THE SHIP ON FIRE.

ANONYMOUS.

There was joy in the ship as she furrowed the foam,
For fond hearts within her were dreaming of home.
The young mother folded her babe to her breast,
And sang a sweet song as she rocked it to rest ;
And the husband sat cheerily down by her side,
And looked with delight on the face of his bride.

"Oh happy!" said he, "when our roaming is o'er,
We'll dwell in a cottage that stands by the shore ;
Already in fancy its roof I descry,

And the smoke of its hearth curling up to the sky,
Its garden so green and its vine-covered wall,

And the kind friends awaiting to welcome us all!"

Hark! hark! what was that? Hark! hark to the shout! "Fire! fire!" then a tramp and a rush and a rout,

And an uproar of voices arose on the air,

And the mother knelt down; and the half-spoken prayer That she offered to Heaven, in her agony wild,

Was, "Father! have mercy! look down on my child!"

Fire fire it is raging above and below;
The smoke and hot cinders all blindingly blow.
The cheek of the sailor grew pale at the sight,

And his eyes glittered wild in the glare of the light.
The smoke in thick wreaths mounted higher and higher!
"Heaven help us! 'tis fearful to perish by fire!"

They prayed for relief, and not vainly they prayed ; For at noon the sun shone, in full splendor arrayed ; "A sail, ho! a sail !" cried the man on the lee;

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A sail!" and all turned their glad eyes o'er the sea.

"They spy us, they heed us! the signal is waved !

They bear down to help us-thank Heaven! we are saved!"

WASHINGTON'S STATUE.

H. T. TUCKERMAN.

The quarry whence thy form majestic sprung,
Has peopled earth with grace,

Heroes and gods that elder bards have sung,
A bright and peerless r.ce;

But from its sleeping veins ne'er rose before
A shape of loftier name

Than his, who Glory's wreath with meekness wore,
The noblest son of Fame.

Sheathed is the sword that Passion never stained,

His gaze around is cast,

As if the joys of Freedom, newly-gained,
Before his vision passed;

As if a nation's shout of love and pride
With music filled the air,

And his calm soul was lifted on the tide
Of deep and grateful prayer;

As if the crystal mirror of his life

To fancy sweetly came,

With scenes of patient toil and noble strife,
Undimmed by doubt or shame;

As if the lofty purpose of his soul
Expression would betray-

The high resolve Ambition to control,

And thrust her crown away!

Oh! it was well in marble firm and white

To carve our hero's form,

Whose angel guidance was our strength in fight,
Our star amid the storm!

Whese matchless truth has made his name divine,
And human freedom sure,

His country great, his tomb earth's dearest shrine
While man and time endure !

And it is well to place his image there,
Upon the soil he blest ;

Let meaner spirits who its councils share,
Revere that silent guest!

Let us go up with high and sacred love

To look on his pure brow,

And as, with solemn grace, he points above,
Renew the patriot's vow!

THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON HIGH.

The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,

And spangled heavens, a shining frame,

Their great Original proclaim;

The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,

And publishes to every land

The work of an almighty Hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail.
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth,

Repeats the story of her birth;

Whilst all the stars that round her burr,
And all the planets, in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round this dark terrestrial ball!
What though no real voice nor sound,
Amid their radiant orbs be found!
In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
Forever singing, as they shine,

"The Hand that made us is Divine."

ADDISON.

THE PILOT.

T. H. BAYLY.

"Oh, pilot, 'tis a fearful night; there's danger on the deep; I'll come and pace the deck with thee, I do not dare to sleep." "Go down," the sailor cried, "go down! this is no place for

thee:

Fear not, but trust in Providence wherever thou may'st be.' 'Ah, pilot, dangers often met we all are apt to slight, And thou hast known these raging waves but to subdue their might."

"It is not apathy." he cried, "that gives this strength to me :
Fear not, but trust in Providence wherever you mayʼst be.
On such a night the sea engulfed my father's lifeless form,
My only brother's boat went down in just so wild a storm,
And such, perhaps, may be my fate, but still I say to thee,
Fear not, but trust in Providence wherever you may'st be."

THE LIFE OF A BIRD.

MARY HOWITT.

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,

Skimming about on the breezy sea,

Cresting the billows like silvery foam,

And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be to sail, upborne

By a strong free wind, through the rosy morn,
To meet the young sun face to face,
And pierce like a shaft the boundless space !

How pleasant the life of a bird must be !
Wherever it listeth, there to flee;
To go, when a joyful fancy calls,
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls;

Then wheeling about with its mates at play,
Above and below, and among the spray,
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!

What joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about through the flowering trees;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath

The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladden some fairy regions old.
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be !

LABOR IS WORSHIP.

MRS. F. S. OSGOOD.

"Labor is worship," the robin is singing;

Labor is worship," the wild bee is ringing;

Listen! that eloquent whisper upspringing

Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart. Labor is life-'tis the still water faileth,

Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth ;

Keep the watch wound, else the dark rust assaileth; Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.

Labor is glory--the flying cloud lightens ;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens ;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens ;

Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune.
Labor is health-lo! the husbandman reaping,
How through his veins goes the life-current leaping!
How his strong arm in its stalwart pride sweeping,
True as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides !