Voices for the Speechless
by Abraham Firth
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Selections for Schools and Private Reading



Secretary of the American Humane Association

—which "plead the cause Of those dumb mouths that have no speech."


And I am recompensed, and deem the toils Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine May stand between an animal and woe, And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge




The compiler of this little book has often heard inquiries by teachers of schools, for selections suitable for reading and recitations by their scholars, in which the duty of kindness to animals should be distinctly taught.

To meet such calls, three successive pamphlets were published, and a fourth consisting of selections from the Poems of Mr. Longfellow. All were received with marked favor by the teachers to whom they became known.

This led to their collection afterwards in one volume for private circulation, and now the volume is republished for public sale, with a few omissions and additions.

All who desire our children to be awakened in their schools to the claims of the humbler creatures are invited to see that copies are put in school libraries, that they may be within the reach of all teachers. And this, not for the sake of the creatures only.

As Pope has said, "Nothing stands alone; the chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown."

Many readers may be surprised to find how many of the great poets have been touched by the sufferings of the "innocent animals," and how loftily they have pleaded their cause.

The poems in the collection are not all complete, because of their length in some cases, and, in others, because a part only of each was suited to the end in view. A very few, however, like "Geist's Grave" and "Don," could not be divided satisfactorily.

To all who have aided in this humble undertaking, heartiest thanks are given, and especially to its publishers who have accorded to it their coveted approval and the benefit of their large facilities for making the volume widely known.

May the lessons of kindness and dependence here taught with so much poetical beauty and with such mingled justice, pathos and humor, find a permanent lodgment in the hearts of all who may read them!

A. F.

BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A., June, 1883.


Introduction A Prayer He Prayeth Best Our Morality on Trial Sympathy Mercy Results and Duties of Man's Supremacy Justice to the Brute Creation Can they Suffer? Growth of Humane Ideas Moral Lessons Duty to Animals not long recognized Natural Rights "Dumb" Upward Care for the Lowest Trust Say Not See, through this Air The Right must win Animated Nature Animal Happiness No Grain of Sand Humanity, Mercy, and Benevolence Living Creatures Nothing Alone Man's Rule Dumb Souls Virtue Little by Little Loyalty Animals and Human Speech Pity Learn from the Creatures Pain to Animals What might have been Village Sounds Buddhism Old Hindoo Truth Our Pets Egyptian Ritual Brotherhood A Birthday Address Suffering To Lydia Maria Child Vivisection Nobility Acts of Mercy The Good Samaritan Love Children at School Membership of the Church Feeling for Animals Heroic Effect of Cruelty Aspiration The Poor Beetle The Consummation Persevere A Vision Speak Gently Questions Heroes For the Sake of the Innocent Animals Ring Out Fame and Duty No Ceremony True Leaders Be kind to Dumb Creatures Action "In Him we Live" Firm and Faithful Heart Service Exulting Sings In Holy Books The Bell of Atri Among the Noblest The Fallen Horse The Horse The Birth of the Horse To his Horse Sympathy for Horse and Hound The Blood Horse The Cid and Bavieca The King of Denmark's Ride Do you know The Bedouin's Rebuke From "The Lord of Butrago" "Bay Billy" The Ride of Collins Graves Paul Revere's Ride Sheridan's Ride Good News to Aix Dying in Harness Plutarch's Humanity The Horses of Achilles The War Horse Pegasus in Pound The Horse From "The Foray" On Landseer's Picture, "Waiting for Master" The Waterfowl Sea Fowl The Sandpiper The Birds of Killingworth The Magpie The Mocking-Bird Early Songs and Sounds The Sparrow's Note The Glow-Worm St. Francis to the Birds Wordsworth's Skylark Shelley's Skylark Hogg's Skylark The Sweet-Voiced Quire A Caged Lark The Woodlark Keats's Nightingale Lark and Nightingale Flight of the Birds A Child's Wish The Humming-Bird The Humming-Bird's Wedding The Hen and the Honey-Bee Song of the Robin Sir Robin The Dear Old Robins Robins quit the Nest Lost—Three Little Robins The Terrible Scarecrow and Robins The Song Sparrow The Field Sparrow The Sparrow Piccola and Sparrow Little Sparrow The Swallow The Emperor's Bird's-Nest To a Swallow building under our Eaves The Swallow, the Owl, and the Cock's Shrill Clarion in the "Elegy" The Statue over the Cathedral Door The Bird let Loose The Brown Thrush The Golden-Crowned Thrush The Thrush The Aziola The Marten Judge You as You Are Robert of Lincoln My Doves The Doves of Venice Song of the Dove What the Quail says Chick-a-dee-dee The Linnet Hear the Woodland Linnet The Parrot The Common Question Why not do it, Sir, To-day To a Redbreast Phoebe To the Stork The Storks of Delft The Pheasant The Herons of Elmwood Walter von der Vogelweid The Legend of the Cross-Bill Pretty Birds The Little Bird sits The Living Swan The Stormy Petrel To the Cuckoo Birds at Dawn Evening Songs Little Brown Bird Life's Sign A Bird's Ministry Of Birds Birds in Spring The Canary in his Cage Who stole the Bird's-Nest Who stole the Eggs What the Birds say The Wren's Nest On Another's Sorrow The Shepherd's Home The Wood-Pigeon's Home The Shag The Lost Bird The Bird's must know The Bird King Shadows of Birds The Bird and the Ship A Myth Cuvier on the Dog A Hindoo Legend Ulysses and Argus Tom William of Orange saved by his Dog The Bloodhound Helvellyn Llewellyn and his Dog Looking for Pearls Rover To my Dog "Blanco" The Beggar and his Dog Don Geist's Grave On the Death of a Favorite Old Spaniel Epitaph in Grey Friars' Churchyard From an Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog The Dog Johnny's Private Argument The Harper "Flight" The Irish Wolf-Hound Six Feet There's Room enough for all His Faithful Dog The Faithful Hound The Spider's Lesson The Spider and Stork The Homestead at Evening The Cattle of a Hundred Farms Cat-Questions The Newsboy's Cat The Child and her Pussy The Alpine Sheep Little Lamb Cowper's Hare Turn thy Hasty Foot aside The Worm turns Grasshopper and Cricket The Honey-Bees Cunning Bee An Insect The Chipmunk Mountain and Squirrel To a Field-Mouse A Sea-Shell The Chambered Nautilus Hiawatha's Brothers Unoffending Creatures September The Lark The Swallow Returning Birds The Birds Thrush Linnet Nightingale Songsters Mohammedanism—The Cattle The Spider and the Dove The Young Doves Forgiven Prayers Dumb Mouths The Parsees Hindoo The Tiger Value of Animals Societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals


* * * * *


And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.—Gen. i. 31.

But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy man-servant, nor thy maid-servant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy gates.—Ex. xx. 10.

For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills.

I know all the fowls of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are mine.—Psa. l. 10, 11.

The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works.

The eyes of all wait upon thee: and thou givest them their meat in due season.

Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living thing.—Psa. cxlv. 9, 15, 16.

A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.—Prov. xii. 10.

Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to destruction.—Prov. xxxi. 8.

But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee.—Job xii. 7.

Thou shalt not see thy brother's ox or his sheep go astray, and hide thyself from them: thou shalt in any case bring them again unto thy brother. And if thy brother be not nigh unto thee, or if thou know him not, then thou shalt bring it unto thine own house, and it shall be with thee until thy brother seek after it, and thou shalt restore it to him again.

In like manner shalt thou do with his ass; and so shalt thou do with his raiment: and with all lost things of thy brother's, which he hath lost, and thou hast found, shalt thou do likewise: thou mayest not hide thyself.

Thou shalt not see thy brother's ass or his ox fall down by the way, and hide thyself from them: thou shalt surely HELP him to lift them up again.—Deut. xxii. 1-4.

Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? he retaineth not his anger for ever, because he DELIGHTETH IN MERCY. He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities: and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.—Mic. vii. 18, 19.

Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south? Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high?—Job xxxix. 26, 27.

Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, Provideth her meat in summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest. —Prov. vi. 6-8.

And the Lord sent Nathan unto David. And he came unto him, and said unto him, There were two men in one city: the one was rich, and the other poor.

