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AS SUNG BY THE HUTCHINSONS.
THE GOOD OLD PLOUGH.
'Neath yon lowly roof he lies,
He dreams of crowded barns, and round
The yard he hears the flail resound ;
0, may no hurricane destroy
His visionary views of joy !
God of the winds ! O, hear his humble prayer,
blustering whirlwind spare !
To the cause of the Good Old Plough.
HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
Let them laud the notes that in music float
Through the bright and glittering hall ;
Round the shoulder of beauty fall.
And the rich and blossoming bough;
As he follows the Good Old Plough!
Clear the brown path to meet his coulter's gleam!
Full many there be that daily we see,
With a selfish and hollow pride,
With a scornful look deride;
From his hand than to wealth I'd bow;
Has stood by the Good Old Plough.
First in the field before the reddening sun.
These are the hands whose sturdy labor brings
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
No, by these hills whose banners now displayed ! No helpmates teach the docile steed his road
Welcome, the friendly bank's refreshing seat ;
Till rest delicious chase each transient pain,
And new-born vigor swell in every vein.
Hour after hour and day to day succeeds, WHERE noble Grafton spreads his rich domains, Till every clod and deep-drawn furrow spreads Round Euston's watered vale and sloping plains, To crumbling mould, — a level surface clear, Where woods and groves in solemn grandeur rise, And strewed with corn to crown the rising year; Where the kite brooding unmolested flies, And o'er the whole Giles, once transverse again, The woodcock and the painted pheasant race, In earth's moist bosom buries up the grain. And skulking foxes, destined for the chase ; The work is done ; no more to man is given ; There Giles, untaught and unrepining, strayed The grateful farmer trusts the rest to Heaven. Through every copse and grove and winding glade;
His simple errand done, he homeward lies ; There his first thoughts tɔ Nature's charms in- Another instantly his place supplies. clined,
The clattering dairy-maid immersed in steam, That stamps devotion on the inquiring mind. Singing and scrubbing midst her milk and cream, A little farm his generous master tilled, Bawls out, “Go fetch the cows !"
- he hears no Who with peculiar grace his station filled ;
more ; By deeds of hospitality endeared,
For pigs and ducks and turkeys throng the Served from affection, for his worth revered.
door, A happy offspring blest his plenteous board, And sitting hens for constant war prepared, His fields were fruitful, and his barns well stored, A concert strange to that which late he heard. And fourscore ewes he fed, a sturdy team, Straight to the meadow then he whistling goes ; And lowing kine that grazed beside the stream ; With well-known halloo calls his lazy cows ; Unceasing industry he kept in view,
Down the rich pasture heedlessly they graze, And never lacked a job for Giles to do.
Or hear the summons with an idle gaze;
For well they know the cow-yard yields no more Fled now the sullen murmurs of the north, Its tempting fragrance, nor its wintry store. The splendid raiment of the Spring peeps forth ; Reluctance marks their steps, sedate and slow, Her universal green and the clear sky
The right of conquest all the law they know ; Delight still more and more the gazing eye. The strong press on, the weak by turns succeede Wide o'er the fields, in rising moisture strong, And one superior always takes the lead, Shoots up the simple flower, or creeps along Is ever foremost wheresoe'er they stray, The mellowed soil, imbibing fairer hues, Allowed precedence, undisputed sway ; Orsweets from frequent showersand evening dews; With jealous pride her station is maintained, That summon from their sheds the slumbering For many a broil that post of honor gained ploughs,
At home, the yard affords a grateful scene, While health impregnates every brecze that blows. For spring makes e'en a miry cow-yard clean. No wheels support the diving, pointed share ; Thence from its chalky bed behold conveyed No groaning ox is doomed to labor there ; 1 The rich manure that drenching winter made,
Which, piled near home, grows green with many | Clang, clang !— again, my mates, what grows a wecd,
Beneath the hammer's potent blows ?
Say on what sands these links shall sleep,
Fathoms bencath the solemn deep?
By stormy Labrador.
Still, still, whene'er the battle word For a heart of oak is hangingon every blow, I boule, Is liberty, when men do stand
And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous For justice and their native land, Then Heaven bless the sword !
The low reef roaring on her lee, the roll of ocean ANONYMOUS.
poured From stem to stern, sea after sea, the mainmast
by the board ;
The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.
stove at the chains,
But courage still, brave mariners, the bower still COME, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ; 't
remains, white heat now :
And not an inch to flinch hc deigns save when The billows ceased, the flames decreased ; though
ye pitch sky-high, on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the
Then moves his head, as though he said, “Fear
nothing, - here am I !” sable mound ; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand
keep time, ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands Your blows make music sweeter far than any
steeple's chime ! only bare ; Some rest upon their sledges here, some work But while ye swing your sledges, sing; and let
the burden be, the windlass there.
