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not the cloth merely; there rises up before the mind the noble aspect of that monarchy, which, more than any other on the globe, has advanced its banner for liberty, law, and national prosperity.
This nation has a banner too; and wherever it streamed abroad, men saw daybreak bursting on their eyes, for the American flag has been the symbol of liberty, and men rejoiced in it. Not another flag on the globe had such an errand, or went forth upon the sea, carrying everywhere, the world around, such hope for the captive and such glorious tidings.
The stars upon it were to the pining nations like the morning stars of God, and the stripes upon it were beams of morning light.
As at early dawn the stars stand first, and then it grows light, and then as the sun advances, that light breaks into banks and streaming lines of color, the glowing red and intense white striving together and ribbing tba horizon with bars effulgent, so on the American flag, stars and beams of many colored light shine out together. And wherever the flag comes, and men behold it, they see in its sacred emblazonry, no rampant lion and fierce eagle, but only Light, and every fold significant of liberty.
The history of this banner is all on one side. Under it rode Washington and his armies; before it Burgoyne laid down his arms. It waved on the highlands at West Point; it floated over old Fort Montgomery. When Arnold would have surrendered these valuable fortresses and precious lega cies, his night was turned into day, and his treachery was driven away, by the beams of light from this starry banner.
It cheered our army, driven from New York, in their solitary pilgrimage through New Jersey. It streamed in light over Valley Forge and Morristown. It crossed the waters rolling with ice at Trenton; and when its stars gleamed in the cold morning with victory, a new day of hope dawned on the despondency of the nation. And when, at length, the long years of war were drawing to a close, underneath the folds of this immortal banner sat Washington while Yorktown surrendered its hosts, and our Revolutionary struggles ended with victory.
Let us then twine each thread of the glorious tissue of our country's flag about our heartstrings; and looking upon our homes and catching the spirit that breathes upon us from the battle-fields of our fathers, let us resolve, come weal or woe, wo will, in life and in death, now and forever, stand by the stars and stripes. They have been unfurled from the snows of Canada to the plains of New Orleans, in the halls of the Montezumas and amid the solitude of every sea; and everywhere, as the luminous symbol of resistless and beneficent power, they have led the brave to victory and to glory. They have floated over our cradles; let it be our prayer and our struggle that they shall float over our graves.
THERE'S TAX IN THE STREET.
A. WALLACE THAXTER.
There's a wail in the mansion
A tear and a sigh,
Go noiselessly by.
Still the noise of your feet,
"There's tan in the street."'
Is she weeping, that mother,
As she looks on her boy, Sees the eve cold in dying
So late lit with joy? Ah, mother! in heaven
Thy darling thou'lt meet, Though aching thy heart now,—
For " there's kin in the street."
Is he bowed down, that strong man,
That his beautiful bride— Whose cheek gave the warning—
In beauty has died?
In a sainted retreat,
And " tht re's tan in the street."
As we plod along daily
In the hackneyed routine, We heed not the lessons
To be gathered, I ween,
That daily we meet,
In the " tun in the street."
I can almost see to the land of light,
But there's a mist before my eyes,
The path, I know, stretches out before,
But I can't see where it lies;
For there is a valley that lies between,
And a shadow as dark as night,
That sends up its gloom from a loved one's tomb,
And a dimness is on my sight.
But there's some one stands on the golden sands,
And lifts up the nebulous bars,
Throwing back the door to the shining shore,
And there's light beyond the stars;
And the flashes bright, that fall on my sight,
Seem to scatter the night away;
And I know, I know where I shall go
At the close of some weary day.
And now and then there arc forms I ken,
That seem as if once of earth,
That break through the night of this castlely sight,
From the home of the spirit birth;
And I hear, I hear, from the upper sphere,
The voices I heard of yore,
And I see, I see the dear to me,
The loved and gone before.
I can almost see through to the land of light,
You may think it is fears, you may say ft is tears,
But its a long, long way to the gates of day,
And no wonder I can't see through;
The eyes I have at the best are but clay—
I can get no better, can you?
Yet things will appear and disappear,
So strangely sweet to me,
That a holy I brill my soul will fill,
And I think I begin to see.
Oh! the veil may drop on our mortal sight,
And much to love from the depths above
And many a brow that lies shaded now
'Neath the touches of sin and shame,
Hath its inner deep where pearls may sleep,
And gems that vet shall flame,—
Some learned divine, on the inner shrine,
Shall keep them pure and fair,—
For God sees through, though I and you
Know not what he treasures there.
And by and by the darkened sky
Will clear to these earthly eyes,
And the mists that are near will disappear
Where the shining pathway lies,
Then all ablaze the soul shall gaze
In the peerless depths of blue,
And the darkened glass from the eyes shall pass,
And we'll all, yes, all see through.
OUT—Thomas Haynes Bayly.
Out, John! out, John! what are you about, John?
Say I'm out, whoever calls; and hide my hat and cane,
Say you've not the least idea when I shall come again, John.
Let the people leave their bills, but tell them not to call, John;
Say I'm courting Miss Rupee, and mean to pay them all,
Run, John! run, John! there's another dun, John;
shocked, John; Take your pocket-handkerchief, and put it to your eye.
Say your master's not the man to bid you tell a lie, John.