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In seventeen hundred and eighty-eight:
Folks couldn't then afford
The seats were just plain wood,
In prayer we allus stood.
I tell you it was grand
With tunin'-fork in hand !
Were heard on Sabbath days,
J'ined in the song of praise.
Just eight feet from the ground
A narrer stairs went down;
With Scripter stories all-
And sinful Adam's fall.
The Bible on the ledge
He shoved it to the edge).
The Scripter to expound;
And not a fault was found.
And fought agenst 'em, too;
Then cushings in each pew;
And then, that very year,
And the big shandyleer.
I went to every meetin',
But found my influ’nce fleetin'.
I must blame Deacon Brown:
The pulpit should come down.
They laughed at all those pious scenes
I'd found so edifyin':
He looked aʼmost like flyin';
Jest half way up had tarried ;"
And so the pi'nt was carried.
Have nearly made an end-
As ef I'd lost a friend.
Was what the folks did say:
In this degin'rate day.
(I'm half afеard) to me,
I've been so used to be.
Like any common man,
– Harper's Magazine
TOO LATE.-Fitzhugh Ludlow,
There mat an old man on a rock,
And unceasing bewailed him of fate,
For he sang the song, " Too late! too late!" " When we want, we have for our pains
The promise that if we but wait
While we send for the napkin the soup gets cold,
And everything comes too late-too late !
" When strawberries seemed like red heavens,
Terrapin stew a wild dream--
Then I gazed with a lickerish hurger,
When the goodies all came in a stream-in a stream “I've a splendid blood-horse, and a liver
That it jars into torture to trot;
I can buy boundless credit on Paris and Rome,
When no home but an attic he'd got-he'd got! “How I longed, in that lonest of garrets
Where the tiles baked my brains all July,
A rose-bush-a little thatched cottage-
With a woman's chair empty close by-close by! "Ah! now, thongh I sit on a rock,
I have shared one seat with the great;
But the lips that kissed and the arms that caressed,
Had they only not come too late—too late!”
GOD BLESS OUR SCHOOL.
About the room the Christmas greens
In rich profusion hung,
Those graceful vines among,
Each with its wealth of good,
God bless our school.”
It glittered in the morning sun
In characters of gold,
Like truth that ne'er grows old;
With low-hung clouds of gloom,
“God bless our school.”
Once to my side a fair young
child Came with her eyes of blue, So full of light and innocence,
Pure thoughts were there I knew. “Teacher,” said she, “I wonder so
If it can really be,
And bless our school.”.
Oh, what a fitting time to teach
A sweet and holy truth,
Upon the mind of youth!
Gazed in that childish face,
Could bless our school;
Not e'en a raven's cry,
The notice of His eye.
"Ah! now I know," said she,
And all our school."
O ye! unto whose tender care
These little ones are given,
But turn their hearts to heaven.
The rich festoons of green,
“God bless our school."
TO AMERICA IN 1876.-MARTIN F. TUPPER. Great and understanding nation,
Bear with one whose humble pen Sends this hearty commendation
Flying through the mouths of men;
But with gratitude sincere,
This Centennial, happy year.
Thus to judge, and so to speak As a true and honest witness,
Mindful, though the words be weak,
All the best I feel and see,
Find a flatterer in me.
Since I hailed you once before,
How you greeted me of yore; Even now some few surround me
Though that quarter-century's fled-And their love has newly crowned me
With old blessings on my head. Thanks to you, dear old and new friends,
Each and all my praise receive, Everywhere I know you true friends
And your cordial words believe; As a brother greets a brother,
Still our generous feelings blend, And we look on one another
Each with each as on his friend. Noble people! now returning
Absent thus so many a year,
Can I judge your great career?
Worse or better than of yore?
Forcing all your best before ? Yes! as in that old Dutch story,
You have grown both great and good; Truly, progress is your glory,
Winning all that mortals could;