Lo, our GOD! Thy children here
From all realms are gather'd near,
Wisely gather'd,-gathering still—
For peace on earth, towards men good-will!
May we, with fraternal mind,
Bless our brothers of mankind;
May we, through redeeming love,
Be the blest of GOD above!
The Great Exhibitiau.
A BALLAD FOR THE WORKMAN.
Hurrah! for honest Industry, hurrah! for handy Skill,
Hurrah! for all the wondrous works achieved by Wit and Will!
The triumph of the Artizan has come about at length,
And Kings and Princes flock to praise his comeliness and strength.
The time has come, the blessed time, for brethren to agree,
And rich and poor of every clime at unity to be,
When Labour honour'd openly, and not alone by stealth,
With horny hand and glowing heart may greet his brother Wealth.
Ay, wealth and rank are labour's kin, twin brethren all his own,
For every high estate on earth, of labour it hath grown;
By duty and by prudence, and by study's midnight oil,
The wealth of all the world is won by GOD-rewarded toil!
Then hail thou goodly Gathering, thou brotherhood indeed!
Where all the sons of men can meet as honest labour's seed;
The tribes of turban'd Asia, and Afric's ebon skin,
And Europe and America, with all their kith and kin!
From East and West, from North and South, to England's happy
By tens of thousands, lo! they come, the great industrial host,By tens of thousands welcomed for their handicraft and worth, Behold! they greet their brethren of the Workshop of the Earth.
Right gladly, brother workmen, will each English Artizan
Rejoice to make you welcome all, as honest man to man,
And teach, if aught he has to teach, and learn the much to learn,
And show to men in every land, how all the world may earn !
Whatever earth, man's heritage, of every sort can yield,
From mine and mountain, sea and air, from forest and from field;
Whatever reason, God's great gift, can add or take away,
To bring the worth of all the world beneath the human sway;
Whatever science hath found out, and industry hath earn'd,
And taste hath delicately touch'd, and high-bred art hath learn'd;
Whatever God's good handicraft, the man He made, hath made;
By man, God's earnest Artizan, the best shall be display'd!
O think it not an idle show, for praise, or pride, or pelf,
No man on earth who gains a good can hide it for himself,
By any thought that any thing can any how improve,
We help along the cause of all, and give the world a move!
It is a great and glorious end to bless the sons of man,
And meet for peace, and doing good, in kindness while we can;
It is a greater and more blest, the Human Heart to raise
Up to the GOD who giveth all, with gratitude and praise!
A Last Call at the Palace of Glass.
Lightly blown, and soon to break
Like a bubble on the stream,
Yet once more, for wonder's sake,
Will I woo thee, brilliant Dream!
O thou Crystal of this earth,
Rich and rare, and pure and bright,
Never since Creation's birth
Was there seen so fair a sight!
What a beauteous open book
Fill'd with all the Wit of Man! What a scroll whereon to look
And its characters to scan!
Yea, what thoughts the heart to thrill,-
Yea, what eloquence, what power!
Genius, Labour, Art, and Skill,
In one "bright consummate Flower!"
Like an Aloe, late in time,
With its fairy flags unfurl'd
Stands in beauty half-sublime
This last wonder of the world:
Yet in like ephemeral strength
Soon its blossoms must decay,
And Earth's Aloe, blown at length,
Fades, and droops, and dies away!
A Last Call at the Palace of Glass.
?-No! not all dead :
Seeds are there of light and truth: Not in vain this book outspread
Has been read by age and youth : Not in vain the Nations throng'd Yearning for each other's good, And with generous fervour long'd For the kiss of Brotherhood!
Queen, there have been conquering kings,
But their glory pales to thine:
Prince,—there have been noble things
Well achieved in 'auld lang syne :'
Yet, till now, was never seen
Happier glory, nobler fame,
Than surrounds our English Queen,
And Her Albert's Saxon name!
A Reverie about the Crystal Palace.
Dream of splendour, bright and gay,
Disenchanted all too soon,
Dimly fading fast away
Like a half-remembered tune,
Lo! my spirit's harp is sad
For the end of earthly things,
And refuses to be glad
While I touch these trembling strings.
A Reverie about the Crystal Palace.
Fountains, gushing silver light,
Sculptures, soft and warm and fair,
Gems, that blind the dazzled sight,
Silken trophies rich and rare,
Wondrous works of cunning skill,
Precious miracles of art,-
How your crowding memories fill
Mournfully my musing heart!
Fairy Giant! choicest birth
Of the Beautiful Sublime,
Seeming like the Toy of earth
Given to the dotard Time,-
Glacier-diamond, Alp of glass,
Sindbad's cave, Aladdin's hall,-
Must it then be crush'd, alas!
Must the Crystal Palace fall?
Yes!-as autumn's chequered hues
Thus are tinted with-decay,
As the morn's prismatic dews
Glittering exhale away,
So, with thee; in beauty's pride
All thy brightness must depart,-
Nature's fair consumptive bride,
Fragile paragon of Art!
But, Not all of thee shall die;
O not all shall perish thus!
Thy sweet spirit ever nigh
Will remain to gladden us,—
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