The man who turns the soil
Need not have an earthly mind;
The digger 'mid the coal

Need not be in spirit blind;
The mind can shed a light

On each worthy labor done,
As lowest things are bright
In the radiance of the sun.

What cheers the musing student,
The poet, the divine?
The thought that for his followers
A brighter day will shine.
Let every human laborer

Enjoy the vision bright—

Let the thought that comes from heaven
Be spread like heaven's own light!

Ye men who hold the pen,

Rise like a band inspired!

And poets, let your lyres

With hope for man be fired!
Till the earth becomes a temple,
And every human heart
Shall join in one great service,
Each happy in his part.

EXERCISE XVIII.

TO THE AMERICAN FLAS.

WHEN freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there!
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,

And striped its pure celestial white

With streakings from the morning light!

Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle-bearer down,

And

gave into his mighty hand

The symbol of her chosen land!

Majestic monarch of the cloud!
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumping loud,
And see the lightning lances driven
When strides the warrior of the storm,

And rolls the thunder drum of heaven!
Child of the sun! to thee 't is given
To guard the banner of the free-
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
And ward away the battle stroke,
And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbinger of victory!

Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high!
When speaks the signal trumpet's tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on;
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn
To where thy meteor glories burn;
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance!
And when the cannon's mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall,

Like shoots of flame on midnight pall!
There shall thy victor glances glow,
And cowering foes shall fall beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death!

Flag of the seas! on ocean's wave,
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave.
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the swelling sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's only home,
By angel hands to valor given !
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome

And all thy hues were born in heaven;
Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before u
With freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us.

EXERCISE XIX.

NAPOLEON AT REST.

His falchion flashed along the Nile;
His hosts he led through Alpine snows;,
O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the white,
His eagle flag unrolled,-

and froze.

Here sleeps he now, alone! Not one,
Of all the kings whose crowns he gave,
Bends o'er his dust; nor wife nor son

Has ever seen or sought his grave.

Behind this sea-girt rock, the star,

That led him on from crown to crown,

Has sunk; and nations from afar

Gazed as it faded and went down.

High is his couch; - the ocean flood,
Far, far below, by storms is curled;
As round him heaved, while high he stood,
A stormy and unstable world.

Alone he sleeps! The mountain cloud,

That night hangs round him, and the breath

Of morning scatters, is the shroud

That wraps the conqueror's clay in death.

Pause here! The far-off world, at last,

Breathes free; the hand that shook its thrones

And to the earth its mitres cast,

Lies powerless now beneath these stones.

Hark! comes there, from the pyramids,
And from Siberian wastes of snow,
And Europe's hills, a voice that bids
The world he awed to mourn him?.

The only, the perpetual dirge,

No;

That's heard here, is the sea-bird's cry, -
The mournful murmur of the surge,
The cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh.

EXERCISE XX.

THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, One took the other, briskly, by the hand;

"'t is an odd story this,

"Hark ye," said he;
About the crows!". "I don't know what it is,"
Replied his friend. "No! I'm surprised at that
Where I come from, it is the common chat:
But you shall hear; an odd affair indeed!
And that it happened, they are all agreed.
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows."
"Impossible!". Nay, but 't is really true;
I had it from good hands, and so may you."
"From whose, I pray?" So having named the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.

"Sir, did you tell"-relating the affair-
"Yes, sir, I did; and, if it's worth your care,
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me;

But, by-the-by, 't was two black crows, not three."
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Whip to the third the virtuoso went.

"Sir," and so forth-" Why, yes; the thing is fact Though in regard to number not exact;

It was not two black crows, 't was only one;
The truth of that you may depend upon.

The gentleman himself told me the case."

"Where may I find him?"—" Why, in such a place."

Away he goes, and having found him out,-"Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.”

Then to his last informant he referred,

And begged to know if true what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?".

Bless me! how people propagate a lie !

"Not I!"

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one. And here I find all comes at last to none!

Did you say nothing of a crow at all?" "Crow-crow - perhaps I might, now I recall

The matter over." "And pray, sir, what was 't?"
Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,

I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,

Something that was as black, sir, as a crow!"

EXERCISE XXI.

CONTENTED JOHN.

ONE honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher,
Although he was poor, did not want to be richer;
For all such vain wishes to him were prevented,
By a fortunate habit of being contented.

Though cold was the weather, or dear was the food,
John never was found in a murmuring mood;
For this he was constantly heard to declare
What he could not prevent, he would cheerfully bear

For why should I grumble and murmur? he said;
If I cannot get meat, I can surely get bread;
And though fretting may make my calamities deeper,
It never can cause bread and cheese to be cheaper.

If John was afflicted with sickness and pain,
He wished himself better, but did not complain;
Nor lie down to fret in despondence and sorrow,
But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow.

If any one wronged him, or treated him ill,
Why John was good-natured and sociable still;
For he said that revenging the injury done

Would be making two rogues, when there need be but one.