THE GOOD TIME COMING.

THERE'S a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming:
We may not live to see the day,
But earth shall glisten in the ray
Of the good time coming.
Cannon-balls may aid the truth,
But thought's a weapon stronger;
We'll win our battle by its aid;

Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:

The pen shall supersede the sword, And Right, not Might, shall be the lord

In the good time coming. Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind,

And be acknowledged stronger; The proper impulse has been given;— Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming:
War, in all men's eyes, shall be
A monster of iniquity

In the good time coming.
Nations shall not quarrel then,

To prove which is the stronger; Nor slaughter men for glory's sake;Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming:
Hateful rivalries of creed

Shall not make their martyrs bleed

In the good time coming. Religion shall be shorn of pride, And flourish all the stronger; And Charity shall trim her lamp;Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming:
And a poor man's family
Shall not be his misery

In the good time coming.
Every child shall be a help,

To make his right arm stronger; The happier he, the more he has; Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming:
Little children shall not toil,
Under or above the soil,

In the good time coming;
But shall play in healthful fields
Till limbs and mind grow stronger;
And every one shall read and write;-
Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:
The people shall be temperate,
And shall love instead of hate,

In the good time coming.
They shall use, and not abuse,
And make all virtue stronger.
The reformation has begun;
Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys.
A good time coming:
Let us aid it all we can,
Every woman, every man,

The good time coming.
Smallest helps, if rightly given,
Make the impulse stronger;
"Twill be strong enough one day;-
Wait a little longer.

THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. LATE or early, home returning, In the starlight or the rain, I beheld that lonely candle Shining from his window-pane.

No one sought him, no one knew
him,
Undistinguished was his name:
Never had his praise been uttered
By the oracles of fame.

Scanty fare and decent raiment,
Humble lodging, and a fire
These he sought for,
These he wrought for,
And he gained his meek desire;
Teaching men by written word
Clinging to a hope deferred.

So he lived. At last I missed him;
Still might evening twilight fall,
But no taper lit his lattice-
Lay no shadow on his wall.
In the winter of his seasons,
In the midnight of his day,
'Mid his writing,
And inditing,

Death hath beckoned him away,
Ere the sentence he had planned
Found completion at his hand.

But this man so old and nameless
Left behind him projects large,
Schemes of progress undeveloped,
Worthy of a nation's charge;
Noble fancies uncompleted,
Germs of beauty immatured,
Only needing
Kindly feeding

To have flourished and endured;
Meet reward in golden store
To have lived for evermore.

Who shall tell what schemes majestic
Perish in the active brain?
What humanity is robbed of,
Ne'er to be restored again?
What we lose, because we honor
Overmuch the mighty dead,
And dispirit

Living merit,

Heaping scorn upon its head?
Or perchance, when kinder grown,
Leaving it to die - alone?

O YE TEARS!

O YE tears! O ye tears! that have long refused to flow,

Ye are welcome to my heart — thawing, thawing, like the snow;

I feel the hard clod soften, and the early snowdrops spring, And the healing fountains gush, and the wildernesses sing.

O ye tears! O ye tears! I am thankful that ye run;

Though ye trickle in the darkness, ye shall glitter in the sun.

The rainbow cannot shine if the rain refuse to fall,

And the eyes that cannot weep are the saddest eyes of all.

O ye tears! O ye tears! till I felt you on my cheek,

I was selfish in my sorrow, I was stub born, I was weak.

Ye have given me strength to conquer, and I stand erect and free,

And know that I am human by the

light of sympathy.

O ye tears! O ye tears! ye relieve me of my pain;

The barren rock of pride has been stricken once again: Like the rock that Moses smote, amid Horeb's burning sand, It yields the flowing water to make gladness in the land.

Or shoulders of the mountain looming high,

sunshine in my heart,

And the leaf and fruit of life shall

not utterly depart;

Ye restore to me the freshness and the bloom of long ago

O ye tears! happy tears! I am thankful that ye flow!

A QUESTION ANSWERED. WHAT to do to make thy fame

Live beyond thee in the tomb ? And thine honorable name

Shine, a star, through history's gloom?

Seize the Spirit of thy Time,

Take the measure of his height, Look into his eyes sublime,

And imbue thee with their light.