The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds: But the poor man had nothing save one little ewe-lamb, which he had bought and nourished up: and it grew up together with him, and with his children; it did eat of his own meat, and drank of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a daughter.

And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he spared to take of his own flock, and of his own herd, to dress for the wayfaring man that was come to him; but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it for the man that was come to him.

And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man; and he said to Nathan, As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die. And he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because HE HAD NO PITY.—2 Sam. xii. 1-6.

Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise him in the heights. Praise ye him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts.

Beasts and all cattle: creeping things, and flying fowl.—Psa. cxlviii. 1, 2, 10.

Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.—Psa. lxxxiv. 3.

And should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than sixscore thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand, and also much cattle?—Jonah iv. 11.

For the scripture saith, Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.—1 Tim. v. 18.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Matt. v. 7.

Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.—Matt. vi. 26.

Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God?—Luke xii. 6.


* * * * *


Maker of earth and sea and sky, Creation's sovereign, Lord and King, Who hung the starry worlds on high, And formed alike the sparrow's wing: Bless the dumb creatures of thy care, And listen to their voiceless prayer.

For us they toil, for us they die, These humble creatures Thou hast made; How shall we dare their rights deny, On whom thy seal of love is laid? Teach Thou our hearts to hear their plea, As Thou dost man's in prayer to Thee!


* * * * *


O wedding guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be.

O sweeter than the marriage feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!—

To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old man, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell! farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.


* * * * *


Bishop Butler affirmed that it was on the simple fact of a creature being sentient, i.e. capable of pain and pleasure, that rests our responsibility to save it pain and give it pleasure. There is no evading this obligation, then, as regards the lower animals, by the plea that they are not moral beings; it is our morality, not theirs, which is in question.


* * * * *

"Never," said my aunt, "be mean in anything; never be false, never BE CRUEL. Avoid those three vices, Trot, and I can always be hopeful of you."

C. DICKENS, in David Copperfield.

* * * * *


Wherefore it is evident that even the ordinary exercise of this faculty of sympathy implies a condition of the whole moral being in some measure right and healthy, and that to the entire exercise of it there is necessary the entire perfection of the Christian character, for he who loves not God, nor his brother, cannot love the grass beneath his feet and the creatures that fill those spaces in the universe which he needs not, and which live not for his uses; nay, he has seldom grace to be grateful even to those that love and serve him, while, on the other hand, none can love God nor his human brother without loving all things which his Father loves, nor without looking upon them every one as in that respect his brethren also, and perhaps worthier than he, if in the under concords they have to fill their part is touched more truly.


* * * * *


The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings. But mercy is above this sceptred sway: It is enthroned in the hearts of kings; It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore,... Though justice be thy plea, consider this,— That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy.

SHAKESPEARE: Merchant of Venice, Act 4, Sc. 1.

* * * * *


And in that primeval account of Creation which the second chapter of Genesis gives us, the first peculiar characteristic of the Human Being is that he assumes the rank of the Guardian and Master of every fowl of the air and every beast of the field. They gather round him, he names them, he classifies them, he seeks for companionship from them. It is the fit likeness and emblem of their relation to him in the course of history. That "earnest expectation of the creature" which the Apostle describes, that, "stretching forth the head" of the whole creation towards a brighter and better state as ages have rolled on, has received even here a fulfilment which in earlier times could not have been dreamed of. The savage animals have, before the tread of the Lord of Creation, gradually disappeared. Those creatures which show capacity for improvement have been cherished and strengthened and humanized by their intercourse with man. The wild horse has been brought under his protecting care, has become a faithful ministering servant, rejoicing in his master's voice, fondled by his master's children. The huge elephant has had his "half-reasoning" powers turned into the faculties of a gentle, benevolent giant, starting aside from his course to befriend a little child, listening with the docility of a child to his driver's rebuke or exhortation. The light, airy, volatile bird seems to glow with a new instinct of affection and of perseverance under the shelter of the firm hand and eye of man. The dog, in all Eastern nations, even under the Old Testament itself, represented as an outcast, the emblem of all that was unclean and shameful, has, through the Gentile Western nations, been admitted within the pale of human fellowship. Truly, if man has thus, as it were, infused a soul into the dumb, lawless animals, what a community of feeling, what tenderness should it require from him in dealing with them. What a heartless, in one word, what an inhuman spirit is implied by any cruelty towards those, his dependents, his followers, his grateful, innocent companions, placed under his charge by Him who is at once their Father and ours. Remember our common origin and our common infirmities. Remember that we are bound to feel for their hunger, their thirst, their pains, which they share with us, and which we, the controllers of their destiny, ought to alleviate by the means which our advancing civilization enables us to use for ourselves. Remember how completely each of us is a god to them, and, as a god, bound to them by godlike duties.


* * * * *


The rights of all creatures are to be respected, but especially of those kinds which man domesticates and subsidizes for his peculiar use. Their nearer contact with the human world creates a claim on our loving-kindness beyond what is due to more foreign and untamed tribes. Respect that claim. "The righteous man," says the proverb, "regardeth the life of his beast." Note that word "righteous." The proverb does not say the merciful man, but the righteous, the just. Not mercy only, but justice, is due to the brute. Your horse, your ox, your kine, your dog, are not mere chattels, but sentient souls. They are not your own so proper as to make your will the true and only measure of their lot. Beware of contravening their nature's law, of taxing unduly their nature's strength. Their powers and gifts are a sacred trust. The gift of the horse is his fleetness, but when that gift is strained to excess and put to wager for exorbitant tasks, murderous injustice is done to the beast. They have their rights, which every right-minded owner will respect. We owe them return for the service they yield, all needful comfort, kind usage, rest in old age, and an easy death.


* * * * *


The day may come when the rest of the animal creation may acquire those rights which never could have been withheld from them but by the hand of tyranny. It may come one day to be recognized that the number of legs, or the villosity of the skin, are reasons insufficient for abandoning a sensitive being to the caprice of a tormentor. What else is it that should trace the insuperable line? Is it the faculty of reason, or perhaps the faculty of discourse? But a full-grown horse or dog is beyond comparison a more rational as well as a more conversable animal than an infant of a day, a week, or even a month old. But suppose the case were otherwise, what could it avail? The question is not "Can they reason?" nor "Can they speak?" but "Can they suffer?"


* * * * *


The disposition to raise the fallen, to befriend the friendless, is now one of the governing powers of the world. Every year its dominion widens, and even now a strong and growing public opinion is enlisted in its support. Many men still spend lives that are merely selfish. But such lives are already regarded with general disapproval. The man on whom public opinion, anticipating the award of the highest tribunal, bestows its approbation, is the man who labors that he may leave other men better and happier than he found them. With the noblest spirits of our race this disposition to be useful grows into a passion. With an increasing number it is becoming at least an agreeable and interesting employment. On the monument to John Howard in St. Paul's, it is said that the man who devotes himself to the good of mankind treads "an open but unfrequented path to immortality." The remark, so true of Howard's time, is happily not true of ours.

MACKENZIE'S Nineteenth Century.

* * * * *


And let us take to ourselves the moral lessons which these creatures preach to all who have studied and learned to love what I venture to call the moral in brutes. Look at that faithful servant, the ox! What an emblem in all generations of patient, plodding, meek endurance and serviceable toil! Of the horse and the dog, what countless anecdotes declare the generous loyalty, the tireless zeal, the inalienable love! No human devotion has ever surpassed the recorded examples of brutes in that line. The story is told of an Arab horse who, when his master was taken captive and bound hand and foot, sought him out in the dark amidst other victims, seized him by the girdle with his teeth, ran with him all night at the top of his speed, conveyed him to his home, and then, exhausted with the effort, fell down and died. Did ever man evince more devoted affection?

Surely, something of a moral nature is present also in the brute creation. If nowhere else we may find it in the brute mother's care for her young. Through universal nature throbs the divine pulse of the universal Love, and binds all being to the Father-heart of the author and lover of all. Therefore is sympathy with animated nature, a holy affection, an extended humanity, a projection of the human heart by which we live, beyond the precincts of the human house, into all the wards of the many creatured city of God, as He with his wisdom and love is co-present to all. Sympathy with nature is a part of the good man's religion.


