And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its song could reach the rich! this "Song of the Shirt."
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 friendship 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 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.
PRESS on! there's no such word as fail! Press nobly on! the goal is near,
Ascend the mountain! breast the gale!
Look upward, onward, Why should'st thou faint?
Heaven smiles above,
Though storm and vapor intervene ; That sun shines 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 walls of night Hew down a passage 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 breasts, 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
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.
HE blessings which the weak and poor can scatter Have their own season. 'Tis 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 nectarean 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 fellowship 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.
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 ass in all the parish
But he knows my John.
As through an Alpine village passed 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,
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