A factory with a thousand lamps
Beneath our dizzy height
We passed, as swiftly as a bird
That holds its homeward flight.
Then down a lonely vale we went,
Between a frozen mere,

And crags that stood against the sky,
So cold, and deep, and clear.

And many a dark ravine we crossed,
And many a hill passed through ;
And as the night advanced, the moon
And planets brighter grew.

And when the last faint flush had died
Out of the western sky,

Our shadows were distinct and swift,
We could not pass them by.

Over the roughest land they flew,
And where the banks were steep,
Sank down, and on the quarried rocks
An equal speed did keep.

Long glaring lines of lurid fires
Flared past us as we sped,
But still the moon hung steadily
In the deep sky overhead.
She followed us from first to last
Till we arrived at home,

And always kept her spot of light
Upon the brazen dome.

P. G. HAMERTON.

THE ENGINE-DRIVER.

WHIZ and whirr, and whirl and clatter,
Fire and smoke, and dust and steam!
Rushing wildly through the air,

At a speed no maddened team

Of flesh and blood and bone could bear-
Over-through-the earth, no matter,
Over-under--torrent, river,

Bravely rides the engine-driver.

Guided by the magic bands,
Iron bands that bind the earth,
Rein nor rudder's need has he ;
An iron heart, two steady hands,
Are all he needs-but needs must be.
A costly cargo, ten scores' worth
Of human souls, behind him roll :
His to bring them to the goal !

F. TOWNSEND.

SONG OF THE MINERS.

DOWN in the mine which the sunbeams ne'er lighten, We cheerfully labour our living to win ;

For where are the hardships which hope cannot brighten?

What matters the gloom if there's sunshine within ! On the home of our Sovereign the light may be glowing, Round the porch of the peasants the rosebuds may twine,

But both palace and cottage, their comforts are owing To brave hands and busy hands down in the mine!

We toil here for all that in life is endearing,

We toil for the wives and the children we love ; Their smiles are as bright, and their words are as cheering,

To miners below, as to peasants above.

Begrimed though the face be, and blackened the fingers,

Pure lips and a conscience unsullied be mine, For sin is the dark thing that stains where it lingers, And true hearts and pure hearts may beat in the mine!

Oh, yes! for the Spirit of mercy attending,

Brings tidings of pardon and peace even here, And when humble prayer from the depths is ascending, The snowy-winged angels are hovering near! By the light which to all those who ask it is given, Then search for the treasure of wisdom divine, That the Lord may count up 'mid His jewels in heaven, The humble-the faithful-who toil in the mine!

A. L. O. E.

THE WATCHMAN.

THE hour of night is come,
The watchman leaves his home.
No creature now is moving;
Beneath God's care so loving
Each household safe is sleeping:
The watchman guard is keeping.

They who the sweetest rest
Are they who toil the best;
In holy freedom living,
To lowly sufferers giving,
In God's fear aye remaining,
From every sin abstaining.

O God of might above,
Let Thy protecting Love
To us be ever gracious,
And prove so efficacious,
That in all goodness growing,

Thy power we may be showing.

Transl. from the Romaunsch by M. E. TOWNSEND.

THE WATCHMAN'S SONG.

LIST! good people all !

Past ten o'clock! The hour I call;
Now say your prayers and take your rest,
With conscience clear and sins confessed.
I bid you all good night! Good night!

THE FIRE BRIGADE.

THE Fire Brigade are a famous host,
Ever ready, ever steady, pumping away;
In danger and need they are at their post,
Ever ready, &c.

House on fire! house on fire!

Clear the street,

Hark the beat of the horses' feet
Of the Fire Brigade! Fire Brigade!
Ever ready, &c.

They point no rifle to shoot the French,

Ever ready, &c.

They aim but to save, and the fire to quench, Ever ready, &c.

House on fire! house on fire!

Here they come ! make them room!
Here they feel at home,

Do the Fire Brigade! Fire Brigade !
Ever ready, &c.

With hose in hand they are just as bold,
Ever ready, &c.

As soldiers can be who the musket hold,
Ever ready, &c.

House on fire! house on fire!

Pump away! pump away!

Get your hose in play!

'Tis the Fire Brigade! Fire Brigade!
Ever ready, &c.

A voice from the window is screaming wild;
Ever ready, &c.

Now up with the ladder and save that child,
Ever ready, &c.

House on fire! house on fire!

Up they run! Nobly done!

Danger comes like fun

To the Fire Brigade! Fire Brigade!
Ever ready, &c.

Then here's a hurrah for the Fire Brigade,
Ever ready, &c.

At danger and death they are not dismayed,

Ever ready, &c.

Now all's right! All is right!

Fire is out!

Face about!

Hark the merry shout

Of the Fire Brigade! Fire Brigade!

Ever ready, &c.

J. S. STALLYBRASS.

From SONGS AND TUNES FOR EDUCATION. (By permission of Mr. Curwen.)

A POOR MAN'S SONG.

AH yes! I am a poor man now,
I walk alone and sad;

I would that once, e'en once, again
I might be blythe and glad.

Beneath my loving parents' roof
A merry child I played,

But bitter grief hath been my lot
Since they were lowly laid.

I see the rich man's garden bloom,
I see the golden grain;

Mine is the bare unfruitful path,
My comrades-care and pain.

Yet, sad amidst the joyous throng,
I love to linger still,

And wish to each a kind 'good-day,'
With hearty, warm good-will.

And Thou, my gracious God and Lord,
Into my cup dost pour

The balm, the comfort that for all
Thou ever hast in store.

In every village rises still

Thy holy house of prayer,

The music of Thy happy praise

Is ever echoing there.

And still the sun, the moon, the stars,

Shine lovingly for me,

And when the vesper bell resounds,

Then Lord, I speak to Thee.

Soon to the heav'nly courts, Thy love

Will call Thy children home,

Then to Thy board, in festal garb,

I too shall joyful come.

Transl. from the German of Uhland by M. E. ToWNSEND.