* * * * *

Whenever any trait of justice, or generosity, or far-sighted wisdom, or wide tolerance, or compassion, or purity, is seen in any man or woman throughout the whole human race, as in the fragments of a broken mirror we see the reflection of the Divine image.


* * * * *


It is not, however, to be reckoned as surprising, that our forefathers did not dream of such a thing as Duty to Animals. They learned very slowly that they owed duties to men of other races than their own. Only in the generation which recognized thoroughly for the first time that the negro was a man and brother, did it dawn that beyond the negro there were other still humbler claimants for benevolence and justice. Within a few years, passed both the Emancipation of the West Indian slaves and the first act for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, of which Lord Erskine so truly prophesied that it would prove not only an honor to the Parliament of England, but an era in the civilization of the world.


* * * * *


But what is needed for the present is due regard for the natural rights of animals, due sense of the fact that they are not created for man's pleasure and behoof alone, but have, independent of him, their own meaning and place in the universal order; that the God who gave them being, who out of the manifoldness of his creative thought let them pass into life, has not cast them off, but is with them, in them, still. A portion of his Spirit, though unconscious and unreflecting, is theirs. What else but the Spirit of God could guide the crane and the stork across pathless seas to their winter retreats, and back again to their summer haunts? What else could reveal to the petrel the coming storm? What but the Spirit of God could so geometrize the wondrous architecture of the spider and the bee, or hang the hill-star's nest in the air, or sling the hammock of the tiger-moth, or curve the ramparts of the beaver's fort, and build the myriad "homes without hands" in which fish, bird, and insect make their abode? The Spirit of God is with them as with us,—consciously with us, unconsciously with them. We are not divided, but one in his care and love. They have their mansions in the Father's house, and we have ours; but the house is one, and the Master and keeper is one for us and them.


* * * * *


I can hardly express to you how much I feel there is to be thought of, arising from the word "dumb" applied to animals. Dumb animals! What an immense exhortation that is to pity. It is a remarkable thing that this word dumb should have been so largely applied to animals, for, in reality, there are very few dumb animals. But, doubtless, the word is often used to convey a larger idea than that of dumbness; namely, the want of power in animals to convey by sound to mankind what they feel, or, perhaps, I should rather say, the want of power in men to understand the meaning of the various sounds uttered by animals. But as regards those animals which are mostly dumb, such as the horse, which, except on rare occasions of extreme suffering, makes no sound at all, but only expresses pain by certain movements indicating pain—how tender we ought to be of them, and how observant of these movements, considering their dumbness. The human baby guides and governs us by its cries. In fact, it will nearly rule a household by these cries, and woe would betide it, if it had not this power of making its afflictions known. It is a sad thing to reflect upon, that the animal which has the most to endure from man is the one which has the least powers of protesting by noise against any of his evil treatment.


* * * * *


His parent hand From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore, To men, to angels, to celestial minds, Forever leads the generations on To higher scenes of being; while supplied From day to day with His enlivening breath, Inferior orders in succession rise To fill the void below.

AKENSIDE: Pleasures of Imagination.

* * * * *


I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail That crawls at evening in the public path; But he that has humanity, forewarned, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, A visitor unwelcome, into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, The chamber, or refectory, may die: A necessary act incurs no blame. Not so when, held within their proper bounds, And guiltless of offence, they range the air, Or take their pastime in the spacious field: There they are privileged; and he that hunts Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, Disturbs the economy of nature's realm, Who, when she formed, designed them an abode. The sum is this: If man's convenience, health, Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. Else they are all—the meanest things that are— As free to live, and to enjoy that life, As God was free to form them at the first, Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons To love it too.


* * * * *


Oh, yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain; That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain.


* * * * *


Say not, the struggle naught availeth, The labor and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly! But westward, look, the land is bright.


* * * * *


See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth, All matter quick, and bursting into birth. Above, how high progressive life may go! Around, how wide! how deep extend below! Vast chain of being! which from God began, Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, which no eye can see, No glass can reach; from infinite to thee; From thee to nothing. On superior powers Were we to press, inferior might on ours; Or in the full creation leave a void, Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed: From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike. All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame; Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees; Lives through all life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: To Him no high, no low, no great, no small; He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all.


* * * * *


Oh, it is hard to work for God, To rise and take his part Upon this battle-field of earth, And not sometimes lose heart!

Ill masters good; good seems to change To ill with greatest ease; And, worst of all, the good with good Is at cross purposes.

It is not so, but so it looks; And we lose courage then; And doubts will come if God hath kept His promises to men.

Workman of God! Oh lose not heart, But learn what God is like; And in the darkest battle-field Thou shalt know where to strike.

For right is right, since God is God; And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin!


* * * * *


Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, But animated nature sweeter still To soothe and satisfy the human ear. Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one The livelong night: nor these alone whose notes Nice-fingered art must emulate in vain; But coying rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still repeated circles, screaming loud, The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owl That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace forever reigns, And only there, please highly for their sake.


* * * * *


The heart is hard in nature, and unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike To love and friendship both, that is not pleased With sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own. The bounding fawn that darts along the glade When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, That skips the spacious meadow at full speed, Then stops, and snorts, and throwing high his heels, Starts to the voluntary race again; The very kine that gambol at high noon, The total herd receiving first from one That leads the dance a summons to be gay, Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent To give such act and utterance as they may To ecstasy too big to be suppressed— These and a thousand images of bliss, With which kind Nature graces every scene, Where cruel man defeats not her design, Impart to the benevolent, who wish All that are capable of pleasure pleased, A far superior happiness to theirs, The comfort of a reasonable joy.


* * * * *


The very meanest things are made supreme With innate ecstasy. No grain of sand But moves a bright and million-peopled land, And hath its Edens and its Eves, I deem. For love, though blind himself, a curious eye Hath lent me, to behold the heart of things, And touched mine ear with power. Thus, far or nigh, Minute or mighty, fixed or free with wings, Delight, from many a nameless covert sly, Peeps sparkling, and in tones familiar sings.


* * * * *


When that great and far-reaching softener of hearts, the sense of our failures and offences, is vividly present, the position we hold to creatures who have never done wrong is always found inexpressibly touching. To be kind to them, and rejoice in their happiness, seems just one of the few ways in which we can act a godlike part in our little sphere, and display the mercy for which we hope in turn. The only befitting feeling for human beings to entertain toward brutes is—as the very word suggests—the feeling of Humanity; or, as we may interpret it, the sentiment of sympathy, as far as we can cultivate fellow feeling; of Pity so far so we know them to suffer; of Mercy so far as we can spare their sufferings; of Kindness and Benevolence, so far as it is in our power to make them happy.


* * * * *


What call'st thou solitude? Is mother earth With various living creatures, and the air Replenished, and all these at thy command To come and play before thee? Know'st thou not Their language and their ways? They also know, And reason not contemptibly; with these Find pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large.

Paradise Lost, bk. 8.

* * * * *


One all-extending, all-preserving Soul Connects each being, greatest with the least; Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast; All served, all serving: nothing stands alone: The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown.


* * * * *


Thou gavest me wide nature for my kingdom, And power to feel it, to enjoy it. Not Cold gaze of winder gav'st thou me alone, But even into her bosom's depth to look, As it might be the bosom of a friend; The grand array of living things thou madest To pass before me, mak'st me know my brothers In silent bush, in water, and in air.

Blackie's Translation of Goethe's Faust.

* * * * *


Even the she-wolf with young, on rapine bent, He caught and tethered in his mat-walled tent, And cherished all her little sharp-nosed young, Till the small race with hope and terror clung About his footsteps, till each new-reared brood, Remoter from the memories of the wood More glad discerned their common home with man. This was the work of Jubal: he began The pastoral life, and, sire of joys to be, Spread the sweet ties that bind the family O'er dear dumb souls that thrilled at man's caress, And shared his pain with patient helpfulness.

GEORGE ELIOT: Legend of Jubal.

* * * * *

Nor must we childishly feel contempt for the study of the lower animals, since in all nature's work there is something wonderful. And if any one thinks the study of other animals despicable, he must despise the study of his own nature.


