II. "Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! Till the stars shine through the roof! Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work ΙΙΙ. “Work—work—work, Till the brain begins to swim, Till the eyes are heavy and dim! And sew them on in a dream! IV. "Oh! men, with sisters dear! Oh! men, with mothers and wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once, with a double thread, V. "But why do I talk of death, It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep, Oh God! that bread should be so dear, VI. "Work-work-work! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, That shattered roof-and this naked floor-- And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank VII. "Work-work—work! From weary chime to chime! As prisoners work for crime! Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, VIII. "Work-work-work! In the dull December light, And work-work—work, When the weather is warm and bright— While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, IX. "Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweetWith the sky above my head And the grass beneath my feet, For only one sweet hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want, Χ. "Oh! but for one short hour! A little weeping would ease my heart, My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread!" XI. With fingers weary and worn, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch Would that its tone could reach the rich !— She sung this "Song of the Shirt' EXERCISE LIII. MAN'S WORKS SHALL FOLLOW HIM. I. JOHN G. WHITTIER. * 'Tis truth that painter, bard, and sage, Even in earth's cold and changeful clime, Plant for their deathless heritage The fruits and flowers of time. II. We shape ourselves the joy or fear With sunshine or with shade. III. The tissue of the Life to be We weave with colors all our own, And in the field of Destiny We reap as we have sown IV. Still shall the soul around it call The shadows which it gathered hero, And painted on the eternal wall The Past shall re-appear. V. Think ye the notes of holy song On Milton's tuneful ear have died? Think ye that Raphael's angel throng Has vanished from his side? * See Note, Exercise V. VI. Oh, no! We live our life again: EXERCISE LIV. JOSEPH STORY, the eminent jurist, and accomplished scholar, was born at Marblehead, in Massachusetts, in 1782. In 1811 he was made a judge of the Supreme Court of the United States. In 1830 he was appointed Dane Professor of the Law School of Harvard University. In both these situations he acquitted himself with distinguished ability. He died in 1845. The following is from a discourse on the occasion of the consecration of Mount Auburn Cemetery in 1831. RESTING-PLACES FOR THE DEAD INTERESTING TO THE LIVING. JUDGE STORY. 1. "Bury me not, I pray thee," said the patriarch Jacob, "bury me not in Egypt: but I will lie with my fathers. And thou shalt carry me out of Egypt: but I will lie with my fathers. And thou shalt carry me out of Egypt; and bury me in their burying-place." "There they buried Abraham, and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac, and Rebecca his wife; and there I buried Leah.” 2. Such are the natural expressions of human feeling, as they fall from the lips of the dying Such are the reminiscences that forever crowd on the confines of the passes to the grave. We seek again to have our home there with our friends, and to be blest by a communion with them. It is a matter of instinct, not of reasoning. It is a spiritual impulse, which supersedes belief, and disdains question. 3. It is to the living mourner-to the parent, weeping over his dear dead child-to the husband, dwelling in his own solitary desolation-to the widow, whose heart is broken by untimely sorrow-to the friend, who misses at every turn the |