And lo! from the assembled crowd

There rose a shout prolong'd and loud,
That to the ocean seem'd to say,
"Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray;
Take her to thy protecting arms,

With all her youth and all her charms."

How beautiful she is! how fair

She lies within those arms, that press
Her form with many a soft caress
Of tenderness and watchful care!
Sail forth into the sea, O ship!

Through wind and wave, right onward steer!
The moisten'd eye, the trembling lip,

Are not the signs of doubt or fear.

Sail forth into the sea of life,
O gentle, loving, trusting wife,
And safe from all adversity,
Upon that bosom of that sea
Thy comings and thy goings be!
For gentleness, and love, and trust,
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;
And in the wreck of noble lives,
Something immortal still survives!

Thou, too, sail on, O ship of state!
Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity, with all its fears,

With all the hopes of future years,

Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge, and what a heat,
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope.

Fear not each sudden sound and shock;
"Tis of the wave and not the rock;
"Tis but the flapping of the sail
And not a rent made by the gale.
In spite of rock and tempest roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea;

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee;

Our heart, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,

Are all with thee, are all with thee!

Driving Home the Cows.

UT of the clover and blue-eyed grass

He turned them into the river lane;

One after another he let them pass,
Then fastened the meadow bars again.

Under the willow and over the hill,

He patiently followed their sober pace;
The merry whistle for once was still,
And something shadowed the sunny face.

Only a boy! and his father had said.

He never could let his youngest go, Two already were lying dead,

Under the feet of the trampling foe.

But, after the evening's work was done,

And the frogs were loud in the meadow swamp,

Over his shoulder he slung his gun,

And stealthily followed the foot-path damp.

Across the clover and through the wheat,
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,
And blinding bats flitting startled him.

Thrice since then had the lanes been white,
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;

And now, when the cows came back at night,

The feeble father drove them home.

For news had come to the lonely farm
That three were lying where two had lain;
And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm
Could never lean on a son's again.

The summer day grew cold and late,

He went for the cows when the work was done;
But down the lane, as he opened the gate,
He saw them coming, one by one.

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,

Shaking their horns in the evening wind Cropping the buttercups out of the grassBut who was it following close behind?

Loosely swung in the idle air

The empty sleeve of army-blue,

And worn and pale, from the crisping hair,
Looked out a face that the father knew.

For Southern prisons, will sometimes yawn,
And yield their dead to life again:
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn
In golden glory at last may wane.

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb

And under the silent evening skies

Together they followed the cattle home.

Time and its Changes.

HERE is no charm in time, as time, nor good;

The long days are no happier than the short ones. 'Tis some time now since I was here. We leave

Our home in youth, no matter to what end;
Study, or strife, or pleasure, or what not;
And coming back in few short years, we find

All as we left it, outside; the old elms,

The house, grass, gates, and latchet's selfsame click;
But lift that latchet-all is changed as doom:
The servants have forgotten our step, and more
Than half of those who knew us, know us not.
Adversity, prosperity, the grave,

On some the world

Play a round game with friends.
Hath shut its evil eye, and they are passed
From honor and remembrance, and a stare
Is all the mention of their names receives;
And people know no more of them than of
The shapes of clouds at midnight, a year back.