The Anchor is the Anvil King, and royal crafts
men we; The windlass strains the tackle-chains, the black Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull mound heaves below,
their rustling red ! And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work every throc;
will soon be sped ; It rises, roars, rends all outright, -0 Vulcan, Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery
what a glow! 'Tis blinding white, 't is blasting bright, the For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy high sun shines not so !
couch of clay; The higli sun sces not, on the earth, such fiery Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry fearful show,
craftsmen here, The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearthi, the For the Yeo-heave-o, and the Heave-away, and ruddy, lurid row
the sighing seaman's cheer ; Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men when, weighing slow, at eve they go far, far before the foc ;
from love and home, As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the sailing monster slow
ocean foam. Sinks on the anvil, — all about the faces fiery
grow, “Hurrah !” they shout, “Icap out, leap out”. In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down
at last. bang, bang, the sledges go;
A shapely one he is, and strong as e'er from cat Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high
was cast. and low ;
A trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squash
life like me, ing blow;
What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rattling
the deep green sea ! cinders strew
O deep sea-diver, who might then behold such The ground around ; at every bound the swelter
sights as thou ? ing fountains flow;
The hoary monsters' palaces ! methinks what joy And thick and loud the swinking crowd, at every
't were now stroke, pant “Ho !"
To go plump plunging down amid the assembly
of the whales, Lenp out, leap out, my masters; leap out and And feel the churned sca round me boil beneath lay on load!
their scourging tails ! Let's forge a goodly anchor, a bower, thick and
DINAH MARIA MULOCK.
We women, when afflictions come,
We only suffer and are dumb. 'THE BELL-FOUNDER.” An ! little they know of true happiness, they
And when, the tempest passing by, whom satiety fills,
He gleams out, sunlike, through our sky, Who, flung on the rich breast of luxury, cat of We look up, and through black clouds riven the rankness that kills,
We recognize the smile of Heaven. Ah ! little they know of the blessedness toilpurchased slumber enjoys
Ours is no wisdom of the wise, Who, stretched on the hardl rack of indolence, We have no deep philosophies ; taste of the sleep that destroys ;
Childlike we take both kiss and rod, Nothing to hope for, or labor for ; nothing to sigh For he who loveth knoweth God.
for, or gain ; Nothing to light in its vividness, lightning-like,
bosom and brain ; Nothing to break life's monotony, rippling ito'er
TO LABOR IS TO PRAY. with its breath : Nothing but dulness and lethargy, weariness, PAUSE not to dream of the future before us ; sorrow, and death !
Pause not to weep the wild cares that comeo'erus ;
Hark how Creation's deep, musical chorus, But blessed that child of humanity, happiest man
Unintermitting, goes up into heaven ! among men,
Never the occan wave falters in flowing; Who, with hammer or chisel or pencil, with rud. Never the little seed stops in its growing ; der or ploughshare or pen,
More and more richly the rose heart keeps glowLaboreth ever and ever with hope through the
ing, morning of life, Winning home and its darling divinities, - love
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. worshipped children and wife. Round swings the hammer of industry, quickly Labor is worship !” the robin is singing ; the sharp chisel rings,
“ Labor is worship!" the wild bee is ringing; And the heart of the toiler has throbbings that stir
Listen ! that eloquent whisper, upspringing, not the bosom of kings,
Speaks to thy soul from out nature's great
heart. He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king of his race,
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower ; Who nerveth his arm for life's combat, and looks From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing
flower ; the strong world in the face.
From the small insect, the rich coral bower;
Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part.
DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.
Labor is life! 't is the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ;
Keep the watch wound, or the dark rust assaileth ; (''Some cotton has lately been imported into Farringdon, where Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. the mills have been closed for a considerable time. The
people. Labor is glory!- the flying cloud lightens ; cotton : the women wept over the bales and kissed them, and Only the waving wing changes and brightens, finally sang the Doxology over thein." — Spectator of May 14, 1863.) Idle hearts only the dark future frightens, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow,"
Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them Praise him who sendeth joy and woe.
in tune! The Lord who takes, the Lord who gives, O praise him, all that dies, and lives.
Labor is rest — from the sorrows that greet us ;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us ; He opens and he shuts his hand,
Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us ; But why we cannot understand :
Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. Pours and dries up his mercies' Nood,
- and pure slumbers shall wait on thy And yet is still All-perfect Good.
Work, - thou shalt ride o'er Care's coming billow; We fathom not the mighty plan,
Lie not down 'neath Woe's weeping willow, The mystery of Gol and man;
Work with a stout heart and resolute will !