And they sang, as weary exiles
Sing of home and vanished years,
Sweet, heart-treasured songs that always
Bring the dumb applause of tears.
When the day was sunk in ocean,
And the land around was dim,
On the tranquil air of midnight
Rose the sweet Franciscan hymn;
And when bugle told the dawning,
And the matin prayers were done,
On his journey went Portala
And his army northward on.
Far away they saw sierras,
Clothed with an eternal spring,
While at times the mighty ocean
In their path her spray would fling; On amid such scenes they journeyed Through the dreary wastes of sand, Through ravines dark, deep, and narrow, And through canons wild and grand. And with what a thrill of pleasure, All their toils and dangers through. Gazed they on this scene of beauty When it burst upon their view, As Portala and his army,
Standing where I stand to-day, Saw before them spread in beauty Green-clad hills and noble bay.
Then the Governor Portala
Broke the spell of silence thus:
"To this place through Padre Serra
Hath Saint Francis guided us;
So the bay and all around it
For the Spanish King I claim;
And forever, in the future,
Let it bear Saint Francis' name."
Thus he spoke-and I am standing
On the self-same spot to-day,
And my eyes rest on the landscape
And the green hills, and the bay,
And upon Saint Francis' city,
As with youth and hope elate,
She is gazing toward the ocean,
Sitting by the Golden Gate.
Needless were such gifts as Heaven
Gave to holy seers of yore,
To foretell the meed of glory,
Fairest town, for thee in store!
To foretell the seat of empire
Here will be, nor far the day,
Where Balboa's sea doth mingle
With the waters of thy bay!
AN EASTER POEM.-MARION RICHE
A night, a day, another night had passed
Since that strange day of sorrow and amaze
When, on the cruel cross of Calvary,
The pure and holy Son of man had died.
Scattered were they who once had followed him;
Silent the tongues that once had hailed him king;
Heavy the hearts that loved him as their Lord.
A few sad women who had followed close
When Joseph bore him from the cross away,
And saw the sepulcher made fast and sure,
Came early when the Sabbath day was past,
Bringing sweet spices to the sacred tomb;
And lo! the heavy stone was rolled away.
They looked within and saw the empty place,
And mournfully unto each other said,
“Where have they laid the body of our Lord?"
But as they drew with lingering steps away,
An angel, clad in shining garments, said,
"Why seek among the dead, the risen Lord?
Did he not say that he would rise again?
He is arisen, quickly go and tell
The great glad tidings to his followers."
With joyful haste they bore the wondrous news,
And on from lip to lip the story passed,
"The Lord is risen, risen from the dead."
So broke the morning of the gospel day;
So came the heavenly springtime to the world.
As in the trembling light of early dawn,
And in the first faint pulsings of the spring,
We read the promise of the day's high sun,
And the glad gathering of the harvest sheaves,
So in the dawning of that Easter morn,
There shone the brightness that was yet to be.
The day has risen to its noontide hour,
And still the joyful message is as sweet
As when, on Easter morning long ago,
The women told it in Jerusalem,—
"The Lord is risen, risen from the dead."
Repeat the message, O ye happy ones
Upon whose hearts no darkness ever fell!
Repeat it, ye upon whose rayless night,
The brightness of his shining has come in!
And ye who are afar, take the refrain,
"The Lord is risen, risen from the dead,"
And with the joyful news the light will come.
O lily white, yield all your, rich perfume!
O bird, sing ever sweet your vernal song!
O brook, glance brightly in the morning sun!
Lend all your charms to grace the hallowed day
Wherein we sing the ever-new, glad song,
"The Lord is risen, risen from the dead."
Our Daisy lay down
In her little night-gown,
And kissed me again and again,
On forehead and cheek,
On lips that would speak,
But found themselves shut to their gain.
Then foolish, absurd,
To utter a word,
I asked her the question so old,
That wife and that lover
Ask over and over,
As if they were surer when told.
There, close at her side,
"Do you love me?" I cried;
She lifted her golden-crowned head,
A puzzled surprise
Shone in her gray eyes
"Why, that's why I kiss you!" she said.
THE DEBATING SOCIETY.*-EUGENE J. HALL.
An old wooden school-house, worn, battered and brown, Still stands on a hill, in a New Hampshire town.