* * * * *


Thus born alike, from virtue first began The diff'rence that distinguished man from man: He claimed no title from descent of blood; But that which made him noble made him good.


* * * * *


Little by little the time goes by— Short if you sing through it, long if you sigh. Little by little—an hour, a day, Gone with the years that have vanished away; Little by little the race is run, Trouble and waiting and toil are done!

Little by little the skies grow clear; Little by little the sun comes near; Little by little the days smile out Gladder and brighter on pain and doubt; Little by little the seed we sow Into a beautiful yield will grow.

Little by little the world grows strong, Fighting the battle of Right and Wrong: Little by little the Wrong gives way, Little by little the Right has sway; Little by little all longing souls Struggle up nearer the shining goals!

Little by little the good in men Blossoms to beauty for human ken; Little by little the angels see Prophecies better of good to be; Little by little the God of all Lifts the world nearer the pleading call.

Cincinnati Humane Appeal.

* * * * *


Life may be given in many ways And loyalty to truth be sealed As bravely in the closet as the field, So generous is fate; But then to stand beside her, When craven churls deride her, To front a lie in arms, and not to yield, This shows, methinks, God's plan And measure of a stalwart man, Limbed like the old heroic breeds, Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth, Not forced to frame excuses for his birth, Fed from within with all the strength he needs.


* * * * *


Animals have much more capacity to understand human speech than is generally supposed. The Hindoos invariably talk to their elephants, and it is amazing how much the latter comprehend. The Arabs govern their camels with a few cries, and my associates in the African desert were always amused whenever I addressed a remark to the big dromedary who was my property for two months; yet at the end of that time the beast evidently knew the meaning of a number of simple sentences. Some years ago, seeing the hippopotamus in Barnum's museum looking very stolid and dejected, I spoke to him in English, but he did not even open his eyes. Then I went to the opposite corner of the cage, and said in Arabic, "I know you; come here to me." He instantly turned his head toward me; I repeated the words, and thereupon he came to the corner where I was standing, pressed his huge, ungainly head against the bars of the cage, and looked in my face with a touch of delight while I stroked his muzzle. I have two or three times found a lion who recognized the same language, and the expression of his eyes, for an instant, seemed positively human.


* * * * *


And I, contented with a humble theme, Have poured my stream of panegyric down The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds Among her lovely works, with a secure And unambitious course, reflecting clear If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes. And I am recompensed, and deem the toils Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine May stand between an animal and woe, And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge.


* * * * *


See him from Nature, rising slow to Art! To copy Instinct, that was Reason's part; Thus then to man the voice of Nature spake:— "Go, from the creatures thy instructions take; Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield; Learn from the beasts the physic of the field; Thy arts of building from the bee receive; Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave; Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale. Here, too, all forms of social union find, And hence let reason, late, instruct mankind: Here subterranean works and cities see; There towns aerial on the waving tree. Learn each small people's genius, policies, The Ant's republic, and the realm of Bees: How those in common all their wealth bestow, And Anarchy without confusion know; And these forever, though a monarch reign, Their sep'rate cells and properties maintain. Mark what unvaryed laws preserve each state, Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate. In fine, thy Reason finer webs shall draw, Entangle Justice in her net of Law, And Right, too rigid, harden into Wrong; Still for the strong too weak, the weak too strong. Yet go! and thus o'er all the creatures sway, Thus let the wiser make the rest obey; And, for those Arts mere Instinct could afford, Be crowned as Monarchs, or as God adored."


* * * * *


Granted that any practice causes more pain to animals than it gives pleasure to man; is that practice moral or immoral? And if exactly in proportion as human beings raise their heads out of the slough of selfishness, they do not answer "immoral," let the morality of the principle of utility be forever condemned.


* * * * *


It might have been that the sky was green, and the grass serenely blue; It might have been that grapes on thorns and figs on thistles grew; It might have been that rainbows gleamed before the showers came; It might have been that lambs were fierce and bears and tigers tame; It might have been that cold would melt and summer heat would freeze; It might have been that ships at sea would sail against the breeze— And there may be worlds unknown, dear, where we would find the change From all that we have seen or heard, to others just as strange— But it never could be wise, dear, in haste to act or speak; It never could be noble to harm the poor and weak; It never could be kind, dear, to give a needless pain; It never could be honest, dear, to sin for greed or gain; And there could not be a world, dear, while God is true above, Where right and wrong were governed by any law but love.


* * * * *


Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There as I passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softening from below; The swain responsive to the milkmaid sung: The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool: The playful children just let loose from school; The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,— These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.


* * * * *


The Buddhist duty of universal love enfolds in its embraces not only the brethren and sisters of the new faith, not only our neighbors, but every thing that has life.


* * * * *

As a mother, even at the risk of her own life, protects her son, her only son, so let a man cultivate good-will without measure toward all beings. Let him cultivate good-will without measure, unhindered love and friendliness toward the whole world, above, below, around. Standing, walking, sitting, or lying, let him be firm in this mind so long as he is awake; this state of heart, they say, is the best in the world.

Metta Sutta.

* * * * *

He who lives pure in thought, free from malice, contented, leading a holy life, feeling tenderly for all creatures, speaking wisely and kindly, humbly and sincerely, has the Deity ever in his breast. The Eternal makes not his abode within the breast of that man who covets another's wealth, who injures living creatures, who is proud of his iniquity, whose mind is evil.


* * * * *


The discontinuance of the murder of human beings and of cruelty to animals, respect for parents, obedience to father and mother, obedience to holy elders, these are good deeds.—No. IV.

And now the joyful chorus resounds again and again that henceforward not a single animal shall be put to death.—No. V.

In a summary of the inscriptions by Arthur Lillie, in "Buddhism and Early Buddhism," he says, they require also, for the benefit of both beast and men, "that gardens be cultivated everywhere of healing shrubs and herbs."

[The inscriptions were written on "rocks, temples, and monuments" in India for the instruction of the people, by order of the Emperor Asoka, who lived about 250 years before Christ.]

* * * * *


God is within this universe, and yet outside this universe; whoever beholds all living creatures as in Him, and Him the universal Spirit, as in all, henceforth regards no creature with contempt.

Quoted by REV. J. E. CARPENTER.

* * * * *


It fortifies my soul to know That though I perish, truth is so, That howsoe'er I stray and range, Whate'er I do, thou dost not change. I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip, thou dost not fall.


* * * * *


We, dying, fondly hope the life immortal To win at last; Yet all that live must through death's dreary portal At length have passed.

And from the hope which shines so bright above us, My spirit turns, And for the lowlier ones, that serve and love us, Half sadly yearns.

Never a bird its glad way safely winging Through those blest skies? Never, through pauses in the joyful singing, Its notes to rise?

Not one of those who toil's severest burdens So meekly bear, To find at last of faithful labor's guerdons An humble share?

Ah, well! I need not question; gladly rather, I'll trust in all— Assured that not without our Heavenly "Father" The sparrows fall.

And if He foldeth in a sleep eternal Their wings to rest; Or waketh them to fly the skies supernal— He knoweth best?


* * * * *


God is the causer of pleasure and light, maker of grass for the cattle, and of fruitful trees for man, causing the fish to live in the river and the birds to fill the air, lying awake when all men sleep, to seek out the good of His creatures.

Quoted by REV. J. E. CARPENTER.

* * * * *


There is a higher consanguinity than that of the blood which runs through our veins,—that of the blood which makes our hearts beat with the same indignation and the same joy. And there is a higher nationality than that of being governed by the same imperial dynasty,—that of our common allegiance to the Father and Ruler of all mankind.


* * * * *



For eighty years! Many will count them over, But none but He who knoweth all may guess What those long years have held of high endeavor, Of world-wide blessing and of blessedness.

For eighty years the champion of the right Of hapless child neglected and forlorn; Of maniac dungeoned in his double night; Of woman overtasked and labor-worn;

Of homeless boy, in streets with peril rife; Of workman, sickened in his airless den; Of Indian parching for the streams of life; Of negro slave in bond of cruel men.

