14. Behold a vision none hath understood!

The breaking of the Apocalyptic seal

Twice rings the summons-Hail and fire and blood!
Then the third angel blows his trumpet-peal.

15. Loud wail the dwellers on the myrtled coasts, The green savannas swell the maddened cry, And with a yell from all the demon hosts

Falls the great star, called Wormwood, from the sky!

16. Bitter it mingles with the poisoned flow

Of the warm rivers winding to the shore,

Thousands must drink the waves of death and woe,
But the star Wormwood stains the Heaven no more!

17. Peace smiles at last; the Nation calls her sons
To sheathe the sword; her battle-flag she furls,
Speaks in glad thunders from unshotted guns,
And hides her rubies under milk-white pearls.

18. O ye that fought for Freedom, living, dead, One sacred host of God's anointed Queen, For every holy drop your veins have shed

We breathe a welcome to our bowers of green.

19. Welcome, ye living! From the foeman's gripe
Your country's banner it was yours to wrest.-
Ah, many a forehead shows the banner-stripe,
And stars, once crimson, hallow many a breast.

20. And ye, pale heroes, who from glory's bed

Mark when your old battalions form in line,
Move in their marching ranks with noiseless tread,
And shape unheard the evening countersign,

here ;

21. Come with your comrades, the returning brave;
Shoulder to shoulder they await you
These lent the life their martyr-brothers gave,-
Living and dead alike forever dear.

4. Keep it before the people!

That the poor man claims his meed,

The right of soil,

And the right of toil,

From spur and bridle freed!

The right to bear,

And the right to share,
With you and me, my brother!
Whatever is given

By God, from heaven,

To one as well as another!

LX.-A LEGEND OF "THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE," A. D. 1154-1864.

J. G. WHITTIER.

1. A strong and mighty angel,
Calm, terrible, and bright,

The cross in blended red and blue
Upon his mantle white!

2. Two captives by him kneeling,
Each on his broken chain,
Sang praise to God who raiseth
The dead to life again!

3. Dropping his cross-wrought mantle,
"Wear this," the angel said;

"Take thou, O Freedom's priest, its sign-
The white, the blue, and red."

4. Then rose up John de Matha

In the strength the Lord Christ gave,
And begged, through all the land of France,
The ransom of a slave.

5. The gates of tower and castle
Before him open flew,

The drawbridge at his coming fell,

The door-bolt backward drew.

6. For all men owned his errand,

And paid his righteous tax;

And the hearts of lord and peasant
Were in his hands as wax.

7. At last, outbound from Tunis,
His bark her anchor weighed,

Freighted with seven score Christian souls
Whose ransom he had paid.

8. But, torn by Paynim hatred,
Her sails in tatters hung;
And on the wild waves, rudderless,
A shattered hulk she swung.

9. "God save us !" cried the captain,
"For nought can man avail;
Oh, woe betide the ship that lacks
Her rudder and her sail.

10. "Behind us are the Moormen ;
At sea we sink or strand;
There's death upon the water,
There's death upon the land!"

11. Then up spake John de Matha:
"God's errands never fail!
Take thou the mantle which I wear,
And make of it a sail."

12. They raised the cross-wrought mantle,
The blue, the white, the red;
And straight before the wind off-shore
The ship of Freedom sped.

13. "God help us!" cried the seamen,
"For vain is mortal skill;

The good ship on a stormy sea
Is drifting at its will."

14. Then up spake John de Matha:

"My mariners, never fear!

The Lord whose breath has filled her sail
May well our vessel steer!"

15. So on through storm and darkness
They drove for weary hours;

And lo! the third gray morning shone
On Ostia's friendly towers.

16. And on the walls the watchers
The ship of mercy knew—
They knew far off its holy cross,
The red, the white, and blue.

17. And the bells in all the steeples
Rang out in glad accord,

To welcome home to Christian soil
The ransomed of the Lord.

18. So runs the ancient legend
By bard and painter told;
And lo! the cycle round again,
The new is as the old.

19. With rudder foully broken,
And sails by traitors torn,
Our country on a midnight sea
Is waiting for the morn.

20. Before her, nameless terror;
Behind, the pirate foe;

The clouds are black above her,
The sea is white below.

21. The hope of all who suffer,

The dread of all who wrong,

She drifts in darkness and in storm,
How long, O Lord! how long?