Know his words ere they are spoken, And with utterance loud and clear, Firm, persuasive, and unbroken,

Breathe them in the people's ear.

Think whate'er the Spirit thinks,
Feel thyself whate'er he feels,
Drink at fountains where he drinks,
And reveal what he reveals.

And whate'er thy medium be,
Canvas, stone, or printed sheet,
Fiction, or philosophy,

Or a ballad for the street;

Or, perchance, with passion fraught, Spoken words, like lightnings thrown,

Tell the people all thy thought,

And the world shall be thine own!

breeze;

Adorner of the nude rude breast of hills,

Mantle of meadows, fringe of gushing rills,

Humblest of all the humble, thou shalt be,

If to none else, exalted unto me, And for a time, a type of joy on earth

Joy unobtrusive, of perennial birth, Common as light and air, and warmth and rain,

And all the daily blessings that in vain Woo us to gratitude: the earliest born Of all the juicy verdures that adorn The fruitful bosom of the kindly soil; Pleasant to eyes that ache and limbs that toil.

Lo! as I muse, I see the bristling spears

Of thy seed-bearing stalks, which some, thy peers, [fro Lift o'er their fellows, nodding to and Their lofty foreheads as the wild winds blow,

And think thy swarming multitudes a host,

Drawn up embattled on their native coast,

And officered for war:-the spearmen free

Raising their weapons, and the martial bee

Blowing his clarion, while some poppy tall

Displays the blood-red banner over all.

And then dismiss it with a faint halfsmile.

And next I fancy thee a multitude, Moved by one breath, obedient to the mood

-

the resistless

Of one strong thinker wind, That, passing o'er thee, bends thee to its mind.

See how thy blades, in myriads as they grow,

Turn ever eastward as the west winds blow

Just as the human crowd is swayed and bent,

By some great preacher, madly eloquent,

Who moves them at his will, and with a breath

Gives them their bias both in life and death.

Or by some wondrous actor, when he draws

All eyes and hearts, amid a hushed applause,

Not to be uttered, lest delight be marred;

Or, greater still, by hymn of prophetbard,

Who moulds the lazy present by his rhyme,

And sings the glories of a future time.

So great is littleness! the mind at fault

Betwixt the peopled leaf and starry vault,

Doubts which is grandest, and, with holy awe,

Adores the God who made them, and whose law

Upholds them in Eternity or Time, Greatest and least, ineffably sublime.

TELL ME, YE WINGED WINDS. TELL me, ye winged winds,

That round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot Where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell,

Some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,

And sighed for pity as it answered, No."

Tell me, thou mighty deep,

Whose billows round me play,
Know'st thou some favored spot,
Some island far away,
Where weary man may find

The bliss for which he sighs,
Where sorrow never lives,

And friendship never dies? The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for a while, and sighed te answer, -"No."

And thou, serenest moon,

That, with such lovely face, Dost look upon the earth,

Asleep in night's embrace; Tell me, in all thy round

Hast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man

May find a happier lot? Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,

And a voice, sweet but sad, respond. ed, "No."

SEE how the orient dew, Shed from the bosom of the morn Into the blowing roses, (Yet careless of its mansion new For the clear region where 'twas born) Round in itself incloses, And in its little globe's extent Frames, as it can, its native element. How it the purple flower does slight, Scarce touching where it lies; But gazing back upon the skies, Shines with a mournful light,

Like its own tear, Because so long divided from the sphere.

Restless it rolls, and unsecure, Trembling, lest it grow impure; Till the warm sun pities its pain, And to the skies exhales it back again. So the soul, that drop, that ray, Of the clear fountain of eternal day, Could it within the human flower be seen,

Remembering still its former height,

Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green,

And, recollecting its own light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts,

JERUSALEM the Golden!
I weary for one gleam

Of all thy glory folden

In distance and in dream! My thoughts, like palms in exile, Climb up to look and pray For a glimpse of thy dear country That lies so far away.

Jerusalem the Golden!

Methinks each flower that blows,
And every bird a-singing
Of thee, some secret knows;

I know not what the flowers
Can feel, or singers see;
But all these summer raptures
Seem prophecies of thee.