Ha, above the foliage yonder,

Something flutters wild and free! "Massa! Massa! Hallelujah!

The flag's come back to Tennessee!"

"Pompey, hold me on your shoulder,
Help me stand on foot once more,
That I may salute the colors

As they pass my cabin door.

Here's the paper, signed, that frees you,
Give a freeman's shout with me!
God and Union! be our watchword
Evermore in Tennessee!"

Then the trembling voice grew fainter,
And the limbs refused to stand;
One prayer to Jesus-and the soldier
Glided to the better land.

When the flag went down the river,
Man and master both were free,
While the ring-dove's note was mingled
With the rippling Tennessee.

BRAVE KATE SHELLEY.

BY MRS. M. L. RAYNE.

It will be remembered that Kate Shelley, a young girl of fifteen years, on that terrible night of July 6, 1881, walked five miles, crossing in the darkness and storm a long dangerous bridge, to warn the night express on the Chicago and Northwestern Railway of a wrecked train. When the story of her heroic behavior spread throughout the State, several funds for her benefit were started, and, so far as money can pay for such devotion, she has been well rewarded for her night's work. At the session of the Iowa Legislature, last winter, it was ordered that a medal commemorative of the girl's bravery be struck, and a committee was appointed to present it to her. Her heroism was made the theme of many eloquent speeches.

THE

"How far that little candle throws its beams,
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."

HROUGH the whirl of wind and water parted by the
rushing steel,

Flashed the white glare of the headlight, flew the swift revolv

ing wheel,

As the midnight train swept onward, bearing on its iron wings Through the gloom of night and tempest, freightage of most precious things.

Little children by their mothers nestle in unbroken rest,

Stalwart men are dreaming softly of their journey's finished quest, While the men who watch and guard them, sleepless stand at post and brake;

Close the throttle! draw the lever! safe for wife and sweetheart's sake.

Sleep and dream, unheeding danger; in the valley yonder lies
Death's debris in weird confusion, altar fit for sacrifice!
Dark and grim the shadows settle where the hidden perils wait;
Swift the train, with dear lives laden, rushes to its deadly fate.
Still they sleep and dream unheeding. Oh, thou watchful One
above,

Save Thy people in this hour! save the ransomed of Thy love!
Send an angel from Thy heaven who shall calm the troubled air,
And reveal the powers of evil hidden in the darkness there.
Saved! ere yet they know their peril, comes a warning to alarm;
Saved! the precious train is resting on the brink of deadly harm.
God has sent his angel to them, brave Kate Shelley, hero-child!
Struggling on, alone, unaided through that night of tempest wild.
Brave Kate Shelley! tender maiden, baby hands with splinters torn,
Saved the lives of sleeping travelers swiftly to death's journey
borne.

Mothers wept and clasped their darlings, breathing words of grateful prayer;

Men with faces blanched and tearful thanked God for Kate Shelley there.

Greater love than this hath no man. When the Heavens shall unfold,

And the judgment books are opened, there in characters of gold Brave Kate Shelley's name shall center, mid the pure, the brave

and good,

That of one who crowned with glory her heroic womanhood.

LABOR IS WORSHIP.

BY FRANCIS SARGENT OSGOOD.

Mrs. Osgood struck a popular vein in writing her poems, and they have made themselves a permanent place in the hearts of the people. This is particularly true of the one below, which glorifies the humblest mission of labor into a heroic achievement. Mrs. Osgood was born in Boston in 1812, and was the daughter of a merchant named Locke. In 1834 she married 8. S. Osgood, an artist. She died in 1850.

AUSE not to dream of the future before us;

PAUS

Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us.
Hark, how creation's deep musical chorus

Unintermitting goes up into Heaven.
Never the ocean wave falters in flowing;
Never the little seed stops in its growing;
More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing,
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.

"Labor is worship!"-the robin is singing;
"Labor is worship!"-the wild bee is ringing;
Listen! that eloquent whisper upspringing

Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower;
From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower;
From the small insect, the rich coral bower;

Only man, in the plan, ever shrinks from his part.