O Friend of all the friendless 'neath the sun, Whose hand hath wiped away a thousand tears, Whose fervent lips and clear strong brain have done God's holy service, lo! these eighty years,—

How meet it seems thy grand and vigorous age Should find beyond man's race fresh pangs to spare, And for the wronged and tortured brutes engage In yet fresh labors and ungrudging care!

Oh, tarry long amongst us! Live, we pray, Hasten not yet to hear thy Lord's "Well done!" Let this world still seem better while it may Contain one soul like thine amid its throng.

Whilst thou art here our inmost hearts confess, Truth spake the kingly seer of old who said,— "Found in the way of God and righteousness, A crown of glory is the hoary head."


* * * * *


Pain, terror, mortal agonies which scare Thy heart in man, to brutes thou wilt not spare. Are these less sad and real? Pain in man Bears the high mission of the flail and fear; In brutes 'tis purely piteous.


* * * * *


Who knows thy love most royal power, With largess free and brave, Which crowns the helper of the poor, The suffering and the slave.

Yet springs as freely and as warm, To greet the near and small, The prosy neighbor at the farm, The squirrel on the wall.


* * * * *


It is the simple idea of dealing with a living, conscious, sensitive, and intelligent creature as if it were dead and senseless matter, against which the whole spirit of true humanity revolts. It is the notion of such absolute despotism as shall justify, not merely taking life, but converting the entire existence of the animal into a misfortune which we denounce as a misconception of the relations between the higher and lower creatures. A hundred years ago had physiologists frankly avowed that they recognized no claims on the part of the brutes which should stop them from torturing them, they would have been only on a level with their contemporaries. But to-day they are behind the age.

As I have said ere now, the battle of Mercy, like that of Freedom,

"Once begun, Though often lost, is always won."


* * * * *


From yon blue heavens above us bent The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'Tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.


* * * * *


Yes, any act of mercy, even to the humblest and lowliest of God's creatures, is an act that brings us near to God. Although "the mercy of God," as the Psalmist says, "reaches to the heavens, although his judgments are like the great deep," yet still, as the Psalmist adds, it is the same mercy, the same justice as that which we know in ourselves. "Thou preservest both man and beast; how exalted is thy mercy, O Lord; therefore the children of men take refuge under the shadow of thy wings." That mercy which we see in the complex arrangements of the animal creation, extending down to the minutest portions of their frames—that same Divine mercy it is which we are bid to imitate. He whose soul burns with indignation against the brutal ruffian who misuses the poor, helpless, suffering horse, or dog, or ass, or bird, or worm, shares for the moment that Divine companion wrath which burns against the oppressors of the weak and defenceless everywhere. He who puts forth his hand to save from ill treatment, or add to the happiness of any of those dumb creatures, has opened his heart to that Divine compassion which our Heavenly Father has shown to the whole range of created things—which our blessed Saviour has shown to the human race, his own peculiar charge, by living and dying for us. "Be ye merciful" to dumb animals, for ye have a common nature with them. Be ye merciful, for the worst part of the nature of brutes is to be unmerciful. Be ye merciful, for ye are raised far above them, to be their appointed lords and guardians. Be ye merciful, for ye are made in the image of him who is All-Merciful and All-Compassionate.


* * * * *


He beheld the poor man's need; Bound his wounds, and with all speed Set him on his own good steed, And brought him to the inn.

When our Judge shall reappear, Thinkest thou this man will hear, Wherefore didst thou interfere With what concerned not thee?

No! the words of Christ will run "Whatsoever thou hast done To the poor and suffering one That hast thou done to me."


* * * * *


Thus, when Christianity announced its fundamental idea of love, it, by an immovable logic, enveloped all things in that affection, and every dumb brute of the street comes within the colored curtains of the sanctuary. The Humane Society is a branch of God's Church, and we Christian church-members are all members of all such associations, so far as we are intelligent members of the Church of Christ. Love does not mean love of me or you, but it means love always and for all.


* * * * *


If children at school can be made to understand how it is just and noble to be humane even to what we term inferior animals, it will do much to give them a higher character and tone through life. There is nothing meaner than barbarous and cruel treatment of the dumb creatures, who cannot answer us or resent the misery which is so often needlessly inflicted upon them.


* * * * *


Love and charity being the basis of Christianity, it is as much a question for the Church to ask, when a person wishes to be admitted into her bosom, "Are you kind to animals?" as it is to ask, "Do you believe in such or such a doctrine?" Certainly the question would be pertinent to Christian life and consonant with the fundamental and distinguishing principle of the Christian religion; and the mere asking of it at so solemn a juncture could not but do much to assimilate and draw closer the heart and life of the novitiate to Him who sees every sparrow that falls.


* * * * *


The power of feeling for animals, realizing their wants and making their pains our own, is one which is most irregularly shown by human beings. A Timon may have it, and a Howard be devoid of it. A rough shepherd's heart may overflow with it, and that of an exquisite fine gentleman and distinguished man of science may be as utterly without it as the nether millstone. One thing I think must be clear: till man has learnt to feel for all his sentient fellow-creatures, whether in human or in brutal form, of his own class and sex and country, or of another, he has not yet ascended the first step towards true civilization nor applied the first lesson from the love of God.


* * * * *


Nay, on the strength of that same element of self-sacrifice, I will not grudge the epithet "heroic" which my revered friend Darwin justly applies to the poor little monkey who once in his life did that which was above his duty; who lived in continual terror of the great baboon, and yet, when the brute had sprung upon his friend the keeper, and was tearing out his throat, conquered his fear by love, and, at the risk of instant death, sprung in turn upon his dreaded enemy, and hit and shrieked until help arrived.


* * * * *


The effect of the barbarous treatment of inferior creatures on the minds of those who practise it is still more deplorable than its effects upon the animals themselves. The man who kicks dumb brutes kicks brutality into his own heart. He who can see the wistful imploring eyes of half-starved creatures without making earnest efforts to relieve them, is on the road to lose his manhood, if he has not already lost it. And the boy who delights in torturing frogs or insects, or robbing birds'-nests, or dogging cattle and hogs wantonly and cruelly, can awaken no hope of an honorable after life.


* * * * *


Oh may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence: live In pulses stirred to generosity: In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self; In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge men's search To vaster issues.


* * * * *


The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.

Measure for Measure, Act 3, Sc. 1.

* * * * *


It is little indeed that each of us can accomplish within the limits of our little day. Small indeed is the contribution which the best of us can make to the advancement of the world in knowledge and goodness. But slight though it be, if the work we do is real and noble work, it is never lost; it is taken up into and becomes an integral moment of that immortal life to which all the good and great of the past, every wise thinker, every true and tender heart, every fair and saintly spirit, have contributed, and which, never hasting, never resting, onward through ages is advancing to its consummation.


* * * * *


Salt of the earth, ye virtuous few Who season human kind! Light of the world, whose cheering ray Illumes the realms of mind!

Where misery spreads her deepest shade, Your strong compassion glows; From your blest lips the balm distils That softens mortal woes.

Proceed: your race of glory run, Your virtuous toils endure; You come, commissioned from on high, And your reward is sure.


* * * * *


When 'twixt the drawn forces of Night and of Morning, Strange visions steal down to the slumbers of men, From heaven's bright stronghold once issued a warning, Which baffled all scorning, when brought to my ken.

Methought there descended the Saints and the Sages, With grief-stricken aspect and wringing of hands, Till Dreamland seemed filled with the anguish of ages, The blots of Time's pages, the woes of all lands.

And I, who had deemed that their bliss knew no morrow (Half vexed with their advent, half awed with their might)— Cried, "Come ye from heaven, Earth's aspect to borrow, To mar with weird sorrow the peace of the night?"

They answered me sternly, "Thy knowledge is mortal; Thou hear'st not as we must, the plaints without tongue: The wrongs that come beating the crystalline portal, Inflicted by mortals on those who are dumb.

"Ye bleed for the nation, ye give to the altar, Ye heal the great sorrows that clamor and cry, Yet care not how oft 'neath the spur and the halter, The brutes of the universe falter and die.

"Yet Jesus forgets not that while ye ensnared Him, And drove Him with curses of burden and goad, These gentle ones watched where the Magi declared Him, And often have spared Him the long desert road.

"They crumble to dust; but we, watchers remaining, Attest their endurance through centuries past, Oh, fear! lest in future to Judgment attaining, These woes, uncomplaining, confront you at last!"


