wrongs of ages thronged apace;
But with it came the glorious hope
Of swift deliverance to his race.
Of galling chains asunder rent,
Of severed hearts again made one,
Of freedom crowning all the land
Through battles gained and victories won.
“Some one,” our hero firmly said,
“Must die to get us out of this;”
Then leaped upon the strand and bared
His bosom to the bullets’ hiss.
“But ye are soldiers, and can fight,
May win in battles yet unfought;
I have no offering but my life,
And if they kill me it is nought.”
With steady hands he grasped the boat,
And boldly pushed it from the shore;
Then fell by rebel bullets pierced,
His life work grandly, nobly o’er.
Our boat was rescued from the sands
And launched in safety on the tide;
But he our comrade good and grand,
In our defence had bravely died.
Burial of Sarah
He stood before the sons of Heth,
And bowed his sorrowing head;
“I’ve come,” he said, “to buy a place
Where I may lay my dead.
“I am a stranger in your land,
My home has lost its light;
Grant me a place where I may lay
My dead away from sight.”
Then tenderly the sons of Heth
Gazed on the mourner’s face,
And said, “Oh, Prince, amid our dead,
Choose thou her resting-place.
“The sepulchres of those we love,
We place at thy command;
Against the plea thy grief hath made
We close not heart nor hand.”
The patriarch rose and bowed his head,
And said, “One place I crave;
’Tis at the end of Ephron’s field,
And called Machpelah’s cave.
“Entreat him that he sell to me
For her last sleep that cave;
I do not ask for her I loved
The freedom of a grave.”
The son of Zohar answered him,
“Hearken, my lord, to me;
Before our sons, the field and cave
I freely give to thee.”
“I will not take it as a gift,”
The grand old man then said;
“I pray thee let me buy the place
Where I may lay my dead.”
And with the promise in his heart,
His seed should own that land,
He gave the shekels for the field
He took from Ephron’s hand.
And saw afar the glorious day
His chosen seed should tread,
The soil where he in sorrow lay
His loved and cherished dead.
Going East
She came from the East a fair, young bride,
With a light and a bounding heart,
To find in the distant West a home
With her husband to make a start.
He builded his cabin far away,
Where the prairie flower bloomed wild;
Her love made lighter all his toil,
And joy and hope around him smiled.
She plied her hands to life’s homely tasks,
And helped to build his fortunes up;
While joy and grief, like bitter and sweet,
Were mingled and mixed in her cup.
He sowed in his fields of golden grain,
All the strength of his manly prime;
Nor music of birds, nor brooks, nor bees,
Was as sweet as the dollar’s chime.
She toiled and waited through weary years
For the fortune that came at length;
But toil and care and hope deferred,
Had stolen and wasted her strength.
The cabin changed to a stately home,
Rich carpets were hushing her tread;
But light was fading from her eye,
And the bloom from her cheek had fled.
Her husband was adding field to field,
And new wealth to his golden store;
And little thought the shadow of death
Was entering in at his door.
Slower and heavier grew her step,
While his gold and his gains increased;
But his proud domain had not the charm
Of her humble home in the East.
He had no line to sound the depths
Of her tears repressed and unshed;
Nor dreamed ’mid plenty a human heart
Could be starving, but not for bread.
Within her eye was a restless light,
And a yearning that never ceased,
A longing to see the dear old home
She had left in the distant East.
A longing to clasp her mother’s hand,
And nestle close to her heart,
And to feel the heavy cares of life
Like the sun-kissed shadows depart.
The hungry heart was stilled at last;
Its restless, baffled yearning ceased.
A lonely man sat by the bier
Of a corpse that was going East.
The Hermit’s Sacrifice
From Rome’s palaces and villas
Gaily issued forth a throng;
From her humbler habitations
Moved a human tide along.
Haughty dames and blooming maidens,
Men who knew not mercy’s sway,
Thronged into the Colosseum
On that Roman holiday.
From the lonely wilds of Asia,
From her jungles far away,
From the distant torrid regions,
Rome had gathered beasts of prey.
Lions restless, roaring, rampant,
Tigers with their stealthy tread,
Leopards bright, and fierce, and fiery,
Met in conflict wild and dread.
Fierce and fearful was the carnage
Of the maddened beasts of prey,
As they fought and rent each other
Urged by men more fierce than they.
Till like muffled thunders breaking
On a vast and distant shore,
Fainter grew the yells of tigers,
And the lions’ dreadful roar.
On the crimson-stained arena
Lay the victims of the fight;
Eyes which once had glared with anguish,
Lost in death their baleful light.
Then uprose the gladiators
Armed for conflict unto death,
Waiting for the prefect’s signal,
Cold and stern with bated breath.
“Ave Caesar, morituri,
Te, salutant,” rose the cry
From the lips of men ill-fated,
Doomed to suffer and to die.
Then began the dreadful contest,
Lives like chaff were thrown away,
Rome with all her pride and power
Butchered for a holiday.
Eagerly the crowd were waiting,
Loud the clashing sabres rang,
When between the gladiators
All unarmed a hermit sprang.
“Cease your bloodshed,” cried the hermit,
“On this carnage place your ban;”
But with flashing swords they answered,
“Back unto your place, old man.”
From their path the gladiators
Thrust the strange intruder back,
Who between their hosts advancing
Calmly parried their attack.
All undaunted by their weapons,
Stood the old heroic man;
While a maddened cry of anger
Through the vast assembly ran.
“Down with him,” cried out the people,
As with thumbs unbent they glared,
Till the prefect gave the signal
That his life should not be spared.
Men grew wild with wrathful passion,
When his
