!

And how the "conquering and to conquer" rounded
The loftier inspirations of the saint.

He had some notions that did not improve him:
He never kissed his children-so they say,

And finest scenes and fairest flowers would move him
Less than a horse-shoe picked up on his way.

He had a hearty hatred of oppression,

And righteous word for sin of any kind:
Alas, that the transgressor and transgression
Were linked together in his honest mind.

He could see naught but vanity in beauty,
And naught but weakness in a fond caress,
And pitied men whose views of Christian duty
Allowed indulgence in such foolishness.

Yet there were love and tenderness within him,
And I am told that when his Charley died,
Nor nature's needs nor gentle words could win him
From his fond vigils at the sleeper's side.

And when they came to bury little Charley,
They found fresh dew-drops sprinkled in his hair;
And on his breast a rose-bud gathered early,

And guessed, but did not know, who put it there.

Honest and faithful, consistent in his calling,
Strictly attendant on the means of grace,

Instant in prayer, and fearful most of failing,
Old Daniel Gray was always in his place.

A practical old man and yet a dreamer,

He thought in some strange, unlooked-for way, His mighty Friend in Heaven, the great Redeemer, Would honor him with wealth some golden day.

This dream he carried in a hopeful spirit,
Until in death his patient eye grew dim,

And his Redeemer called him to inherit

The heaven of wealth long gathered up for him.

So if I ever win the home in heaven,

For whose sweet rest I humbly hope and pray,

In the great company of the forgiven,

I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray.

.

Through the green plain they marching come!
Measureless speed, like a table dread,

For the wild grim dice of the iron game.
Looks are bent on the shaking ground,

Hearts beat low with a knelling sound;

Swift by the breast that must bear the brunt,
Gallops the major along the front-

"Halt!"

And fettered they stand at the stark command,
And the warriors, silent, halt.

Proud as the blush of the morning glowing,

What on the hill-top shines in flowing?
"See you the foeman's banner waving?"
"We see the foeman's banner waving!"
"God be with you, children and wife!"
Hark to the music, the drum and fife-

How they ring through the ranks, which they rouse to the

strife!

Thrilling they sound, with their glorious tone—
Thrilling they go through the marrow and bone!
Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er,

In the life to come that we meet once more!

See the smoke, how the lightning is cleaving asunder!

Hark! the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their

thunder!

From host to host with kindling sound,

The shouted signal circles round;
Freer already breathes the breath!
The war is waging, slaughter raging,
And heavy through the reeking pall
The iron death-dice fall!

Nearer they close-foes upon foes--
"Ready!"-from square to square it goes.

They kneel as one man from flank to flank,
And the fire comes sharp from the foremost rank.
Many a soldier to earth is sent,

Many a gap by the balls is rent;

O'er the corpse before springs the hinder man,
That the line may not fall to the fearless van.
To the right, to the left, and around and around,
Death whirls in its dance on the bloody ground.
God's sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight-
Over the host falls a brooding night!
Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er,
In the life to come we may meet once more.

The dead men are bathed in the weltering blood,
And the living are blent in the slippery flood,
And the feet, as they reeling and sliding go,
Stumble still on the corpse that sleeps below.
"What! Francis!-Give Charlotte my last farewell."

As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell-
"I'll give-Oh God! are the guns so near?

Ho! comrades! one volley! look sharp to the rear!-
I'll give to thy Charlotte thy last farewell!
Sleep soft, where death thickest decendeth in rain,
The friend, thou forsaken, thy side may regain!"
Hitherward, thitherward, reels the fight;
Dark and more darkly day glooms into night.
Brothers, God grant, when this life is o'er,
In the life to come that we meet once more.

Hark to the hoofs that galloping go!
The adjutants flying-

The horsemen press hard on the panting foe,
Their thunder booms in dying-

Victory!

Tremor has seized on the dastards all,

And their leaders fall!

Victory!

Closed is the brunt, of the glorious fight,

And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night,

Trumpet and fife swelling choral along,

The trumpet already sweeps marching in song.
Farewell, fallen brothers, though this life be o'er,

There's another, in which we shall meet you once more!