* * * * *


Speak gently! it is better far To rule by love than fear: Speak gently! let not harsh words mar The good we might do here.

Speak gently! 'tis a little thing, Dropped in the heart's deep well, The good, the joy, which it may bring, Eternity shall tell.

* * * * *

O, it is excellent To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous To use it like a giant.

Measure for Measure, Act 2, Sc. 2.

* * * * *


Is there not something in the pleading eye Of the poor brute that suffers, which arraigns The law that bids it suffer? Has it not A claim for some remembrance in the book, That fills its pages with the idle words Spoken of man? Or is it only clay, Bleeding and aching in the potter's hand, Yet all his own to treat it as he will, And when he will to cast it at his feet, Shattered, dishonored, lost for evermore? My dog loves me, but could he look beyond His earthly master, would his love extend To Him who—Hush! I will not doubt that He Is better than our fears, and will not wrong The least, the meanest of created things.


* * * * *


The heroes are not all six feet tall, Large souls, may dwell in bodies small, The heart that will melt with sympathy For the poor and the weak, whoe'er it be, Is a thing of beauty, whether it shine In a man of forty or lad of nine.

Scattered Seed.

* * * * *


During his march to conquer the world, Alexander, the Macedonian, came to a people in Africa, who dwelt in a remote and secluded corner, in peaceful huts, and knew neither war nor conqueror. They led him to the hut of their chief, and placed before him golden dates, golden figs, and bread of gold. "Do you eat gold in this country?" said Alexander. "I take it for granted," replied the chief, "that thou wert able to find eatables in thine own country. For what reason, then, art thou come among us?" "Your gold has not tempted me hither," said Alexander; "but I would become acquainted with your manner and customs." "So be it," rejoined the other; "sojourn among us as long as it pleaseth thee." At, the close of this conversation two citizens entered, as into their court of justice. The plaintiff said: "I bought of this man a piece of land, and as I was making a deep drain through it, I found a treasure. This is not mine, for I only bargained for the land, and not for any treasure that might be concealed beneath it; and yet the former owner of the land will not receive it." The defendant answered: "I hope I have a conscience as well as my fellow-citizen. I sold him the land with all its contingent, as well as existing advantages, and consequently the treasure inclusively."

The chief, who was also their supreme judge, recapitulated their words, in order that the parties might see whether or not he understood them aright. Then, after some reflection, he said, "Thou hast a son, friend, I believe?" "Yes." "And thou (addressing the other) a daughter?" "Yes." "Well, then, let thy son marry thy daughter, and bestow the treasure on the young couple for a marriage portion." Alexander seemed surprised and perplexed. "Think you my sentence unjust?" the chief asked him. "Oh, no!" replied Alexander; "but it astonishes me." "And how, then," rejoined the chief, "would the case have been decided in your country?" "To confess the truth," said Alexander, "we should have taken both into custody, and have seized the treasure for the king's use." "For the king's use!" exclaimed the chief. "Does the sun shine on that country?" "Oh, yes." "Does it rain there?" "Assuredly." "Wonderful! But are there tame animals in the country that live on the grass and green herbs?" "Very many, and of many kinds." "Ay, that must then be the cause," said the chief; "for the sake of those innocent animals the all-gracious Being continues to let the sun shine and the rain drop down on your own country, since its inhabitants are unworthy of such blessings."


* * * * *


Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite; Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good.

Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.


* * * * *


"What shall I do, lest life in silence pass?" "And if it do, And never prompt the bray of noisy brass, What need'st thou rue? Remember, aye the ocean-deeps are mute; The shallows roar: Worth is the ocean,—fame is but the bruit Along the shore."

"What shall I do to be forever known?" "Thy duty ever." "This did full many who yet slept unknown." "Oh, never, never! Think'st thou perchance that they remain unknown Whom thou know'st not? By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown— Divine their lot."

"What shall I do to gain eternal life?" "Discharge aright The simple dues with which each day is rife, Yea, with thy might. Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise, Will life be fled, Where he, who ever acts as conscience cries, Shall live though dead."


* * * * *


No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does. If he had been as you, And you as he, you would have slipt like him; But he, like you, would not have been so stern.

Measure for Measure, Act 2, Sc. 2.

* * * * *


Languor is not in your heart, Weakness is not in your word, Weariness not in your brow. Ye alight in our van! at your voice. Panic, despair flee away. Ye move through the ranks, recall The stragglers, refresh the outworn, Praise, reinspire the brave.

Order, courage return; Eyes rekindling, and prayers Follow your steps as you go. Ye fill up the gaps in our files, Strengthen the wavering line, Stablish, continue our march, On, to the bound of the waste, On, to the City of God.


* * * * *



Be kind to dumb creatures, be gentle, be true, For food and protection they look up to you; For affection and help to your bounty they turn. Oh, do not their trusting hearts wantonly spurn!

Chorus: Be kind to dumb creatures, nor grudge them your care, God gave them their life, and your love they must share; And He who the sparrow's fall tenderly heeds, Will lovingly look on compassionate deeds.

The brave are the tender,—then do not refuse To carefully cherish the brutes you must use; Make their life's labor sweet, not dreary and sad, Their working and serving you, easy and glad. Chorus: "Be kind," etc.

He made them and blessed them, the least are his care: The swallow that wings her swift flight through the air, The dog on your hearthstone, the horse in your barn, The cow in your pasture, the sheep on your farm. Chorus: "Be kind," etc.

Our Dumb Animals.

* * * * *


Do something! do it soon! with all thy might; An angel's wing would droop if long at rest, And God inactive were no longer blest. Some high or humble enterprise of good Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind, Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food, And kindle in thy heart a flame refined: Pray heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind To this high purpose: to begin, pursue, With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind; Strength to complete, and with delight review, And strength to give the praise where all is due.


* * * * *


The measureless gulfs of air are full of Thee: Thou art, and therefore hang the stars: they wait And swim, and shine in God who bade them be, And hold their sundering voids inviolate.

A God concerned (veiled in pure light) to bless, With sweet revealing of his love, the soul; _Towards things piteous, full of piteousness; The Cause, the Life, and the continuing Whole.

He is more present to all things He made Than anything unto itself can be; Full-foliaged boughs of Eden could not shade Afford, since God was also 'neath the tree._


* * * * *


Be firm and be faithful; desert not the right; The brave are the bolder, the darker the night; Then up and be doing, though cowards may fail; Thy duty pursuing, dare all, and prevail.

If scorn be thy portion, if hatred and loss, If stripes or a prison, remember the cross! God watches above thee, and He will requite; Stand firm and be faithful, desert not the right.


* * * * *


Our hearts' pure service, Love, be thine, Who clothest all with rights divine, Whose great Soul burns, though ne'er so dim, In all that walk, or fly, or swim.

All Father! who on Mercy's throne Hear'st thy dumb creatures' faintest moan,— Thy love be ours, and ours shall be Returned in deeds to thine and Thee.


* * * * *


Sweet morn! from countless cups of gold Thou liftest reverently on high More incense fine than earth can hold, To fill the sky.

The lark by his own carol blest, From thy green harbors eager springs; And his large heart in little breast Exulting sings.

The fly his jocund round unweaves, With choral strain the birds salute The voiceful flocks, and nothing grieves, And naught is mute.

To thousand tasks of fruitful hope, With skill against his toil, man bends And finds his work's determined scope Where'er he wends.

From earth, and earthly toil and strife, To deathless aims his love may rise, Each dawn may wake to better life, With purer eyes.


* * * * *


In holy books we read how God hath spoken To holy men in many different ways; But hath the present worked no sign nor token? Is God quite silent in these latter days?

The word were but a blank, a hollow sound, If He that spake it were not speaking still; If all the light and all the shade around Were aught but issues of Almighty Will.

So, then, believe that every bird that sings, And every flower that stars the elastic sod, And every thought the happy summer brings, To the pure spirit is a word of God.


