Song of the Pioneers.

SONG for the early times out West, And our green old forest home, Whose pleasant memories freshly yet Across the bosom come:

A song for the free and gladsome life,
In the early days we led,

With a teeming soil beneath our feet,
And a smiling heav'n o'erhead!
Oh, the waves of life danced merrily,
And had a joyous flow,

In the days when we were pioneers,
Seventy years ago!

The hunt, the shot, the glorious chase,

The captured elk or deer;

The camp, the big, bright fire, and then
The rich and wholesome cheer:

The sweet, sound sleep, at dead of night,
By our camp-fire, blazing high-
Unbroken by the wolf's long howl,
And the panther springing by.
Oh, merrily passed the time, despite
Our wily Indian foe,

In the days when we were pioneers,
Seventy years ago!

We shunned not labor: when 'twas due,
We wrought with right good will;
And for the homes we won for them,
Our children bless us still.

We lived not hermit lives, but oft

In social converse met;

And fires of love were kindled then,
That burn on warmly yet.
Oh, pleasantly the stream of life

Pursued its constant flow,

In the days when we were pioneers,
Seventy years ago!

We felt that we were fellow-men;
We felt we were a band,
Sustained here in the wilderness

By Heaven's upholding hand.
And when the solemn Sabbath came,
Assembling in the wood,

We lifted up our hearts in prayer

To God, the only Good.

Our temples then were earth and sky;

None others did we know,

In the days when we were pioneers,
Seventy years ago!

Our forest-life was rough and rude,
And dangers closed us round;
But here, amid the green old trees,

Freedom was sought and found.

Oft through our dwellings wintry blasts.
Would rush with shriek and moan;
We cared not though they were but frail,
We felt they were our own!

Oh, free and manly lives we led,
'Mid verdure, or 'mid snow,

In the days when we were pioneers,
Seventy years ago.

But now our course of life is short;
And as, from day to day,

We're walking on with halting step,
And fainting by the way,

Another land more bright than this
To our dim sight appears,

And on our way to it we'll soon

Again be pioneers!

Yet while we linger, we may all
A backward glance still throw,.
To the days when we were pioneers,
Seventy years ago.

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death.

Thou unknown, Almighty Cause

Of all my hope and fear!

In whose dread presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!

If I have wandered in those paths

Of life I ought to shun;

As something, loudly, in my breast
Remonstrates I have done,—

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong;
And list'ning to their witching voice

Has often lead me wrong.

Where human weakness has come short,

Or frailty steps aside,

Do thou, All-Good!-for such thou art

In shades of darkness hide.

Where with intention I have erred,

No other plea I have,

But, Thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.

A LENOX AND

EN POUNDATIONS