THE LIFE BRIGADE.-MINNIE MACKAY. Wild are the mountainous billows Falls a torrent of icy rain, And, black with its wrath, the tempest Hark! 'mid the strife of waters Another! and now are mingled They come with hurrying footsteps: Not a hand among them trembles, In the face of the awful sea. Yet well may the bravest sailor Those beautiful, terrible breakers, Waiting to snatch their prey, And bury yon hapless vessel 'Neath a monument of spray! But rugged, and strong, and cheery Are the weather-beaten heroes Of the gallant Life Brigade. "To the rescue!" shouts their leader, Nor pauses for reply A plunge!-and the great waves bear him Away to do or die! The whole night long, unwearied, They battle with wind and sea, All ignorant and heedless Of what their end may be. They search the tattered rigging, Till the frail ship sinks at last. The thunderous clouds have vanished, The shimmering sunlight breaks; Two of the best and bravest Have been dragged by the cruel waves 'Mid thousands of sailor graves! Two lives are given for many! DO NOT SING THAT SONG AGAIN.-H. F. MCDERMOTZ, Do not sing that song again, Of the years of long ago, When my days were young and fair, When one feeling filled the breast, Do not sing that song again, On the dark and downward streams, It brings sadly back the time Do not sing that song again, There's a mist upon the river, And there's bleakness on the shore; And in dreams I pass forever, While sad music wafts me o'er. THE SHIP OF FAITH. A certain colored brother had been holding forth to his fittle flock upon the ever fruitful topic of Faith, and he closed his exhortation about as follows: My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got to git on board de Ship ob Faith. I tell you, my bruddren, dere ain't no odder way. Dere ain't no gitten up de back stairs, nor goin' 'cross lots; you can't do dat away, my bruddren, you got to git on board de Ship ob Faith. Once 'pon a time dere was a lot ob colored people, an' dey was all gwine to de promised land. Well, dey knowed dere want no odder way for 'em to do but to git on board de Ship ob Faith. So dey all went down an' got on board, de ole granfaders, an' de ole granmudders, an' de pickaninnies, an' all de res' ob 'em. Dey all got on board 'ceptin' one mons'us big feller, he said he's gwine to swim, he was. "W'y!" dey said, “you can't swim so fur like dat. It am a powerful long way to de promised land!" He said, "I kin swim anywhar, I kin. I git board no boat, no, 'deed!" Well, my bruddren, all dey could say to dat poor disluded man dey couldn't git him on board de Ship ob Faith, so dey started off. De day was fair, de win' right, de sun shinin', an' ev'ryt'ing b’utiful; an' dis big feller he pull off his close and plunge in de water. Well, he war a powerful swimmer, dat man, 'deed he war; he war dat powerful he kep' right 'long side de boat all de time; he kep' a hollerin' out to de people on de boat, sayin': "What you doin' dere, you folks, brilin' away in de sun; you better come down here in de water, nice an' cool down here." But dey said, "Man alive, you better come up here in dis boat while you got a chance." But he said, “No, indeedy! I git aboard no boat; I'm havin' plenty fun in de water." Well, bimeby, my bruddren, what you tink dat pore man seen? A horrible, awful shark, my bruddren; mouf wide open, teef more'n a foot long, ready to chaw dat pore man all up de minute he catch him. Well, when he seen dat shark he begin to git awful scared, an' he holler out to de folks on board de ship: "Take me on board, take me on board, quick!" But dey said: “No, indeed; you wouldn't come up here when you had an invite, you got to swim, now." He look over his shoulder an' he seen dat shark a-comin' an' he let hisself out. Fust it was de man an' den it was de shark, and den it was de man agin, dat away, my bruddren, plum to de promised land. Dat am de blessed troof I'm a-tellin' you dis minute. But what do you t'ink was awaitin' for him on de odder shore when he got dere? A horrible, awful lion, my bruddren, was a-stan'in' dere on do shore, a-lashin' his sides wid his tail, an' a-roarin' away fit to devour dat poor nigger de minit he git on de shore. Well, he war powerful scared den, he didn't know what he gwine to do. If he stay in de water de shark eat him up; if he go on de shore de lion eat him up: he dunno what to do. But he put his trust in de Lord, an' went for de shore. Dat lion he give a fearful roar an' bound for him; but, my bruddren, as sure as you 'live an breeve, dat horrible, awful lion he jump clean ober dat pore feller's head into de water; an' de shark cat de lion. But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in no sich circumstance; dat pore man he done git saved, but I tell you de Lord ain't a-gwine to furnish a lion for every nigger! EEEEE SLEEP, WEARY CHILD.-CARL PLOUGH. SUNG AT THE FUNERAL OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. The love for fatherland was deep That filial tie can ne'er be mended, God's wondrous mercy through thy life, The figures painted by thy hand, The dread great secret learned at last, But still, in this thy little world, In faithful hearts forever shrined: Praised by the old, by young adored, For the rich treasures of thy mind. Sleep, weary child! May art and science in our land 'Gainst force and fraud for aye prevail; Thy name on Denmark's banner stand, And loadstar-like grow never pale. Sleep, weary child! THE OLD CHURCH BELL. "Say! how canst thou mourn? How canst thou rejoice? Art but metal dull!" High up within yon gray old tower There hangs a massive bell; LONGFELLOW. It chimes with the wind, and each passing hour As they melt away on the air so clear, |