Sidebilder
PDF
ePub

A Song of the Camp.

IVE us a song!" the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,

When the heated guns of the camp allied
Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,
Lay grim and threatening under;
And he tawny mound of the Malakoff
No longer belched its thunder.

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,
Below the smoking cannon,-

Brave hearts from Severn and from Clyde,

And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love, and not of fame,
Forgot was Britain's glory;

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
The bloody sunset's embers,
While the Crimean valleys learned

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
Your truth and valor wearing;
The bravest are the tenderest,-

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
It thrills with its deep and muffled sound,
As tireless the wheels go always round.

Busily, ceaselessly, goes the loom,

In the light of day and the midnight's gloom,
And the wheels are turning early and late,
And the wool is wound in the warp of fate.

Click, click!-there's the thread of love woven in,

Click, click!-another of wrong and sin;
What a checkered thing this life will be
When we see it unrolled in eternity!

When shall this wonderful web be done?
In a thousand years, perhaps, or one;
Or to-morrow! Who knoweth?

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.

[ocr errors]

Are we spinners of good in this life-web-say?
Do we furnish the weaver a thread each day?
It were better, oh my friends, to spin
A beautiful thread, than a thread of sin.

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,
And, through the ebon walls of night,
Hew down a passage unto day.

Press on! if once and twice thy feet
Slip back and stumble, harder try;
From him who never dreads to meet
Danger and death, they're sure to fly.

To coward ranks the bullet speeds,
While on their breast who never quail,
Gleams guardian of chivalric deeds,
Bright courage, like a coat of mail.

Press on! if fortune play thee false

To-day, to-morrow she'll be true;

Whom now she sinks, she now exalts,-
Taking old gifts and granting new,
The wisdom of the present hour

Makes up for follies past and gone:
To weakness strength succeeds, and power
From frailty springs-Press on! press on!

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.

« ForrigeFortsett »