A Song of the Camp. IVE us a song!" the soldiers cried, When the heated guns of the camp allied The dark Redan, in silent scoff, There was a pause. A guardsman said: "We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow." They lay along the battery's side, Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde, And from the banks of Shannon. They sang of love, and not of fame, Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang "Annie Laurie." Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem rich and strong, Their battle-eve confession. Dear girl! her name he dared not speak; But as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkening ocean burned How English love remembers. And once again a fire of hell Rained on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot and burst of shell, And bellowing of the mortars! And Irish Nora's eyes are dim For a singer dumb and gory; And English Mary mourns for him Who sang of "Annie Laurie." Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest The loving are the daring. The Loom of Life. LL day, all night, I can hear the jar Of the loom of life, and near and far Busily, ceaselessly, goes the loom, In the light of day and the midnight's gloom, Click, click!-there's the thread of love woven in, Click, click!-another of wrong and sin; When shall this wonderful web be done? Not thou or I; But the wheels turn on and the shuttles fly. Ah, sad-eyed weavers, the years are slow, But each one is nearer the end, I know; And soon the last thread shall be woven in God grant it be love instead of sin. Are we spinners of good in this life-web-say? Press On! RESS on! surmount the rocky steeps, Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch: He fails alone who feebly creeps, He wins who dares the hero's march. Be thou a hero! let thy might Tramp on eternal snows its way, Press on! if once and twice thy feet To coward ranks the bullet speeds, Press on! if fortune play thee false To-day, to-morrow she'll be true; Whom now she sinks, she now exalts,- Makes up for follies past and gone: Therefore, press on! and reach the goal, And gain the prize, and wear the crown: Faint not! for to the steadfast soul Come wealth, and honor, and renown. To thine own self be true, and keep Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil; Press on! and thou shalt surely reap A heavenly harvest for thy toil. |