Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow! A RESPONSE TO“ BEAUTIFUL SNOW."-HANCOCK. CAST by the bright wings of a seraph-the snow, Proud spirit, who told of the height which you fell He loves you, poor sinner, though you may not know He knows all your erring and horrible woe, Made white by His blood, as the beautiful snow Oh! beautiful snow, from the filth of the earth, In crystalline dew-drops-all glistening bright TO SIGN-OR NOT. To sign or not to sign, that's the question; The flings and arrows of an outraged conscience, And then, by signing, end it. To sign, to live- Devoutly to be wished. To drink, to die; To die, perchance, for ever! Oh! how dreadful! To sign is to be free: Who, who could bear the gibes and scorn of men, The drunkard's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of poverty and broken hopes; The insolence of those that drunkards make, That seize their all, then spurn them from their doors, By all the awful ills of drunkenness? THE BRIGHT SIDE. THERE is many a rest in the road of life, And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through, There is many a gem, in the path of life BINGEN ON THE RHINE.-MRS. NORTON. R of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's rs; rade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, id, "I never more shall see my own, my native land: ssage, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, born at Bingen-at Bingen on the Rhine! brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd und y mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground, ought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, a corpse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun. t the dead and dying were some grown old in wars, -wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars: were young-and suddenly beheld life's morn decline; had come from Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine! mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, s aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage: ther was a soldier, and even as a child leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and ld: And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the cottage-wall at Bingen-calm Bingen on the Rhine! "Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread; But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame; And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine) For the honor of old Bingen-dear Bingen on the Rhine! "There's another-not a sister: in the happy days gone by, You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye; Too innocent for coquetry-too fond for idle scorning— Oh! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning; Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along I heard, or seemed to hear, still; And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly talk Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk, And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine: But we'll meet no more at Bingen-loved Bingen on the Rhine!" |