H The Song of Steam. ARNESS me down with your iron bands, Be sure of your curb and rein, For I scorn the strength of your puny hands As a tempest scorns a chain. How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight, At the childish boasts of human might, When I saw an army upon the land, A navy upon the seas, Or waiting the wayward breeze; As he feebly turned the tardy wheel, When I measured the panting courser's speed, As they bore the law a king decreed, Or the lines of impatient love, I could but think how the world would feel, When I should be bound to the rushing keel, Ha ha ha! they found me at last, They invited me forth at length, And I rushed to my throne with a thunder blast, Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er, The mountain's steep decline; The rivers the sun hath earliest blest, The ocean pales wherever I sweep Cower trembling at my voice. I carry the wealth of the lord of earth, In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine Where the rocks never saw the sun's decline, I bring earth's glittering jewels up I blow the bellows, I forge the steel, I hammer the ore and turn the wheel I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint, And all my doings I put into print I've no muscles to weary, no brains to decay, For I scorn the strength of your puny hands The Good Time Coming. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: The pen shall supersede the sword; And right, not might, shall be the lord In the good time coming. Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind, And be acknowledged stronger; The proper impulse has been given; Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: War in all men's eyes shall be, In the good time coming. To prove which is the stronger; Nor slaughter men for glory's sake; Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Hateful rivalries of creed Shall not make their martyrs bleed In the good time coming. Religion shall be shorn of pride, And flourish all the stronger; And charity shall trim her lamp; Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: And a poor man's family Shall not be his misery In the good time coming. Every child shall be a help To make his right arm stronger; The happier he the more he has; Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: Little children shall not toil In the good time coming; Till limbs and mind grow stronger; And every one shall read and write; Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: In the good time coming. And make all virtue stronger; The reformation has begun; Wait a little longer. THE Onward. HERE is a firefly in the Southern clime Which shineth only when upon the wing; So it is with the mind when once we rest, We darken. On! said God unto the soul As to the earth forever. On it goes, -Philip James Bailey. TH fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, : A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and threadStitch, stitch, stitch, In poverty, hunger and dirt; And with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the " Song of the Shirt." Work, work, work, While the cock is crowing aloof, And work-work-work, Will the stars shine through the roof, It's O, to be slave It seems so like my own Because of the fasts I keep; O God! hat bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap! Work-work-work! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, That shattered roof-and this naked floor- And a wall so blank my shadow I thank Work-work-work! From weary chime to chime! Work-work-work! As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbod, As well as the weary hand. Work-work-work! In the dull December light! And work-work-work, When the weather is warm and bright! While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling, As if to show me their sunny backs, Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweetWith the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet! For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want, And the walk that costs a meal! |