istless power Which moves our fatherland. 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 my friend on the death of his Sister.
Sophia Sturge, sister of Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, the President of the British Complete Suffrage Association, died in the 6th month, 1845.
She was the colleague, counsellor, and ever-ready helpmate of her brother in all his vast designs of beneficence.
The Birmingham Pilot says of her: Never, perhaps, were the active and passive virtues of the human character more harmoniously and beautifully blended than in this excellent woman. thine is a grief, the depth of which another May never know; Yet, o'er the waters, O my stricken brother! To thee I go. I lean my heart unto thee, sadly folding Thy hand in mine; With even
owers, and drift Their perfume on the air, Alike may serve Him, each, with their own gift, Making their lives a prayer!
The hill-top. the burly driver at my side, We slowly climbed the hill, Whose summit, in the hot noontide, Seemed risih!
human kindness, human love,— To few who seek denied; Too late we learn to prize above The whole round world beside!
Ebenezer Elliott was to the artisans of England what Burns was to the peasantry of Scotland.
His Corn-la part or lot in these we claim; But, o'er the sounding wave, A common right to Elliott's name, A freehold in his grave!
This poem was the outcome of the surprise and grief and forecast of evil consequences which I felt on rean is dead! Then, pay the reverence of old days To his dead fame; Walk backward, with averted gaze, And hide the shame!
The lost Occasion. some die too late and some too soon, At early morning, heat of noon, Or the chill evening twilight