MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 175 "Many and sharp the numerous ills More pointed still we make ourselves, And man, whose heaven-erected face Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn. "See yonder poor, o'erlabored wight, "If I'm designed yon lordling's slave,— By nature's law designed, Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subject to Or why has man the will and power "Yet, let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of human kind 176 UNSEEN SPIRITS. The poor, oppresséd, honest man Had never, sure, been born, "O death, the poor man's dearest friend, Are laid with thee at rest! But O, a blest relief to those UNSEEN SPIRITS WILLIS. THE shadows lay along Broadway, 'Twas near the twilight tide, And slowly there a lady fair Was walking in her pride; Alone walked she; but, viewlessly, Walked spirits at her side. Peace charmed the street beneath her feet, And Honor charmed the air; And all astir looked kind on her, And called her good and fair; For all God ever gave to her She kept with chary care. THE TRUE MEASUre of liFE. She kept with care her beauties rare Now walking there was one more fair, A slight girl, lily pale; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail: 177 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn, And nothing could avail. No mercy now can clear her brow For this world's peace to pray; For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven, THE TRUE MEASURE OF LIFE. P. J. BAILEY. We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breath; We should count time by heart-throbs when they beat "BRING forth the horse!" The horse was brought; In truth he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, Who look'd as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs; but he was wild, Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, 'Twas but a day he had been caught; Then loosed him with a sudden lash Away! · away!. and on we dash! Torrents less rapid and less rash! Away!-away! my breath was gone: I saw not where he hurried on: 'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, The last of human sounds which rose, Was the wild shout of savage laughter, And snapp'd the cord which to the mane Howl'd back my curse; but midst the tread, It vexes me for I would fain Have paid their insult back again. There is not of that castle-gate, Its drawbridge and portcullis' weight, Save what grows on a ridge of wall, I saw its turrets in a blaze, Their crackling battlements all cleft, And the hot lead pour down like rain That one day I should come again, |