SONG OF THE BELL.

BELL! thou soundest merrily,
When the bridal party

To the church doth hie :
Bell! thou soundest solemnly,
When on Sabbath morning
Fields deserted lie!

Bell! thou soundest merrily ;
Tellest thou at evening,
Bed-time draweth nigh?
Bell! thou soundest mournfully ;
Tellest thou the bitter

Parting hath gone by !

Say! how canst thou mourn?
How canst thou rejoice?
Thou art but metal dull!
And yet all our sorrowings,
And all our rejoicings,

Thou dost feel them all!

God hath wonders many,
Which we cannot fathom,

Placed within thy form!
When the heart is sinking,
Thou alone canst raise it,
Trembling in the storm!

LONGFELLOWw. From the German.

SONG OF THE SHIP-BUILDER.

THE sky is ruddy in the east,
The earth is gray below,

And, spectral in the river-mist,

The ship's white timbers show.

Then let the sounds of measured stroke

And grating saw begin;

The broad-axe to the gnarlèd oak,

The mallet to the pin!

Hark! roars the bellows, blast on blast!

The sooty smithy jars,

And fire-sparks rising far and fast,

Are fading with the stars.

All day for us the smith shall stand
Beside that flashing forge;
All day for us his heavy hand
The groaning anvil scourge.

From far-off hills, the panting team
For us is toiling near;

For us the raftsmen down the stream
Their island barges steer.

Rings out for us the axe-man's stroke
In forests old and still;
For us the century-circled oak
Falls crashing down his hill.
Up!-up!-in nobler toil than ours
No craftsmen bear a part;
We make of Nature's giant powers
The slaves of human art.

Lay rib to rib, and beam to beam,
And drive the tree-nails free;
Nor faithless joint, nor yawning seam,
Shall tempt the searching sea!
Ho! strike away the bars and blocks,
And set the good ship free!

Why lingers on these dusty rocks

The young bride of the sea?

Look! how she moves adown the grooves,

In graceful beauty now!

How lowly on the breast she loves

Sinks down her virgin prow!

God bless her! wheresoe'er the breeze

Her snowy wing shall fan,

Aside the frozen Hebrides,

Or sultry Hindustan ;

Where'er in mart, or on the main,
With peaceful flag unfurled,
She helps to wind the silken chain
Of commerce round the world!

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

MAKE YOUR MARK.

IN the quarries should you toil,

Do

you delve upon

Make your mark;

the soil?
Make your mark;

In whatever path you go,
In whatever place you stand;
Moving swift, or moving slow,
With a firm and steady hand

Make your mark!

Life is fleeting as a shade,

Make your mark;

Marks of some kind must be made,

Make your mark;

Make it while the arm is strong,

In the golden hours of youth;
Never, never make it wrong,

Make it with the stamp of truth;
Make your mark!

Golden Wreath.

THE BUILDERS.

ALL are architects of Fate,

Working in these walls of Time, Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;

Each thing in its place is best ;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;

Our to-days and yesterdays

Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between ;
Think not, because no man sees,

Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,

Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;

For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,

Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house where Gods may dwell
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure

Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain

To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

LONGFELLOW.

THE FISHERMAN'S SONG.

COME, messmates, 'tis time to hoist the sail,
It is fair as fair can be;

And the eddying tide, and the northerly gale,
Will carry us out to sea.

So down with the boat from the beach so steep,
We must part with the setting sun;

For ere we can spread our nets in the deep
We've a weary way to run.

As through the night-watches we drift about,
We'll think of the times that are fled,

And of Him who once called other fishermen out,
To be fishers of men instead.

Like us they had hunger and cold to bear;
Rough weather, like us, they knew;
And He, who guarded them by His care,
Full often was with them too.

'Twas the fourth long watch of a stormy night,

And but little way they had made,

When He came o'er the waters and stood in their sight,
And their hearts were sore afraid;

But He cheered their spirits, and said, ‘It is I,'
And then they could fear no harm.
And though we cannot behold Him nigh,
He is guarding us still with His arm.

They had toiled all the night, and had taken naught;
He commanded the stormy sea,

They let down their nets, and of fishes caught

An hundred and fifty-three.

And good success to our boats He will send,
If we trust in His mercy aright;

For He pitieth those who at home depend
On what we shall take to-night.

And if ever in danger and fear we are tossed

About on the stormy deep,

We'll tell how they once thought that all was lost,
When their Lord 'was fast asleep.'

He saved them then-He can save us still-
For His are the winds and the sea,
And if He is with us, we'll fear no ill,
Whatever the danger be.

Or if He see fit that our boat should sink,
By a storm or a leak, like lead,
Yet still of the glorious day we'll think,
When the sea shall yield her dead;

For they who depart in His faith and fear

Shall find their passage is short,

From the troublesome waves that beset life here, To the everlasting port.

HERRING FISHING.

THE herring loves the merry moonlight,

The mack'rel loves the wind;

But the oyster loves the dredging sand,

For it comes of a gentler kind.

NEALE.