I saw, methought, a glad surprise

Thrill through that frail and pain-worn frame, And kindling in those deep, calm eyes

A still and earnest flame.

His few, brief words were such as move

The human heart- -the Faith-sown seeds Which ripen in the soil of love

To high heroic deeds.

No bars of sect or clime were felt

The Babel strife of tongues had ceased, And at one common altar knelt

The Quaker and the priest.

And not in vain with strength renewed,
And zeal refreshed, and hope less dim,
For that brief meeting, each pursued

The path allotted him.

How echoes yet each Western hill

And vale with Channing's dying word!
How are the hearts of freemen still
By that great warning stirred!

The stranger treads his native soil,
And pleads with zeal unfelt before
The honest right of British toil,
The claim of England's poor.

Before him time-wrought barriers fall,
Old fears subside, old hatreds melt,
And, stretching o'er the sea's blue wall,
The Saxon greets the Celt.

The yeoman on the Scottish lines,

The Sheffield grinder, worn and grim,

The delver in the Cornwall mines,

Look up with hope to him.

Swart smiters of the glowing steel, Dark feeders of the forge's flame, Pale watchers at the loom and wheel, Repeat his honored name.

And thus the influence of that hour

Of converse on Rhode Island's strand, Lives in the calm, resistless power Which moves our father-land.

God blesses still the generous thought,
And still the fitting word He speeds,
And Truth, at His requiring taught,
He quickens into deeds.

Where is the victory of the grave?
What dust upon the spirit lies?
God keeps the sacred life He gave
The prophet never dies!

TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES B. STORRS,

LATE PRESIDENT OF WESTERN RESERVE COLLEGE.

["He fell a martyr to the interests of his colored brethren. For many months did that mighty man of God apply his discriminating and gigantic mind to the subject of Slavery and its remedy; and, when his soul could no longer contain his holy indignation against the upholders and apologists of this unrighteous system, he gave vent to his aching heart, and poured forth his clear thoughts and holy feelings in such deep and soul-entrancing eloquence, that other men, whom he would fain in his humble modesty acknowledge his superiors, sat at his feet and looked up as children to a parent."— Correspondent of the “Liberator," 16th of 11th mo., 1833.]

THOU hast fallen in thine armor,

Thou martyr of the Lord!

With thy last breath crying-"Onward !"

And thy hand upon the sword.

The haughty heart derideth,

And the sinful lip reviles,
But the blessing of the perishing
Around thy pillow smiles!

When to our cup of trembling
The added drop is given,

And the long suspended thunder
Falls terribly from Heaven,-
When a new and fearful freedom
Is proffered of the Lord
To the slow consuming Famine-
The Pestilence and Sword!-

When the refuges of Falsehood

Shall be swept away in wrath,
And the temple shall be shaken,
With its idol, to the earth,-

Where Mammon hath its altars
Wet o'er with human blood,
And pride and lust debases

The workmanship of God There shall thy praise be spoken,

Redeemed from Falsehood's ban, When the fetters shall be broken, And the slave shall be a man!

Joy to thy spirit, brother!

A thousand hearts are warm A thousand kindred bosoms Are baring to the storm. What though red-handed Violence With secret Fraud combine, The wall of fire is round us

Our Present Help was thine!

The words which thou hast uttered

Are of that soul a part,

And the good seed thou hast scattered Is springing from the heart.

In the evil days before us,

And the trials yet to come

In the shadow of the prison,
Or the cruel martyrdom -
We will think of thee, O brother!
And thy sainted name shall be
In the blessing of the captive,
And the anthem of the free.