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But only time for Grief!
But in their briny bed
Hinders needle and thread !”
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
Plying her needle and thread
In poverty, hunger, and dirt,
sang this “ Song of the Shirt.”
the tempest of life, when the waves and the gale
Are around and above, if thy footing should fail, If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart, “ Look aloft,” and be firm, and be fearless of heart.
If thy friend, who embraced in prosperity's glow,
Should the visions which hope spreads in light to the eye
Should they who are dearest, the son of thy heart,
And, oh! when Death comes in his terror to cast
RESS on! there's no such word as fail !
Press nobly on! the goal is near,
Though storm and vapor intervene;
Serenely o’er Life's shadowed scene.
Press on ! surmount the rocky steeps,
Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch ;
He wins who dares the hero's march.
Tramp on eternal snows its way,
Hew down a passage unto day.
Press on ! if once and twice thy feet
Slip back and stumble, harder try;
Danger and death, they're sure to fly.
While on their breasts, who never quail,
Bright courage, like a coat of mail.
Press on ! if Fortune play thee false
To-day, to-morrow she 'll be true;
Taking old gifts, and granting new
The wisdom of the present hour
for follies past and gone , To weakness strength succeeds, and
power From frailty springs, - press on! press on!
Press bravely on ! and reach the goal,
And gain the prize, and wear the crown; Faint not! for to the steadfast soul
Come wealth, and honor, and renown. To thine own self be true, and keep
Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil ; Press on ! and thou shalt surely reap
A heavenly harvest for thy toil. P. Benjamin
Have their own season. 'Tis a little thing
You come back from sea
How's my boy – my boy?
And why should I speak low, sailor ?
How's my boy
Be she afloat, or be she aground,
John ? —
How 's my boy — my boy?
As through an Alpine village passed
His brow was sad; his
“ Excelsior !”
In happy homes he saw the light