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The Songs of Our Fathers.
6. Sing alo:ad
ING them upon the sunny hills,
When days are long and bright,
Is loveliest to the sight.
Where ancient hunters roved ;
The songs our fathers loved.
The songs their souls rejoiced to hear,
When harps were in the hall, And each proud note made lance and spear
Thrill on the bannered wall;
Sent on from age to age,
The peasant's heritage.
The reaper sings them when the vale
Is filled with plumy sheaves ;
Cheered homeward through the leaves : And unto them the glancing oars
A joyous measure keep, Where the dark rocks that crest our shores
Dash back the foaming deep.
So let it be !-a light they shed
O'er each old fount and grove, A memory of the gentle dead,
A lingering spell of love.
THE DAY IS DONE.
Murmuring the names of mighty men,
They bid our streams roll on;
Where valiant deeds were done.
Teach them your children round the hearth,
When evening fires burn clear,
And on the hills of deer:
When far those loved ones roam,
To childhood's holy home.
The green woods of their native land
Shall whisper in the strain;
Shall sweetly speak again ;
Where like the stag they roved ;-
MRS. FELICIA HEMANS.
The Day is Done.
'HE day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wing of Night, As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist; And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
That my soul cannot resist ;
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come,read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice;
The beauty of thy voice.
THE SPLENDOR FALLS.
And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
The Splendor Falls. THE splendor falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story:
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going;
The horns of Elfand faintly blowing !
O love! they die on yon rich sky;
They faint on hill, or field, or river :
And grow forever and forever.
Song of the Stars. WHEN
THEN the radiant morn of creation broke, ,
And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,
And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame,
Away, away, through the wide, wide sky,
“For the source of glory uncovers his face,
“Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar,
"And see, where the brighter day-beams pour,
“Away, away ! in our blossoming bowers,