may be blighted, our industry wane ;
That Vice and its minions triumphant may rule,
Never mind, if the dealers a fortune can gain,
A fortune can gain.

O Men placed in power! pause, ponder, reflect,
Look well to your feet that they turn not aside;
The World looks upon you! lose not its respect,
Think not with false reasoning, false actions to hide ;
Look well on your work.

THE STARS.

O stars, that move forever on

Within your circles, 'mid your spheres !
A thousand generations gone,

And still unchanged your light appears -
For what to you a thousand years?

Afar, above our weary life,

Unruffled as the brow of God —
How mean to you the busy strife

Of mortals on this earthly sod,
Who plod to live, who live to plod !

Our little earth keeps on its way,

'Tis not alone the abode of souls ;

We wear the vestments of its clay.

Where world on world unnumbered rolls

We seek a vast eternity.

Lamps round the altar of our God!

A glory spread to mortal gaze!
Man's mightiest works shall reel and nod
Ere pale or die your changeless rays;-
Symbol of Him, Ancient of Days.

THE HEART'S WELL.

It hath been said, in every heart there lies
A well of sparkling waters bright and clear;
Perchance it is concealed from mortal eyes,

Choked by the rubbish of full many a year.

Yet once it rose in beauty to the light,

As limpid stream beside a cottage door That giveth back the face of childhood bright, So this reflected innocence of yore.

But one by one sin's weeds around it grew
And darkly overhung its sun-lit face,

Till but distorted images it knew ;

And the bright sands beneath no one could trace!

Many as worthless passed it idly by

(Perchance some knew not that the well was there); Neglected did those living waters lie,

By those who should have made them their chief

care.

But not forever to be choked and dim

The hand of kindness stretches forth to save,
To free from weeds the well's white pebbly brim,
And bid it rise again with sparkling wave.

And life's fresh flowers bent over it once more;
And star-like spirit eyes did gaze within,
Seeing it gush as brightly as before!

And men forgot how dark it once had been.

THE GRECIAN BEND.

Let's have the old bend, and not have the new;
Let's have the bend that our grandmothers knew ;
Over the wash-tub and over the churn,

That is the bend that our daughters should learn.

Let's have the bend that our grandmothers knew;
Over the cradle like good mothers true ;

Over the table (the family round),

Reading the Good Book 'mid silence profound.

Let's have the bend that at church they did wear,
Bowing them lowly in meek, humble prayer;
Not sitting erect with the modern-miss air,

With the "love of a bonnet" just perched on one hair.

Leave the camel his hump — he wears it for use; Leave the donkey his pannier- and cut yourselves

loose

From fashions that lower, deform and degrade!

To hide some deformity most of them made.

Let our heads of false hair and hot yarn-skeins be shorn;
Let our garments be easy and light to be worn;
Don't shake in December and swelter in June,
And appear like unfortunates struck by the moon.

Let's spend the time in things higher than dress!
Time that was given us to aid and to bless ;
Time that is fleeting and passing away;
Oh! let us work while we call it to-day!

Let's have the old bend instead of the new ;
Let's have the old hearts, so faithful and true!
Away with all fashions that lower and degrade!
To hide some deformity most of them made.

TO AN OLD CHAIR.

Thou old, old Chair! the hand hath lost its cunning,
That quaintly fashioned Thee in years gone by;
Beneath the ground in mouldering ashes laid,
It heeds no passer's tread, no sexton's spade,
Nor whisp'ring winds, nor breath of flowerets nigh.
Still dost Thou speak of skill and honest labor,

Of times when "shoddy" was a word unknown!
An hundred years Thy sturdy form hath weathered.
How many a loving circle round Thee gathered!

How vanished they who once called Thee their own! The hands that wove Thy seat with cunning fingers, Hands once so busy 'mid Life's household toils, How thought of her around Thee, Old Chair, lingers, And Mem'ry strives, 'mid rising forms, to bring hers, One portrait more, from Time's long-buried spoils. How man's decay and frailty thou art mocking! Thou hast upheld the sick, the feeble form, Thou hast been present where young life soon ended; Where manhood's strength unto the grave descended; Where strange disease hath checked the life-blood

warm.

Still dost Thou stand; to bid our thoughts returning
Glide backward on the track of buried years,
To gather thoughts of those but few remember,
To fan on Mem'ry's hearth each dying ember,
Recall alike Life's gladness and its tears.