Upon my life. If only through the strife

[Pg 52]

Is won the peace, through drudgery the gain,

Give him the issue, and to me the pain!"

Some day, in our soul's course o'er trackless lands,

Swayed oft by adverse winds, or swept along

In Fate's wild current with the fluttering throng

Towards Sin's engulfing maelstrom, spirit hands

Will brace our trembling wings, and through the night

Point and upbear in our last trembling flight.

[Pg 53]

Song.

Red gleams the mountain ridge,

Slow the stream creeps

Under the old bent bridge,

And labor sleeps.

There are no restless birds,

No leaves that stir,

Dusk her gray mantle girds,

Night's harbinger.

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