Eyes looking o'er the field without a fear, Failure so far and all success so near. Attention! Forward! Looking left nor right, Soldiers in jest, yet training for the fight.

Among your ranks perchance a "silent man”
In embryo waits his life's maturer plan;
Or second Lincoln, whom his country's need
Shall instant teach to do sublimest deed;
Or unfledged orator, with soul of fire,
"To wake to ecstacy the living lyre.”
Each fits a place. The picket's vantage post
Holds in its care the trusting centered host.
The privates as battalions force a way
Where skill alone would perish in the fray.
Attention! Forward! Looking left nor right-
Who cannot lead can follow in the fight.

Soldiers in jest, beneath the coats of blue,
The boyish hearts beat loyally and true.
Full well we know should foreign foe be nigh,
And earnest take the place of mimicry;
Should civil discord with her furnace breath
Invite you to a carnival of death;
By danger moulded suddenly to men,
Heroes in truth your bearing would be then,
Your battle cry outsurging o'er the fight-
Attention! Forward! Looking left nor right.

Harriet Lancaster Westcott.

NIGHT COMETH.

"For the night cometh when no man can work."

Night cometh from over the mountains.

Its shadowy feet

To the forests, the fields, and the fountains

Come faintly but fleet.

Night cometh and one hath his labor half done, As he waits by the roadside at setting of sun.

Night cometh, and over the meadow

It quietly flows

And hides in the wave of its shadow;

The clover-the rose.

Night cometh, and one with his spade in his hand, Sits weeping in darkness he can't understand.

Night cometh. The waves of the ocean

That shone in the sun

Are heavy and sombre in motion;

Their glory is gone;

Night cometh, and one there is wringing his hands And sighing "too late," as he sits on the sands.

Night cometh, and with it the riot
Of daylight goes down;

The stars in their shining give quiet

To village and town.

Night cometh; how many in field or in street
Lie down with the work of their life complete?

THE WORLD WAS ALL BEFORE ME.

When the world was all before me,

Life was like a summer day;
With its sunshine streaming o'er me,
With its roses by the way.

And I fancied that its sweetness
Like a river, flowing by,

Would run on in its completeness,
Under an unclouded sky.

There was Youth, with Hope, the charmer,
Ever whispering in the ear;

Never heart than mine beat calmer,

In this Spring time of Life's year.

And I walked as if the meadow

Where the summer flowers did grow

Had no knowledge of the shadow,

Or the winter, or the snow.

But-alas! the bowers have faded
And the cold wind sweeps along
And my heart by sorrow shaded
Sings no more its happy song.

I am but an atom, drifting

On the ever-swelling tide;

Over sands forever shifting

To the other, unknown side.

Hope has fled, and memories find me
As, with folded hands I stand
(Thinking of what lies behind me)

Lone and lonely in Life's land.

IN SUN AND STORM.

In sun and storm I watch the shore
For ventures sent out long ago,

In shallops that return no more

From lands beyond the cold and snow.

Such precious freight they bore, as hope And trusting innocence might find

Along the blossom-laden slope

The years of childhood leave behind.

I watch and wait; and in the night

I question all the twinkling stars, If in their shining they may sight

Some home-bound ship beyond the bars.

But never answer they return

The silence and the night are one; The moonbeams chill, the sunbeams burn, As round and round the seasons run,

And never, never bring me back

The ventures sent out long ago,

Across the treacherous ocean's track,

To realms beyond the cold and snow..

PERCHANCE.

Still looking forward to my hope
I watch the white snows on the slope,
Of mountain ranges;

And think perchance the breeze of May
Will bring with bloom of hawthorn spray
Some sweeter changes.

The morning glories white and red,
Of last year's planting, all are dead-
Lilies have lost their glory,

And yet I know the pulse of spring

Will open them to blossoming

With May's returning story.