Its rafters are rotten, its floor is decayed,
The chinks in its ceiling by children were made;
Its benches are broken, its threshold is worn,
The maps on the walls are discolored and torn;
Its rickety desk, its tall, splint-bottomed chair,
And old-fashioned stove are all out of repair.
Forlorn and forsaken, and left to decay,
It stands on the hill-top, a ruin, to-day.
Here met, long ago, on one evening in seven,
The rustic wiseacres "o' district eleven,"
For social amusement and earnest debate
On questions of freedom, of finance, and state.
Here gathered the neighbors, all gayly together,
To talk of the times, of the crops, and the weather.
Here came the "old fogies," in coats of dark blue;
The matrons who whispered of things that they knew;
The bashful young boys, with their sleek shining hair;
The bright blushing girls, who they thought were so fair;
And many dark spinsters, forbidding and chill,
Who frowned at “those children, that wouldn't keep still."
'Twas Saturday night, and the weather was clear;
The sleigh-bells were ringing, delightful to hear;
The moonlight illumined the hollow below,
And glistened and gleamed on the "beautiful snow,"
While floated away, on the cold, frosty air,
The curling white smoke from the farm-houses there.
Before the old school-house, secured in a row,
The horses were pawing and tramping the snow.
A warm fire burned bright in the old-fashioned stove.
The light from the candles gleamed out through the grove.
The school-room was filled with "the pride o' the place,"
And pleasure was seen on each mirth-beaming face.
Squire Sollit was "chosen to sit in the chair;"
He walked to the desk with a dignified air,
And, fixing his eyes on the ceiling o'erhead,
He sat, for a time, thinking what should be said;
From "Lyrics of Home-Land," by permission.
"The Debating Society" affords a wide scope for a character artist in amusing and entertaining an audience, but must be impersonated well, if undertaken at all, and should never be attempted by one without a genius for mimicry.
Then, placing one hand on his smooth-shaven chin,
He pushed back his chair and arose to begin:
The room had grown still, not a whisper was heard,
All listened to hear his first audible word:
He quietly clasped his huge hands on his chest;
He twirled his thick thumbs o'er his black satin vest;
And, wagging his round, shining, comical head,
He drew a long breath and then solemnly said:
"A-ha! a-hem! Ladies an' Gentlemen an' Feller Citi zens; a-ha! a-hem!"
A little girl giggled, a staid spinster frowned;
He suddenly stopped, and looked gravely around,
And then, quite confused, without purpose or plan,
He grasped the old desk, with both hands, and began:
"A-ha! a-hem! a-has I said afore, a-hem! Ladies an' Gentlemen an' Feller Citizens, a-ha! a-hem! we hev come together this evenin' fur the puppus o', a-ha! a-hem! or ruther fur the ostensible puppus o', a-hem! suppressin' the press, an' the, a-ha! a-hem! a-bevils o' the press w'ich is becomin' so, a-ha! a-hem! 'pressive.
“A-ha! ahem! Ladies an' Gentlemen an' Feller Citizens, the press, an' the, a-ha! a-hevils o' the press is be-comin' very, a-ha! a-hem, 'pressive-'pressive to, a-ha! a-hem! you an' 'pressive to, a-ha! a-hem! me; an', there-fore, 'tis to be ho-ped that you will take the best means o' suppressin' the, a-ha! a-hem! press an' the, a-ha! a-hevils o' the, a-ha! ahem! press w'ich is be-comin' so, a-ha! a-hem! 'pressive.
"A-ha! a-hem! Ladies an' Gentlemen an' Feller Citizens, a-ha! a-havin' considered the subjec', a-ha! a-havin' giv' you my, a-ha! a-hull idees on't, a-ha! a-havin' showed the necessity o' suppressin' the, a-ha! a-hem! press an' the, a-ha! a-hevils o' the, a-ha! a-hem! press, w'ich is be-comin' so 'pressive, I leave the, a-ha! a-hem! press an' the, a-ha! ahevils o' the, a-ha! a-hem! press to the debate o' those app'inted fur the, a-ha! a-hem! puppus.
He drew his silk handkerchief forth from his hat;
He wiped his moist features and downward he sat;
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