I bring earth's glittering jewels up
From the hidden cave below;

And I make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erflow.

7 I blow the bellows, I forge the steel
In all the shops of trade;

I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel
Where my arms of strength are made;
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint;
I carry, I spin, I weave;

And all these doings I put in print,
On every Saturday eve.

8. I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay,
No bones to be "laid on the shelf;"

And soon I intend you may "go and pl,"
While I manage the world myself.

But harness me down with your iron bands;
Be sure of your curb and rein;

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands,
As the tempest scorns the chain.

GEORGE W. CUTLER.

CXXXII.-ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG.

Delivered on the 19th of November, 1863, at the dedication of the soldier's cemetery. Copied (including punctuation) from a photograph of the original manuscript.

1. Four-score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so con ceived and so dedicated, can long endure.

We

2. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a finai resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate we can not hallow this ground.

3. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here; but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

4. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us-that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom-and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

CXXXIII. COVER THEM OVER.

The people of the United States have a beautiful custom of dec orating with flowers the graves of those who fell in our late war. The following is an extract from a touching poem in commemoration of this custom.

1. Cover them over with beautiful flowers;

Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours;

Lying so silent, by night and by day,

Sleeping the years of their manhood away;

468

Years they had marked for the joys of the brave;
Years they must waste in the sloth of the grave;
All the bright laurels they fought to make bloom
Fell to the earth when they went to the tomb;
Give them the meed they have won in the past;
Give them the honors their merits forecast;

Give them the chaplets they won in the strife;
Give them the laurels they lost with their life.
Cover them over - yes, cover them over

Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover:
Crown in your heart these dead heroes of ours,
And cover them over with beautiful flowers.

2. Cover the faces that motionless lie;

Shut from the blue of the glorious sky;
Faces once lit with the smiles of the gay-
Faces now marred by the frown of decay.
Eyes that beamed friendship and love to your own;
Lips that sweet thoughts of affection made known;
Brows you have soothed in the day of distress;
Cheeks have flushed by a tender caress.

you

Faces that brightened at war's stirring cry;
Faces that streamed when they bade you good-bye!
Faces that glowed in the battle's red flame,
Paling for naught till the Death Angel came.
Cover them over- - yes, cover them over
Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover:
Kiss in your hearts these dead heroes of ours,
And cover them over with beautiful flowers.

3. Cover the hands that are resting, half tried,
Crossed on the bosom, or low by the side;
Hands to you, mother, in infancy thrown;
Hands that you, father, close hid in your own;
Hands where you, sister, when tired and dismayed,
Hung for protection and counsel and aid;

Hands that you, brother, for faithfulness knew;
Hands that you, wife, wrung in bitter adieu.
Bravely the cross of their country they bore;
Words of devotion they wrote with their gore;
Grandly they grasped for a garland of light,
Catching the mantle of death-darkened night.
Cover them over
yes, cover them over
Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover:
Clasp in your hearts these dead heroes of ours,
And cover them over with beautiful flowers.

4. Cover the thousands who sleep far away

Sleep, where their friends can not find them to-day;
They who in mountain, and hillside, and dell
Rest where they wearied, and lie where they fell.
Softly the grass blade creeps round their repose;
Sweetly above them the wild flow'ret blows;
Zephyrs of freedom fly gently o'erhead,
Whispering names for the patriot dead.

So in our minds we will name them once more,
So in our hearts we will cover them o'er;
Roses and lilies and violets blue

Bloom in our souls for the brave and the true.
Cover them over
yes, cover them over
Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover:
Think of those far away heroes of ours,
And cover them over with beautiful flowers.

WILL CARLETON.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases: it will never
Pass into nothingness.

KEATS.

CXXXIV. THE FUTURE OF THE REPUBLIC.

1. When we reflect on what has been, and is, how is it possible not to feel a profound sense of the responsibilities of this Republic to all future ages? What vast motives press upon us for lofty efforts! What brilliant prospects invite our enthusiasm! What solemn warnings at once demand our vigilance, and moderate our confidence!

2. The Old World has already revealed to us, in its unsealed books, the beginning and end of all its own marvelous struggles in the cause of liberty. Greece, lovely Greece, "the land of scholars and the nurse of arts," where sister republics, in fair processions, chanted the praises of liberty where, and what is she now? For two thousand years the oppressor has bound her to the earth. Her arts are no more. The last sad relics of her temple are but the barracks of a ruthless soldiery; the fragments of her columns and of her palaces are in the dust,- yet beautiful in ruin.

* * *

3. Where are the republics of modern times, which clustered around immortal Italy? Venice and Genoa exist but in name. The Alps, indeed, look down upon the brave and peaceful Swiss in their native fastnesses; but the guaranty of their freedom is in their weakness, and not in their strength. The mountains are not easily crossed, and the valleys are not easily retained. The country is too poor for plunder, and too rough for valuable conquest. * * *

4. We stand, the latest, and, if we fail, probably the last, experiment of self-government by the people. We have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has never been checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices or