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Be strong! I leave the living voice
Of this, my martyred blood,
With the thousand echoes of the hills,
With the torrent's foaming flood.
A spirit 'mid the caves to dwell,
A token on the air,

To rouse the valiant from repose,
The fainting from despair.

Hear it, and bear thou on, my love!
Ay, joyously endure!

Our mountains must be altars yet,
Inviolate and pure;

There must our God be worshiped still

With the worship of the free;

Farewell! there 's but one pang in death,

Ore only, leaving thee!

MRS. HEMANS.

LESSON CLV.

MESSAGE TO THE DEAD.

THOU'RT passing hence, my brother!
Oh! my earliest friend, farewell!
Thou'rt leaving me, without thy voice,
In a lonely home to dwell;
And from the hills, and from the hearth,
And from the household-tree,
With thee departs the lingering mirth,
The brightness goes with thee.

But thou, my friend, my brother!

Thou'rt speeding to the shore

Where the dirge-like tone of parting words

Shall smite the soul no more. And thou wilt see our holy dead,

The lost on earth and main;
Into the sheaf of kindred hearts,
Thou wilt be bound again.

Tell, then, our friend of boyhood,
That yet his name is heard

On the blue mountains, whence his youth
Passed, like a swift, bright bird.

The light of his exulting brow,
The visions of his glee,

Are on me still; oh! still I trust
That smile again to see.

And tell our fair, young sister,

The rose, cut down in spring,
That yet my gushing soul is filled
With lays she loved to sing,

Her soft, deep eyes look through my dreams,
Tender, and sadly sweet:

Tell her my heart within me burns,
Once more that gaze to meet.

And tell our white-haired father,
That in the paths he trod,
The child he loved, the last on earth,
Yet walks, and worships God.
Say, that his last, fond blessing yet
Rests on my soul like dew,
And by its hallowing might I trust
Once more his face to view.

And tell our gentle mother,
That on her grave I pour
The sorrows of my spirit forth
As on her breast of yore.

Happy thou art, that soon, how soon,
Our glad and bright will see!

Oh! brother, brother! may I dwell,
Ere long, with them and thee!

MRS. HEMANS.

LESSON CLVI.

ONLY ONE NIGHT AT SEA.

"ONLY one night at sea,"

'T was thus the promise ran, By frail, presumptuous mortal given, To vain, confiding man;

"Only one night at sea,

And land shall bless thy sight,

When morning's rays dispel

The shadows of that night.".

The pledge has been received,

The vessel leaves the shore,
Bearing the beautiful and brave,
Who ne'er shall greet us more;
And every heart beats high,
As bounding o'er the wave,
The gallant bark moves on
To bear them to their grave.

The merry beams of day
Before the darkness flee,
And gloomy night comes slowly on,
That "only night at sea."
The watch upon the deck
Their weary vigils keep,

And countless stars look down
In beauty o'er the deep.

Within that stately boat

The prattler's voice is still, And beauty's lovely form is there, Unheeding of the ill;

And manhood's vigorous mind

Is wrapped in deep repose, And sorrow's victim lies

Forgetful of his woes.

But, hark! that fearful sound,

That wild appalling cry,

That wakes the sleepers from their dreams,

And rouses them-to die:

Ah, who shall tell the hopes
That rose, so soon to flee;
The good resolves destroyed
By that "one night at sea!"

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THE great eye of day was wide open, and a joyful light filled air, heaven, and ocean. The marbled clouds lay motionless far and wide over the deep, blue sky, and all memory of storm and hurricane had vanished from the magnificence of that immense calm. There was but a gentle fluctuation on the bosom of the deep, and the sea-birds floated steadily there, or dipped their wings for a moment in the wreathed foam, and again wheeled sportively away into the sunshine. One ship, only one single ship, was within the encircling horizon, and she had lain there as if at anchor since the morning light; for, although all her sails were set, scarcely a wandering breeze touched her canvas, and her flags hung dead on staff and at peak, or lifted themselves uncertainly up at intervals, and then sunk again into motionless repose. The crew paced not her deck, for they knew that no breeze would come till after meridian, and it was the Sabbath day.

A small congregation were singing praises to God in that chapel, which rested almost as quietly on the sea, as the house of worship in which they had been used to pray then rested, far off on a foundation of rock, in a green valley of their forsaken Scotland. They were emigrants, without hope of seeing again the mists of their native mountains. But as they heard the voice of their psalm, each singer half forgot that it blended with the sound of the sea, and almost believed himself sitting, in the kirk of his own beloved parish. But hundreds of billowy leagues intervened between them and the little tinkling bell that was now tolling their happier friends to the quiet house of God

And now an old, gray-headed man rose to pray, and held up his withered hand in fervent supplication for all around, whom, in good truth, he called his children; for three generations were with the patriarch in that tabernacle. There, in one group were husbands and wives standing together, in awe of Him who held the deep in the hollow of his hand; there, youths and maidens, linked together by the feeling of the same destiny, some of them, perhaps, hoping, when they reached the shore, to lay their heads on one pillow; there, children, hand in hand, happy in the wonders of the ocean; and there, mere infants smiling on the sunny deck, and unconscious of the meaning of hymn or prayer.

A low, confined, growling noise was heard struggling beneath the deck, and a sailor, called with a loud voice, "Fire! fire! the ship's on fire!" Holy words died on the prayer's tongue! the congregation fell asunder; and pale faces, wild eyes, groans, shrieks, and outcries rent the silence of the lonesome sea. No one for awhile knew the other, as all were hurried as in a whirlwind up and down the ship. A dismal heat, all unlike the warmth of that beautiful sun, came stiflingly on every breath. Mothers, who in their first terror had shuddered but for themselves, now clasped their infants to their breasts, and lifted up their eyes to heaven.

Bold, brave men grew white as ashes, and hands, strengthened by toil and storm, trembled like the aspen-leaf. "Gone! gone! we are all gone!" was now the cry; yet no one knew whence that cry came; and men glared reproachfully on each other's countenances, and strove to keep down the audible beating of their own hearts. The desperate love of life drove them instinctively to their stations, and the water was poured, as by the strength of giants, down among the smoldering flames. But the devouring element roared up into the air; and deck, masts, sails, and shrouds, were one crackling and hissing sheet of fire.

"Let down the boat!" was now the yell of hoarse voices; and in an instant she was filled with life. Then, there was frantic leaping into the sea; and all who were fast drowning moved convulsively towards that little ark. Some sunk down at once into oblivion; some grasped at nothing with their disappearing hands; some seized in vain unquenched pieces of the

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