* * * * *


At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, One of those little places that have run Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun, And then sat down to rest, as if to say, "I climb no farther upward, come what may,"— The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame, So many monarchs since have borne the name, Had a great bell hung in the market-place Beneath a roof, projecting some small space, By way of shelter from the sun and rain. Then rode he through the streets with all his train, And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, Made proclamation, that whenever wrong Was done to any man, he should but ring The great bell in the square, and he, the King, Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. Such was the proclamation of King John.

How swift the happy days in Atri sped, What wrongs were righted, need not here be said. Suffice it that, as all things must decay, The hempen rope at length was worn away, Unravelled at the end, and strand by strand, Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, Till one, who noted this in passing by, Mended the rope with braids of briony, So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine Hung like a votive garland at a shrine.

By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt, Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods, Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods, Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports And prodigalities of camps and courts;— Loved, or had loved them: for at last, grown old, His only passion was the love of gold.

He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds, Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all, To starve and shiver in a naked stall, And day by day sat brooding in his chair, Devising plans how best to hoard and spare.

At length he said: "What is the use or need To keep at my own cost this lazy steed, Eating his head off in my stables here, When rents are low and provender is dear? Let him go feed upon the public ways; I want him only for the holidays." So the old steed was turned into the heat Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street; And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn, Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn.

One afternoon, as in that sultry clime It is the custom in the summer-time, With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed; When suddenly upon their senses fell The loud alarum of the accusing bell! The Syndic started from his deep repose, Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace Went panting forth into the market-place, Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung Reiterating with persistent tongue, In half-articulate jargon, the old song: "Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong!"

But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade, No shape of human form of woman born, But a poor steed dejected and forlorn, Who with uplifted head and eager eye Was tugging at the vines of briony. "Domeneddio!" cried the Syndic straight, "This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state! He calls for justice, being sore distressed, And pleads his cause as loudly as the best."

Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd Had rolled together like a summer cloud, And told the story of the wretched beast In five-and-twenty different ways at least, With much gesticulation and appeal To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. The Knight was called and questioned; in reply Did not confess the fact, did not deny; Treated the matter as a pleasant jest, And set at naught the Syndic and the rest, Maintaining, in an angry undertone, That he should do what pleased him with his own.

And thereupon the Syndic gravely read The proclamation of the King; then said: "Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, But cometh back on foot, and begs its way; Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds, Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds! These are familiar proverbs; but I fear They never yet have reached your knightly ear. What fair renown, what honor, what repute Can come to you from starving this poor brute? He who serves well and speaks not, merits more Then they who clamor loudest at the door. Therefore the law decrees that, as this steed Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed To comfort his old age, and to provide Shelter in stall, and food and field beside."

The Knight withdrew abashed; the people all Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee, And cried aloud: "Right well it pleaseth me! Church-bells at best but ring us to the door; But go not in to mass; my bell doth more: It cometh into court and pleads the cause Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws; And this shall make, in every Christian clime, The Bell of Atri famous for all time."

Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872.

* * * * *


"Yes, well your story pleads the cause Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, Only a cry from each to each In its own kind, with its own laws; Something that is beyond the reach Of human power to learn or teach,— An inarticulate moan of pain, Like the immeasurable main Breaking upon an unknown beach."

Thus spake the poet with a sigh; Then added, with impassioned cry, As one who feels the words he speaks, The color flushing in his cheeks, The fervor burning in his eye: "Among the noblest in the land, Though he may count himself the least, That man I honor and revere Who without favor, without fear, In the great city dares to stand The friend of every friendless beast, And tames with his unflinching hand The brutes that wear our form and face, The were-wolves of the human race!"

Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872.

* * * * *


Mr. George Herbert's love to music was such that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury. When rector of Bemerton, in one of his walks to Salisbury, he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his load; they were both in distress, and needed present help, which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off his canonical coat and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed the poor man; and was so like the good Samaritan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, "That if he loved himself, HE SHOULD BE MERCIFUL TO HIS BEAST."

Thus he left the poor man: and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, who used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed; but he told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him "he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was: "That the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place; for if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far at it is in my power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for a like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy, and I praise God for this occasion."


* * * * *


Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with his trembling mane? Hast thou taught him to bound like the locust? How majestic his snorting! how terrible! He paweth in the valley; he exulteth in his strength, And rusheth into the midst of arms. He laugheth at fear; he trembleth not, And turneth not back from the sword. Against him rattle the quiver, The flaming spear, and the lance. With rage and fury he devoureth the ground; He will not believe that the trumpet soundeth. At every blast of the trumpet, he saith, Aha! And snuffeth the battle afar off,— The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout.

Job, chap. 39, NOYES' Translation.

* * * * *



When Allah's breath created first The noble Arab steed,— The conqueror of all his race In courage and in speed,—

To the South-wind He spake: From thee A creature shall have birth, To be the bearer of my arms And my renown on earth.

Then to the perfect horse He spake: Fortune to thee I bring; Fortune, as long as rolls the earth, Shall to thy forelock cling.

Without a pinion winged thou art, And fleetest with thy load; Bridled art thou without a rein, And spurred without a goad.


* * * * *


Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling! On my shoulder lay thy glossy head! Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty, Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread.

Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty! And thou know'st my water-skin is free: Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant, And my strength and safety lie in thee.

Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses! Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye: Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle,— Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I.

Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses, Prancing with their diamond-studded reins; They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness When they course with thee the desert plains!

We have seen Damascus, O my beauty! And the splendor of the Pashas there; What's their pomp and riches? why, I would not Take them for a handful of thy hair!


* * * * *


Yet pity for a horse o'erdriven, And love in which my hound has part, Can hang no weight upon my heart, In its assumptions up to heaven:

And I am so much more than these As thou, perchance, art more than I, And yet I would spare them sympathy, And I would set their pains at ease.

TENNYSON'S In Memoriam.

* * * * *


Gamarra is a dainty steed, Strong, black, and of a noble breed, Full of fire, and full of bone, With all his line of fathers known; Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, But blown abroad by the pride within! His mane is like a river flowing, And his eyes like embers glowing In the darkness of the night, And his pace as swift as light.

Look,—how 'round his straining throat Grace and shining beauty float! Sinewy strength is in his reins, And the red blood gallops through his veins— Richer, redder, never ran Through the boasting heart of man. He can trace his lineage higher Than the Bourbon dare aspire,— Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, Or O'Brien's blood itself!

He, who hath no peer, was born, Here upon a red March morn; But his famous fathers dead Were Arabs all, and Arabs bred, And the last of that great line Trod like one of a race divine! And yet,—he was but friend to one Who fed him at the set of sun By some lone fountain fringed with green; With him, a roving Bedouin, He lived (none else would he obey Through all the hot Arabian day),— And died untamed upon the sands Where Balkh amidst the desert stands!


* * * * *


The king looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true; Then to the king Ruy Diaz spake, after reverence due, "O king! the thing is shameful, that any man beside The liege lord of Castile himself, should Bavieca ride.

"For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring So good as he, and certes, the best befits my king, But, that you may behold him, and know him to the core, I'll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor."

With that the Cid, clad as he was, in mantle furred and wide, On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side; And up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career, Streamed like a pennon on the wind, Ruy Diaz' minivere.

And all that saw them praised them,—they lauded man and horse, As matched well, and rivals for gallantry and force; Ne'er had they looked on horsemen might to this knight come near, Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier.

Thus, to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed, He snapped in twain his nether rein: "God pity now the Cid! God pity Diaz!" cried the lords,—but when they looked again, They saw Ruy Diaz ruling him with the fragment of his rein; They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm, Like a true lord commanding, and obeyed as by a lamb.

And so he led him foaming and panting to the king, But, "No," said Don Alphonso, "it were a shameful thing, That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid By any mortal but Bivar,—mount, mount again, my Cid!"

LOCKHART'S Spanish Ballads.

* * * * *


Word was brought to the Danish king, (Hurry!) That the love of his heart lay suffering, And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (Oh! ride as though you were flying!) Better he loves each golden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian girl Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and pearl; And his Rose of the Isles is dying.

Thirty nobles saddled with speed; (Hurry!) Each one mounted a gallant steed Which he kept for battle and days of need; (Oh! ride as though you were flying!) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst: But ride as they would, the king rode first; For his Rose of the Isles lay dying.

