Part Eighth.

100

CHOICE SELECTIONS

No. 8.

NEVER GIVE UP.

Never give up!-it is wiser and better
Always to hope, than once to despair;
Fling off the load of doubt's cankering fetters,
And break the dark spell of tyrannical care.
Never give up, or the burden may sink you,-
Providence kindly has mingled the cup;
And in all trials and troubles bethink you,

The watchword of life must be, "Never give up!"

Never give up; there are chances and changes,
Helping the hopeful, a hundred to one,
And through the chaos, High Wisdom arranges
Ever success, if you'll only hold on.
Never give up; for the wisest is boldest,

Knowing that Providence mingles the cup,
And of all maxims, the best, as the oldest,
Is the stern watchword of "Never give up!"

Never give up, though the grape-shot may rattle,
Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst;
Stand like a rock, and the storm or the battle
Little shall harm you, though doing their worst.
Never give up; if adversity presses,

Providence wisely has mingled the cup;
And the best counsel in all your distresses
Is the brave watchword of "Never give up!"

THE LABORER.-W. D. GALLAGHER.

Stand up-erect! Thou hast the form
And likeness of thy God!-who more?
A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm
Of daily life, a heart as warm

And pure, as breast e'er wore.

What then?-Thou art as true a man
As moves the human mass among;
As much a part of the great plan
That with Creation's dawn began,
As any of the throng.

Who is thine enemy? the high

In station, or in wealth the chief? The great, who coldly pass thee by, With proud step and averted eye? Nay! Nurse not such belief.

If true unto thyself thou wast,

What were the proud one's scorn to thee? A feather, which thou mightest cast Aside, as lightly as the blast

The light leaf from the tree.

No;-uncurbed passions, low desires,
Absence of noble self-respect,—
Death, in the breast's consuming fires,
To that high nature which aspires
Forever, till thus checked,-

These are thine enemies,-thy worst;
They chain thee to thy lowly lot,
Thy labor and thy life accursed:
Oh, stand erect! and from them burst,
And longer suffer not!

Thou art thyself thine enemy!

The great!-what better they than thou?

As theirs is not thy will as free?

Has God with equal favors thee

Neglected to endow?

True, wealth thou hast not,-'tis but dust!
Nor place, uncertain as the wind!
But that thou hast which, with thy crust
And water, may despise the lust

Of both,-
-a noble mind.

With this, and passions under ban,
True faith, and holy trust in God,
Thou art the peer of any man.
Look up, then; that thy little span
Of life may well be trod.

THE DIGNITY OF LABOR.-NEWMAN HALL

There is dignity in toil-in toil of the hand as well as toil of the head-in toil to provide for the bodily wants of an individual life, as well as in toil to promote some enterprise of world-wide fame. All labor that tends to supply man's wants, to increase man's happiness, to elevate man's nature —in a word, all labor that is honest-is honorable too. Labor clears the forest, and drains the morass, and makes "the wilderness rejoice and blossom as the rose." Labor drives the plow, and scatters the seeds, and reaps the harvest, and grinds the corn, and converts it into bread, the staff of life. Labor, tending the pastures and sweeping the waters as well as cultivating the soil, provides with daily sustenance the nine hundred millions of the family of man. Labor gathers the gossamer web of the caterpillar, the cotton from the field and the fleece from the flock, and weaves it into raiment soft and warm and beautiful, the purple robe of the prince and the gray gown of the peasant being alike its handiwork. Labor moulds the brick, and splits the slate, and quarries the stone, and shapes the column, and rears not only the humble cottage, but the gorgeous palace, and the tapering spire, and the stately dome. Labor, diving deep into the solid earth, brings up its long-hidden stores of coal to feed ten thousand furnaces, and in millions of homes to defy the winter's cold.

Labor explores the rich veins of deeply-buried rocks, extracting the gold and silver, the copper and tin. Labor smelts the iron, and moulds it into a thousand shapes for use and ornament, from the massive pillar to the tiniest needle, from the ponderous anchor to the wire gauze, from the mighty fly-wheel of the steam-engine to the polished purse

ring or the glittering bead. Labor hews down the gnarled oak, and shapes the timber, and builds the ship, and guides it over the deep, plunging through the billows, and wrestling with the tempest, to bear to our shores the produce of every clime.

Labor, laughing at difficulties, spans majestic rivers, carries viaducts over marshy swamps, suspends bridges over deep ravines, pierces the solid mountain with its dark tunnel, blasting rocks and filling hollows, and while linking together with its iron but loving grasp all nations of the earth, verifying, in a literal sense, the ancient prophecy," Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be brought low;" labor draws forth its delicate iron thread, and stretching it from city to city, from province to province, through mountains and beneath the sea, realizes more than fancy ever fabled, while it constructs a chariot on which speech may outstrip the wind, and compete with the lightning, for the telegraph flies as rapidly as thought itself.

Labor, a mighty magician, walks forth into a region uninhabited and waste; he looks earnestly at the scene, so quiet in its desolation; then waving his wonder-working wand, those dreary valleys smile with golden harvests; those barren mountain-slopes are clothed with foliage; the furnace blazes; the anvil rings; the busy wheel whirls round; the town appears; the mart of commerce, the hall of science, the temple of religion, rear high their lofty fronts; a forest of masts, gay with varied pennons, rises from the harbor; representatives of far-off regions make it their resort; Science enlists the elements of earth and heaven in its service; Art, awakening, clothes its strength with beauty; Civiliza tion smiles; Liberty is glad; Humanity rejoices; Piety exults; for the voice of industry and gladness is heard on every side.

Working men, walk worthy of your vocation! You have a noble escutcheon; disgrace it not. There is nothing really mean and low but sin. Stoop not from your lofty throne to defile yourselves by contamination with intemperance, licentiousness, or any form of evil. Labor, allied with virtue, may look up to Heaven and not blush, while all worldly dignities, prostituted to vice, will leave their owner without a