THE SPIRIT OF MAN.
YE cannot bind the spirit down;
It is a thing as free
As the albatross-bird that wings
Its wild course o'er the sea.
Go, bind the lightning, guide the sun,
Chain comets, if you can;
But seek not with thy puny strength
To bind the soul of man.
Though all the powers of earth combine,
And all their strength enroll,
To bind man's body as they will,
They cannot bind his soul.
No power on earth can hold it down,
Or bid it hither stay,
As up to heaven with rapid course
It tireless wings its way.
Time is too limited for it,
And earth is not its clime;
It cannot live where sound the words,
"There is an end to time."
It seeks an endless, boundless sphere,
In which to freely roam;
Eternity its course of life,
Infinity its home.
There, there will it forever live;
And there, a spirit free,
'T will range, though earth may pass away,
And Time no longer be.
PAUSE AND THINK.
O! HOW many souls are sorrowing
In this sunlit world, to-day,
Because Wrong, heaven's livery borrowing,
Leadeth trusting souls astray;
Because men, all thoughtless rushing,
Dance along on Error's brink,
And, the voice of conscience hushing,
Will not for a moment think!
'T is the lack of thought that bringeth
Man to where he needs relief;
'T is the lack of thought that wringeth
All his inner self with grief.
Would he give a moment's thinking
Ere his every step is made,
He would not from light be shrinking,
Groping on in Error's shade!
Think, immortal! thou art treading
On a path laid thick with snares,
Where mischievous minds are spreading
Nets to catch thee unawares.
Pause and think! the next step taken
May be that which leads to death;
Rouse thee! let thy spirit waken;
List to, heed the word it saith!
Think, ere thou consent to squander
Aught of time in useless mirth;
Think, ere thou consent to wander,
Disregarding heaven-winged truth.
When the wine in beauty shineth,
When the tempter bids thee drink,
Ere to touch thy hand inclineth,
Be thou cautious-pause and think!
Think, whatever act thou doest;
Think, whatever word is spoke;
Else the heart of friend the truest
May be by thee, thoughtless, broke.
How much grief had been prevented,
If man ne'er had sought to shrink
From the right:-to naught consented,
Until he had paused to think!
LITTLE NELLY.
MATILDA was a fashionable girl,—a young lady, perhaps, would be the more respectable name by which to call her. She had been reared in affluence. She had never known a want. She had had wants, but she did not know it. She had wanted many things that make a lady's life indeed a life. But Matilda never dreamt of such things.
It was n't fashionable to love the outcast, and therefore she bestowed no pitying look on them. It was n't fashionable to give a few pennies even to a poor, lame orphan girl in the street. So she pretended not to have noticed the plea of little Nelly, who had accosted her during her morning rambles.
"Little Nelly." I remember how she looked when at twilight she sat down on a curb-stone to count the money. She looked sorrowful. She was, indeed, worthy of pity; but little she got. The crowd went hurrying, hustling on: few thoughts came down to little Nelly, on the curb-stone. It had been a gala day. Red flags had flaunted on high poles, and there had been a great noise of drums and fifes, and everybody had seemed happy. Why, then, should sorrow come, with its dark lantern, and look in the face of this little girl?
I will tell you.
There was a poor woman whose husband had been killed in Mexico. She lived in one small room in a secluded part of the city, and by means of her needle, and such assistance as was given to her daughter, who diligently walked the streets, selling apples, she managed to live in a style which she denominated "comfortable." Thus, for upwards of one year, she toiled and lived, and was thankful for all her many blessings.