His nobles are beaten, one by one; (Hurry!) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone, For strength and for courage trying, The king looked back at that faithful child: Wan was the face that answering smiled. They passed the drawbridge with clattering din: Then he dropped; and only the king rode in Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying.

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; (Silence!) No answer came, but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide; None welcomed the king from that weary ride; For, dead in the light of the dawning day, The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, Who had yearned for his voice while dying.

The panting steed with a drooping crest Stood weary. The king returned from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast; And that dumb companion eying, The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check; He bowed his head on his charger's neck: "O steed, that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain, To the halls where my love lay dying!"


* * * * *

Go forth under the open sky and list To Nature's teachings.


* * * * *


"Yesterday we buried my pretty brown mare under the wild-cherry tree. End of poor Bess."

When a human being dies, Seeming scarce so good or wise, Scarce so high in scale of mind As the horse he leaves behind, "Lo," we cry, "the fleeting spirit Doth a newer garb inherit; Through eternity doth soar, Growing, greatening, evermore." But our beautiful dumb creatures Yield their gentle, generous natures, With their mute, appealing eyes, Haunted by earth's mysteries, Wistfully upon us cast, Loving, trusting, to the last; And we arrogantly say, "They have had their little day; Nothing of them but was clay."

Has all perished? Was no mind In that graceful form enshrined? Can the love that filled those eyes With most eloquent replies, When the glossy head close pressing, Grateful met your hand's caressing; Can the mute intelligence, Baffling oft our human sense With strange wisdom, buried be "Under the wild-cherry tree?" Are these elements that spring In a daisy's blossoming, Or in long dark grasses wave Plume-like o'er your favorite's grave? Can they live in us, and fade In all else that God has made! Is there aught of harm believing That, some newer form receiving, They may find a wider sphere, Live a larger life than here? That the meek, appealing eyes, Haunted by strange mysteries, Find a more extended field, To new destinies unsealed; Or that in the ripened prime Of some far-off summer time, Ranging that unknown domain, We may find our pets again?


* * * * *


A Bedouin of true honor, good Nebar, Possessed a horse whose fame was spread afar; No other horse was half so proud and strong; His feet were like the north wind swept along; In his curved neck, and in his flashing eye, You saw the harbingers of victory.

So, many came to Nebar day by day, And longed to take his noble horse away; Large sums they offered, and with grace besought. But, all in vain; the horse could not be bought.

With these came Daher, of another tribe, To see if he might not the owner bribe; Yet purposeless,—no money, skill, nor breath Could part the owner from his horse till death.

Then Daher, who was subtle, mean, and sly, Concluded, next, some stratagem to try; So, clothed in rags, and masked in form and face, He as a beggar walked with limping pace, And, meeting Nebar with the horse one day, He fell, and prostrate on the desert lay.

The ruse succeeded; for, when Nebar found A helpless man in sorrow on the ground, He took him up, and on the noble steed Gave him a place; but what a thankless deed! For Daher shouted, laughed, and, giving rein, Said, "You will never see your horse again!"

"Take him," said Nebar, "but, for Mercy's sake, Tell no man in what way you choose to take, Lest others, seeing what has happened me, Omit to do some needed charity." Pierced by these words, the robber's keen remorse Thwarted his plan, and he returned the horse, Shame-faced and sorrowful; then slunk away As if he feared the very light of day!


* * * * *


Your horse is faint, my King, my lord! your gallant horse is sick,— His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick; Mount, mount on mine, O mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly! Or in my arms I'll lift your Grace,—their trampling hoofs are nigh!

My King, my King! you're wounded sore,—the blood runs from your feet; But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat; Mount, Juan, for they gather fast!—I hear their coming cry,— Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy,—I'll save you, though I die!

Stand, noble steed! this hour of need,—be gentle as a lamb; I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth,—thy master dear I am,— Mount, Juan, mount; whate'er betide, away the bridle fling, Drive on, drive on with utmost speed,—My horse shall save my King!

LOCKART'S Spanish Ballads.

* * * * *

"BAY BILLY."—(Extracts.)

At last from out the centre fight Spurred up a general's aid. "That battery must silenced be!" He cried, as past he sped. Our colonel simply touched his cap, And then, with measured tread,

To lead the crouching line once more The grand old fellow came. No wounded man but raised his head And strove to gasp his name, And those who could not speak nor stir, "God blessed him" just the same.

This time we were not half-way up, When, midst the storm of shell, Our leader, with his sword upraised, Beneath our bayonets fell. And, as we bore him back, the foe Set up a joyous yell.

Just then before the laggard line The colonel's horse we spied, Bay Billy with his trappings on, His nostrils swelling wide, As though still on his gallant back The master sat astride.

Right royally he took the place That was of old his wont, And with a neigh that seemed to say, Above the battle's brunt, "How can the Twenty-second charge If I am not in front?"

No bugle-call could rouse us all As that brave sight had done. Down all the battered line we felt A lightning impulse run. Up! up! the hill we followed Bill, And we captured every gun!

And then the dusk and dew of night Fell softly o'er the plain, As though o'er man's dread work of death The angels wept again, And drew night's curtain gently round A thousand beds of pain.

At last the morning broke. The lark Sang in the merry skies As if to e'en the sleepers there It bade awake, and rise! Though naught but that last trump of all Could ope their heavy eyes.

And as in faltering tone and slow, The last few names were said, Across the field some missing horse Toiled up with weary tread, It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick Bay Billy's name he read.

Not all the shoulder-straps on earth Could still our mighty cheer; And ever from that famous day, When rang the roll-call clear, Bay Billy's name was read, and then The whole line answered, "Here!"


* * * * *

We cannot kindle when we will, The fire that in the heart resides; But tasks in hours of insight willed, Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.


* * * * *



What was it, that passed like an ominous breath— Like a shiver of fear, or a touch of death? What is it? The valley is peaceful still, And the leaves are afire on top of the hill. It was not a sound—nor a thing of sense— But a pain, like the pang of the short suspense That thrills the being of those who see At their feet the gulf of Eternity!

The air of the valley has felt the chill: The workers pause at the door of the mill; The housewife, keen to the shivering air, Arrests her foot on the cottage stair, Instinctive taught by the mother-love, And thinks of the sleeping ones above. Why start the listeners? Why does the course Of the mill-stream widen? Is it a horse— Hark to the sound of his hoofs, they say— That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way! God! what was that, like a human shriek From the winding valley? Will nobody speak? Will nobody answer those women who cry As the awful warnings thunder by?

Whence come they? Listen! And now they hear The sound of galloping horse-hoofs near; They watch the trend of the vale, and see The rider who thunders so menacingly, With waving arms and warning scream To the home-filled banks of the valley stream. He draws no rein, but he shakes the street With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet; And this the cry he flings to the wind; "To the hills for your lives! The flood is behind!"

But onward still, In front of the roaring flood is heard The galloping horse and the warning word. Thank God! the brave man's life is spared! From Williamsburg town he nobly dared To race with the flood and take the road In front of the terrible swath it mowed. For miles it thundered and crashed behind, But he looked ahead with a steadfast mind; "They must be warned!" was all he said, As away on his terrible ride he sped.


* * * * *


A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: That was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; And under the alders, that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read, How the British Regulars fired and fled,— How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,— A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo for evermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere.


* * * * *

SHERIDAN'S RIDE.—(Extracts.)

Up from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road from Winchester town, A good broad highway leading down; And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, As if he knew the terrible need; He stretched away with his utmost speed; Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Under his spurning feet the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind, And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace fire, Swept on, with his wild eye full of ire. But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away.

The first that the general saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops, What was done? what to do? a glance told him both, Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line, mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, He seemed to the whole great army to say, "I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down, to save the day!"

Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! And when their statues are placed on high, Under the dome of the Union sky, The American soldiers' Temple of Fame; There with the glorious general's name, Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, "Here is the steed that saved the day, By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester, twenty miles away!"


* * * * *

GOOD NEWS TO AIX.—(Extract.)

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew, "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through. Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace,— Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom a great yellow star came out to see; At Dueffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,— So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time!"

At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood, black every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past, And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last, With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. * * * * *

(But "Roos" and the "Roan" fell dead on the way; the latter, when Aix was in sight!)

And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is, friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground, And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

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