The dry, dead linden-leaves; and, looking up,
He saw a stranger, weak, and poor, and old.

"Peace be unto thee, father!" Tauler said, "God give thee a good day!" The old man raised Slowly his calm blue eyes. "I thank thee, son; But all my days are good, and none are ill."

Wondering thereat, the preacher spake again, "God give thee happy life." The old man smiled, "I never am unhappy."

Tauler laid

His hand upon the stranger's coarse gray sleeve:
"Tell me, O father, what thy strange words mean.
Surely man's days are evil, and his life

Sad as the grave it leads to." "Nay, my son,
Our times are in God's hands, and all our days
Are as our needs: for shadow as for sun,
For cold as heat, for want as wealth, alike
Our thanks are due, since that is best which is;
And that which is not, sharing not His life,
Is evil only as devoid of good.

And for the happiness of which I spake,

I find it in submission to His will,

And calm trust in the holy Trinity

Of Knowledge, Goodness, and Almighty Power."

Silently wondering, for a little space,

Stood the great preacher; then he spake as one
Who, suddenly grappling with a haunting thought

Which long has followed, whispering through the dark

Strange terrors, drags it, shrieking into light:
"What if God's will consign thee hence to Hell?"

"Then," said the stranger cheerily, "be it so.
What Hell may be I know not; this I know,—
I cannot lose the presence of the Lord:
One arm, Humility, takes hold upon
His dear Humanity; the other, Love,
Clasps His Divinity. So where I go

He goes: and better fire-walled Hell with Him
Than golden-gated Paradise without."

Tears sprang in Tauler's eyes. A sudden light,
Like the first ray which fell on chaos, clove
Apart the shadow wherein he had walked
Darkly at noon. And, as the strange old man
Went his slow way, until his silver hair

Set like the white moon where the hills of vine
Slope to the Rhine, he bowed his head and said:
"My prayer is answered. God has sent the man
Long sought, to teach me by his simple trust,
Wisdom the weary schoolmen never knew."

So, entering with a changed and cheerful step
The city gates, he saw, far down the street,
A mighty shadow break the light of noon,
Which tracing backward till its airy lines
Hardened to stony plinths, he raised his eyes
O'er broad facade and lofty pediment,
O'er architrave and frieze and sainted niche,
Up the stone lace-work chiseled by the wise
Erwin of Steinbach, dizzily up to where
In the noon-brightness the great Minster's tower,
Jeweled with sunbeams on its mural crown,
Rose like a visible prayer. "Behold!" he said,
"The stranger's faith made plain before mine eyes.
As yonder tower outstretches to the earth
The dark triangle of its shade alone
When the clear day is shining on its top,
So, darkness in the pathway of Man's life
Is but the shadow of God's providence,
By the great Sun of Wisdom cast thereon;
And what is dark below is light in Heaven."

13.-IF I WERE A VOICE.

CHARLES MACKAY.

If I were a voice, a persuasive voice,

That could travel the wide world through,
I would fly on the beams of the morning light,
And speak to men with a gentle might,

And tell them to be true.

I'd fly, I'd fly o'er land and sea
Wherever a human heart might be,

Telling a tale, or singing a song,

In praise of the right, in blame of the wrong.

If I were a voice, a consoling voice,

I'd fly on the wings of air;

The homes of sorrow and guilt I'd seek,
And calm and truthful words I'd speak,
To save them from despair.

I'd fly, I'd fly o'er the crowded town,
And drop like the happy sunlight down
Into the hearts of suffering men,
And teach them to rejoice again.

If I were a voice, a pervading voice,
I'd seek the kings of earth;

I'd find them alone on their beds at night,
And whisper words that should guide them right,—
Lessons of priceless worth.

I'd fly more swift than the swiftest bird,
And tell them things they never heard,-
Truths which the ages for aye repeat,
Unknown to the statesmen at their feet.
If I were a voice, an immortal voice,
I'd speak in the people's ear;
And whenever they shouted "Liberty!"
Without deserving to be free,

I'd make their error clear.

I'd fly, I'd fly on the wings of day,
Rebuking wrong on my world-wide way,
And making all the earth rejolce,—
If I were a voice, an immortal voice.

||4.—THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT.
JOHN BRIGHT.

Will anybody deny that the Government at Washington, as regards its own people, is the strongest Government in the world at this hour? And for this simple reason: because it is based on the will, and the good will, of an instructed people. Look at its power! I am not now discussing why it is, or the cause which is developing this power; but power is the thing which men regard in these old countries, and which they ascribe mainly to European institutions; but look at the power which the United States have developed! They have brought more men into the field, they have built more ships for their navy, they have shown greater resources than any nation in Europe at this moment is capable of. Look, also, at the quiet which has prevailed at their elections, at which you may see far less disorder than you have seen lately in three of the smallest boroughs in England. Look at their industry. Notwithstanding this terrific struggle, their agriculture, their manufactures and commerce proceed with an uninterrupted success. They are ruled by a President, chosen, it is true, not from some worn-out royal or noble blood, but from the people, and the one whose truthfulness and spotless honor have claimed him universal praise; and now the country that has been vilified through half the organs of the press in England during the last three years, and was pointed out, too, as an example to be shunned by many of your statesmen, that country, now in mortal strife, affords a haven and a home for multitudes flying from the burdens and the neglect of the old governments of Europe; and, when this mortal strife is over-when peace is

restored, when slavery is destroyed, when the Union is cemented afresh, then Europe and England may learn that an instructed democracy is the surest foundation of government, and that education and freedom are the only sources of true greatness and true happiness among any people.

1863.

115.-BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

'Twas on a summer evening,
Old Kasper's work was done,
And he, before his cottage door,
Was sitting in the sun,

And by him sported on the green,
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet,

In playing there, had found;

He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kasper took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh,

"Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden,

For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plow,

The plowshare turns them out!
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory."
"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin, he cries;
While little Wilhelmine looks up,
With wonder-waiting eyes;

"Now tell us all about the war,

And what they killed each other for."

"It was the English," Kasper cried,
"Who put the French to rout,
But what they kill'd each other for,
I could not well make out.
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.

"My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream, hard by;

They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;

So, with his wife and child, he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword, the country round Was wasted, far and wide;

And many a nursing mother then,
And new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won And our young prince, Eugene.' "Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
'It was a famous victory.

"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it, at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I can not tell," said he,

"But 'twas a famous victory."

116. THE PASSAGE.

UHLAND.

Many a year is in its grave

Since I crossed this restless wave,
And the evening fair as ever,
Shines on ruin, rock, and river.

Then, in this same boat, beside,
Sat two comrades, true and tried;
One with all a father's truth,
One with all the fire of youth.

One on earth in silence wrought,
And his grave in silence sought;
But the younger, brighter form,
Passed in battle and in storm.