Ye champions! who maintain
God's everlasting law,
Call on his name again,
And tow'rds his presence draw;
And soon your steady march your foes shall overawe.

Why should you faint or fear?
He shall preserve ye still;
Life, love — all — all that's dear
Yield to his holy will,
And he shall steel your hearts, and strengthen you 'gainst ill.

F ROM Christ, a hundred fold
Of bliss ye shall receive;
For time — that soon is told —
Eternity he'll give;
And he that dies for truth immortally shall live.

BY LEWIS F. THOMAS .

Fair lady, in those sunny climes
That lie beneath the castern skies,
Love's language is not writ in rhymes,
But beams in looks and breathes in sighs;
And when foud maidens would impart
To one away, love's magic power,
They send the wishes of the heart
Interpreted by leaf or flower.
I marked last night thy sigh — thy look —
Alas! they told no love for me,

Zwelikych dobrodruzstwj

Love calls me from my deeds of fame
To his own sweeter service — I
Summon each cherish'd maiden's name,
And ask — to which my soul should fly,
And seek with her a brighter glory
Than ever fill'd the page of story.

But ill my service is repaid,
For Love has planted in my breast
A pang that will not give me rest —
Nor heeds the mischief he has made.

M Y senses are by passion driven,
On to the very gates of heaven;
Delight is handmaid to desire,

" Rejoice, we conquer! " So from Marathon word
Came, by the fleetest of foot, to the gates of Greece.
And the hills of Athens, the marble mother, were stirred,
And the echo thereof to the life in her womb cried " Peace! "

A bubble of wine from those lips, and a city was drunk
With the sudden joy of a birth when its throes are past:
Europe is saved from the flood, and Asia shrunk
Back to her borders for ever while Greece shall last!

While Greece shall last! — while joy for the strength of a steed

O thou rose — thou rose so lovely,
Why so early didst thou blow?
Why when blown, so swiftly blighted,
Swiftly blighted — swiftly faded,
Faded — dying — perish'd too:
Long I sat — I sat at evening
Till I heard the cock's loud crow,
Slumber's weariness o'ercame me
As the splinters wasted low;
And I dreamt: — I dreamt I saw
One who brought to me — poor maiden!
One who with his right hand brought
Golden ring to grace my finger,
Ring with precious gems enwrought —
Where are now those gems? — I know not —
And that youth — I vainly sought.

The storm had passed, but not in wrath,
For ruin had not marked its path
O'er that sweet vale, where now was seen
A bluer sky, and brighter green.
There was a milder azure spread
Around the distant mountain's head;
And every hue of that fair bow,
Whose beauteous arch had risen there,
Now sank beneath a brighter glow,
And melted into ambient air.
The tempest, which had just gone by,
Still hung along the eastern sky,
And threatened, as it rolled away.
The birds from every dripping spray,
Were pouring forth their joyous mirth.

BY OTWAY CURRY .

Stern ruler of that lurid clime,
 Along whose vast and gloomy deep
The shadowy winds and hues sublime
 Of never-ending tempests sweep:

Before thy sceptre high and stern
 The armies of the fallen wait
In dark array, and proudly spurn
 The fetters of unchanging fate.

In thy dark home of endless gloom,
 Their warrior legions round thee press,
To meliorate thy fearful doom
 With their unfaltering faithfulness.

Unwavering still, though deadliest ills

BY WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER

The day was well nigh o'er;
The sun, near the horizon, dimly shone;
And the long shadows of the trees, before
My grassy couch were thrown.
The scene was one I'd witnessed, many a time,
In the green summer of my boyhood's prime;
And now, in early manhood's ripening day,

I.

 Though marble porphyry, and mourning touch,
May praise these spoiles, yet can they not too much;
For beauty last, and * * * this stone doth close,
Once earth's delight, heaven's care, a purest Rose.
And, reader, shouldst thou but let fall a teare
Upon it, other flow'rs shall here appeare,
Sad violets and hyacinths, which grow
With markes of griefe, a publike losse to show.

II.

Relenting eye, which daignest to this stone
To lend a look, behold here he laid one,
The living and the dead interr'd, for dead

BY GEO. B. WALLIS .

My bonnie tree — my bonnie tree,
Ten years have rolled around,
Since thou wert sent to ornament
This consecrated ground.
And then thou wert a little twig,
And I a little wight;
And merrily and cheerily,
From morning until night,
I gamboll'd 'neath thy narrow screen,
Extending now o'er all the green.

That happy day has passed away,
Yet 't is in Memory's store