THE SCULPTOR BOY.

O task most difficult and rare!

O simple but most arduous plan! To raise a dwelling-place so fair,

The sanctuary of a Man.

223

CHAS. MACKAY.

THE SCULPTOR BOY.

CHISEL in hand stood a sculptor boy,
With his marble block before him ;
And his face lit up, with a smile of joy,
As an angel-dream passed o'er him :
He carved it then on the yielding stone,
With many a sharp incision;

With Heaven's own light the sculpture shone :
He had caught that angel-vision.

Sculptors of life are we, as we stand,
With our souls, uncarved, before us,
Waiting the hour when, at God's command,
Our life-dream shall pass o'er us.

If we carve it then, on the yielding stone,
With many a sharp incision,

Its heavenly beauty shall be our own,
Our lives, that angel-vision.

BISHOP DOAne.

224

A PSALM OF LIFE.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest !
And the grave is not its goal:
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle
In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!

LABOR.

Act,act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

225

LONGFELLOW.

LABOR.

PAUSE not to dream of the future before us:
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us:
Hark, how Creation's deep, musical chorus
Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven!

Never the ocean wave falters in flowing:
Never the little seed stops in its growing;
More and more richly the Rose-heart keeps glowing,
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.

-the robin is singing;

"Labor is worship!

-the wild bee is ringing:

Listen that eloquent whisper unspringing

Speaks to my soul from out nature's great heart, From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower; From the rough sod blows the soft-breathing flower; From the small insect, the rich coral bower; Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part.

Labor is life! 'Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth;

Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth!
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
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; Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow! Work with a stout heart and resolute will!

Droop not tho' shame, sin, and anguish are round thee! Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee! Look to yon pure Heaven smiling beyond thee!

TRUE HAPPINESS.

Rest not content in thy darkness

Work-for some good, be it ever so slowly!
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly!
Labor! All labor is noble and holy :

Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God!

227

MRS. F. S. OSGOOD.

TRUE HAPPINESS.

How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will,
Whose armor is his honest thought,

And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the world by care

Of public fame or private breath ;

Who hath his life from rumors freed ;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great ;-

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend,
And walks with man from day to day,
As with a brother and a friend.