Remembered.

FROM Cuban shores in ceaseless pain,

Out of the calling sea,

Long cried the Spirit of the Maine, "Will ye remember me?"

At last the laggard answer comes
From 'neath the Eastern suns,
Borne westward on the thundering roll,
The deep song of the guns.

From where the war winds shrieked and

sang,

The battle bugles blew,

And deathless names in history sprang,

Proud as man ever knew.

Comes the wild, wailing voice of Spain,
While o'er her war-ships stir

Such waves as wash the martyred Maine,
"Ye have remembered her!"

—James Lindsay Gordon.

A SONG FOR THE HOUR.

LE

a Song for the Hour.

ET Tyranny tremble and Cowardice quake,
The people have spoken, their flag is un-
furled,

-

And now for our God and humanity's sake,
Let Mars' mighty thunders awaken the world.

The sobs of the suffering appeal not in vain;
Columbia has lifted her radiant shield,

And it's woe to despotic and blood-shedding Spain, When Freedom's brave knighthood has taken the field.

The wrath of the Nation is kindled at last,

And Liberty's light shall illumine the sky, The Faith of our fathers, that hallows our past, Proclaims from their dust that the despot must die.

No longer we parley with tyrants for truce;

Let the war-drum make music to clashing of steel,

The eagle has screamed and the war-dogs are

loose,

And it's woe to Havana and woe to Castile.

-William F. Dunbar.

Message.

O the men who fought with Decatur,

то

To the men who with Lawrence died,
To the men who fell in that blazing hell
Of Mobile by Farragut's side;

Take to them our message stern and plain,
Tell them the guns are cast loose again,
Men of the Maine!

This to the men of the ships of oak

From the men of the ships of steel,

To the hearts that broke 'mid the flame and

smoke

From the living hearts that feel,

There is no mizzen, nor fore, nor main,
But all of the flags are aloft again,

Men of the Maine!

Not against foes of our own true blood,

Nor kin across the sea,

But straight in the face of a stranger race
Who never, like you, were free.

Tell them 'tis thus that our guns we train,

And the sights are lined, and the strings astrain, Men of the Maine!

A MESSAGE.

Take them these tidings, ye who sleep

'Neath the murky waves by the Cuban town, The blow in the night but began the fight Which ends when the Spanish flag comes down,

And our guns shall thunder their old refrain
Tolling your knell from here

to Spain !

Men of the Maine!

-P. B.

In the Time of Strife.

WE may not know

How red the lilies of the spring shall grow;
What silver flood,

Sea-streaming, take the crimson tints of blood.

We may not know

If victory shall make the bugles blow;
If still shall wave

The flag above our freedom or our grave.

We only know

One heart, one hand, one country, meet the foe; On land and sea

Her liegemen in the battle of the free.

- Frank L. Stanton.