“Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops come marching home again with glad and gallant tread, But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die; And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine) For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine. 66 "There's another, not a sister: in the happy days gone by You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye; too fond for idle scorning, O friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning! I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine fair Bingen on the Rhine. "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along, — I heard, or seemed to hear, The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; But we'll meet no more at Bingen, - loved Bingen on the Rhine." His trembling voice grew faint and hoarse, - his grasp was childish weak,- WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER. WE have been friends together In sunshine and in shade, Since first beneath the chestnuttrees, In infancy we played. But coldness dwells within thy heart, Shall a light word part us now? We have been gay together; We have laughed at little jests; For the fount of hope was gushing Warm and joyous in our breasts, But laughter now hath fled thy lip, We have been gay together, Shall a light word part us now? We have been sad together; We have wept with bitter tears O'er the grass-grown graves where slumbered The hopes of early years. Oh, what shall part us now? In this brief life despair should never A sin forgotten is in part to pay for, reach us; The sea looks wide because the shores are dim; The star that led the Magi still can teach us The way to go if we but look to Him. A sin remembered is a constant gain: Sorrow, next joy, is what we ought to pray for, As next to peace we profit most from pain. From out the sand to save her parching child. And loving eyes that cannot see the mind Will watch the expected movement of the lip: Ah! can ye let its cutting silence wind Around that heart, and scathe it like a whip? Unspoken words, like treasures in the mine, Are valueless until we give them birth: Like unfound goid their hidden beauties shine, Which God has made to bless and gild the earth. How sad 'twould be to see a master's hand Strike glorious notes upon a voiceless lute! But oh! what pain when, at God's own command, heartstring thrills with kindness, but is mute! A But 'tis not so: another heart may FOR every sin that comes before the thirst For that kind word, as Hagar in the wild light, And leaves an outward blemish on the soul, How many, darker, cower out of sight, And burrow, blind and silent, like the mole. And like the mole, too, with its busy feet That dig and dig a never-ending cave, Our hidden_sins gnaw through the soul, and meet And feast upon each other in its grave. FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. Labor is glory! - the flying cloud lightens; Only the waving wing changes and brightens; Idle hearts only the dark future frightens; Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune! Labor is rest,- from the sorrows that greet us; Rest from all petty vexations that meet us, Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us, Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. Work, and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow; Work, - thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow: |