RESIGNATION.

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!

How strange it should be, when the night comes again,
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain,

Fainting,

Freezing,

Dying alone,

Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan

To be heard in the crazy town,

Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down,
To lie and to die in my terrible woe,

With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow

RESIGNATION.-H. W. LONGFELLOW.

THERE is no flock, however watched and tended,

But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions

Not from the ground arise,

But oftentimes celestial benedictions

Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors;

Amid these earthly damps,

What seem to us but sad. funereal tapers

May be heaven's distant lamps.

There is no Death! What seems so is transition.

This life of mortal breath

Is but a suburb of the 1 fe elysian,

Whose portal we call Death.

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She is not dead, -the child of our affection,-
But gone unto that school

Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,

Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
She lives, whom we call dead.

Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;

Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken

The bond which nature gives,

Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For where, with raptures wild,

In our embraces we again enfold her,

She will not be a child;

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;

And beautiful with all the soul's expansion

Shall we behold her face.

And though at times, impetuous with emotion

And anguish long suppressed,

The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,

That cannot be at rest,

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling

We may not wholly stay;

By silence sanctifying, not concealing,

The grief that must have way.

By the sweat of others' foreheads
Living only to rejoice,

While the poor man's outraged freedom
Vainly lifteth up its voice.

Truth and justice are eternal,
Born with loveliness and light;
Sunset's wrongs shall never prosper
While there is a sunny right;
God, whose world-wide voice is singing
Boundless love to you and me,

Sinks oppression with its titles,
As the pebbles in the sea.

PROGRESS.-FRANK SOULE.

PROGRESS, Liberty's proud teacher,
Progress, Labor's sure reward⚫
Of a purer faith the preacher,

Sanctioned by the world's accord.
Crowned with attributes eternal,
Bounteous his liberal hand,
Making Flora's gardens vernal,—
Spreading harvests o'er the land.

In his eye the glance of Mars,

In his arm the strength of Jove, Every mighty footstep jars

Kingly throne and priestly grove. Gathering in his earnest train Emblems of the sea and main, Rushing steam and snowy sail, Plow and harrow, scythe and flail, Anvil and the glowing forge, Rocker in the golden gorge, Implements of Factory roomSpinning-jenny, shuttle, loom, Quarrier's chisel, crow, and sledge, Blasting drill and wrenching wedge

KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GREY.

From the ocean, from the valley,
Gathering up the trades of men,
Calling Labor's sons to rally
To its fit pursuit again.
Calling on the muscles brawny
Made to labor and to dare-
On the arms, embrowned and tawny,
On those delicate and fair.
Calling all who feel the burden

Of the proud oppressor's rod-
Calling all to win the guerdon

Promised Industry, from God: Freedom for the soul aspiring,

Free limbs to the toiling train, Free-will to the mind untiring,

Free thoughts to the thinking brain.
Burdened with the long oppression
Dominant in every zone,

Here shall Freedom be Progression,
And its empire all our own.
Light the torch and raise the altar
For the toiling, teeming train:
Where the weary hearts that falter.
Worshiping, grow strong again.
Higher build each towering story,
Till it challenges the world;
O'er it be the "Stars" of glory,

And the conquering "Stripes," unfurled

Till afar the gorgeous banner

Calls a jubilee to birth,

And creation's free Hosanna

Floats like light around the earth.

KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GREY

Two brown heads with tossing curls,
Red lips shutting over pearls,

Bare feet white, and wet with dew,

Two eyes black and two eyes blue,

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