The American Union Speaker Part 30

T. Hood.

CLXXVIII.

LOOK ALOFT.

In the tempest of life, when the waves and the gale Are around and above, if thy footing should fail, If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart, "Look aloft," and be firm, and be fearless of heart.

If thy friend, who embraced in prosperity's glow, With a smile for each joy, and a tear for each woe, Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds are arrayed, "Look aloft" to the friends.h.i.+p which never shall fade.

Should the visions which hope spreads in light to the eye, Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, Then turn, and, through tears of repentant regret, "Look aloft" to the sun that is never to set.

Should they who are dearest,--the son of thy heart, The wife of thy bosom,--in sorrow depart, "Look aloft," from the darkness and dust of the tomb, To that soil where affection is ever to bloom.

And, oh! when Death comes in his terror to cast His fears on the future, his pall on the past, In that moment of darkness with hope in thy heart, And a smile in thine eye, "look aloft"--and depart.

J. Lawrence.

CLXXIX.

PRESS ON.

Press on! there's no such word as fail!

Press n.o.bly on! the goal is near,-- Ascend the mountain! breast the gale!

Look upward, onward,--never fear!

Why should'st thou faint? Heaven smiles above, Though storm and vapor intervene; That sun s.h.i.+nes on, whose name is Love, Serenely o'er Life's shadowed scene.

Press on! surmount the rocky steeps, Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch; He fails alone who feebly creeps; He wins who dares the hero's march.

Be thou a hero! let thy might Tramp on eternal snows its way, And, through the ebon wails of night Hew down a pa.s.sage unto day.

Press on! if once and twice thy feet Slip back and stumble, harder try; From him who never dreads to meet Danger and death, they're sure to fly.

To coward ranks the bullet speeds, While on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, who never quail, Gleams, guardian of chivalric deeds, Bright courage, like a coat of mail.

Press on! if Fortune play thee false To-day, to-morrow she'll be true; Whom now she sinks, she now exalts Taking old gifts, and granting new.

The wisdom of the present hour Makes up for follies past and gone;-- To weakness strength succeeds, and power From frailty springs,--press on! press on!

Press bravely on! and reach the goal, And gain the prize, and wear the crown; Faint not! for to the steadfast soul Come wealth, and honor, and renown.

To thine own self be true, and keep Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil; Press on! and thou shalt surely reap A heavenly harvest for thy toil.

P. Benjamin.

CLx.x.x.

KINDNESS.

The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter Have their own season. 'T is a little thing To give a cup of water; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when sectarian juice renews the life of joy in happiest hours.

It is a little thing to speak a phrase Of common comfort which by daily use Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear Of him who thought to die unmourned 't will fall Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand To know the bonds of fellows.h.i.+p again; And shed on the departing soul a sense More precious than the benison of friends About the honored death-bed of the rich, To him who else were lonely, that another Of the great family is near and feels.

Sergeant Talfourd.

CLx.x.xI.

HOW'S MY BOY?

Ho, sailor of the sea!

How 's my boy--my boy?

"What's your boy's name, good wife, And in what good s.h.i.+p sailed he?"

My boy John-- He that went to sea-- What care I for the s.h.i.+p, sailor?

My boy's my boy to me.

You come back from sea And not know my John?

I might as well have asked some landsman Yonder down in the town.

There's not an a.s.s in all the parish But he knows my John.

How's my boy--my boy?

And unless you let me know I'll swear you are no sailor, Blue jacket or no, Bra.s.s b.u.t.ton or no, sailor, Anchor or crown or no!

Sure his s.h.i.+p was the Jolly Briton-- "Speak low, woman, speak low!"

And why should I speak low, sailor?

About my own boy John?

If I was loud as I am proud I'll sing him over the town!

Why should I speak low, sailor?-- "That good s.h.i.+p went down."

How 's my boy--my boy?

What care I for the s.h.i.+p, sailor, I never was aboard her.

Be she afloat, or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound, Her owners can afford her!

I say how's my John?-- "Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her."

How's my boy--my boy?

What care I for the men, sailor?

I'm not their mother-- How's my boy--my boy?

Tell me of him and no other!

How's my boy--my boy?

S. Dobell.

CLx.x.xII.

EXCELSIOR.

The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village pa.s.sed A youth, who bore, mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, "Excelsior!"

His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath; And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue!

"Excelsior!"

In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright: Above, the spectral glaciers shone; And from his lips escaped a groan, "Excelsior!"

"Try not the pa.s.s!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead.

The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"

And loud that clarion voice replied, "Excelsior!"