Make our preachers war-chaplains?-quote Scrip

ture to take

The hunted slave back, for Onesimus' sake ?— Go to burning church-candles, and chanting in choir,

And on the old meeting-house stick up a spire?

No! the old paths we'll keep until better are shown, Credit good where we find it, abroad or our own; And while "Lo here" and "Lo there" the multitude call,

Be true to ourselves, and do justice to all.

The good round about us we need not refuse,
Nor talk of our Zion as if we were Jews;

But why shirk the badge which our fathers have

worn,

Or beg the world's pardon for having been born ?

We need not pray over the Pharisee's prayer,
Nor claim that our wisdom is Benjamin's share.
Truth to us and to others is equal and one:

Shall we bottle the free air, or hoard up the sun?

Well know we our birthright may serve but to

show

How the meanest of weeds in the richest soil grow ; But we need not disparage the good which we hold: Though the vessels be earthen, the treasure is

gold!

Enough and too much of the sect and the name.
What matters our label, so truth be our aim?
The creed may be wrong, but the life may be true,
And hearts beat the same under drab coats oj

blue.

So the man be a man, let him worship at will,
In Jerusalem's courts, or on Gerizim's hill.

THE QUAKER ALUMNI.

403

When she makes up her jewels, what cares the good

town

For the Baptist of WAYLAND, the Quaker of BROWN?

And this green, favored island, so fresh and seablown,

When she counts up the worthies her annals have known,

Never waits for the pitiful gaugers of sect

To measure her love, and mete out her respect.

Three shades at this moment seem walking her

strand,

Each with head halo-crowned, and with palms in his hand,

Wise Berkeley, grave Hopkins, and, smiling serene
On prelate and puritan, Channing is seen.

One holy name bearing, no longer they need
Credentials of party, and pass-words of creed:
The new song they sing hath a threefold accord,
And they own one baptism, one faith, and one
Lord!

But the golden sands run out: occasions like these Glide swift into shadow, like sails on the seas: While we sport with the mosses and pebbles ashore, They lessen and fade, and we see them no more.

Forgive me, dear friends, if my vagrant thought

seem

Like a school-boy's who idles and plays with his theme.

Forgive the light measure whose changes display The sunshine and rain of our brief April day.

There are moments in life when the lip and the eye Try the question of whether to smile or to cry ;

And scenes and reunions that prompt like our own The tender in feeling, the playful in tone.

I, who never sat down with the boys and the girls At the feet of your Slocums, and Cartlands, and Earles,

By courtesy only permitted to lay

On your festival's altar my poor gift, to-day,—

I would joy in your joy: let me have a friend's part In the warmth of your welcome of hand and of heart,

On your play-ground of boyhood unbend the brow's

care,

And shift the old burdens our shoulders must bear.

Long live the good School! giving out year by year
Recruits to true manhood, and womanhood dear:
Brave boys, modest maidens, in beauty sent forth,
The living epistles and proof of its worth!

In and out let the young life as steadily flow
As in broad Narragansett the tides come and go;
And its sons and its daughters in prairie and town
Remember its honor, and guard its renown.

Not vainly the gift of its founder was made;
Not prayerless the stones of its corner were laid:
The blessing of Him whom in secret they sought
Has owned the good work which the fathers have
wrought.

To Him be the glory forever!-We bear

To the Lord of the Harvest our wheat with the tare. What we lack in our work may He find in our will, And winnow in mercy our good from the ill!

BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE.

405

BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE.

JOHN BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE spake on his dy ing day:

"I will not have to shrive my soul a priest in Sla very's pay.

But let some poor slave-mother whom I have striven to free,

With her children from the gallows-stair put up a prayer for me!"

John Brown of Ossawatomie, they led him out to

die;

And lo! a poor slave-mother with her little child pressed nigh.

Then the bold, blue eye grew tender, and the old harsh face grew mild,

As he stooped between the jeering ranks and kissed the negro's child!

The shadows of his stormy life that moment fell apart;

And they who blamed the bloody hand forgave the loving heart.

That kiss from all its guilty means redeemed the good intent,

And round the grisly fighter's hair the martyr's aureole bent !

Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good!

Long live the generous purpose unstained with human blood!

Not the raid of midnight terror, but the thought which underlies

Not the borderer's pride of daring, but the Christian's sacrifice.

Never more may yon Blue Ridges the Northern rifle hear,

Nor see the light of blazing homes flash on the negro's spear.

But let the free-winged angel Truth their guarded passes scale,

To teach that right is more than might, and justice more than mail!

So vainly shall Virginia set her battle in array; In vain her trampling squadrons knead the winter snow with clay.

She may strike the pouncing eagle, but she dares not harm the dove

And every gate she bars to Hate shall open wide to Love!

FROM PERUGIA.

"THE thing which has the most dissevered the people from the Pope, the unforgivable thing,-the breaking point between him and them,-has been the encouragement and promotion he gave to the officer under whom were executed the slaughters of Perugia. That made the breaking point in many honest hearts that had clung to him before."-Harriet Beecher Stowe's "Letters from Italy.”

THE tall, sallow guardsmen their horse-tails have spread,

Flaming out in their violet, yellow, and red;
And behind go the lackeys in crimson and buff,
And the chamberlains gorgeous in velvet and ruff;
Next, in red-legged pomp, come the cardinals forth,
Each a lord of the church and a prince of the earth.

What's this squeak of the fife, and this batter of drum?

Lo! the Swiss of the Church from Perugia come,—