VI. LABOR AND REST. HACK AND HEW. HACK and Hew were the sons of God And Hack was blind, and Hew was dumb, They made the moon and the belted stars, They loosed the girdle and veil of the sea, Both flower and beast beneath their hands The furious, fumbling hand of Hack, Then, fire and clay, they fashioned a man, And God himself blew hard in his eyes: "Let them burn till they smoulder down!" And "There!" said Hack, and "There!" thought Hew, "We'll rest, for our toil is done." But"Nay," the Master Workman said, "For your toil is just begun. "And ye who served me of old as God Shall serve me anew as man, Till I compass the dream that is in my heart, And still the craftsman over his craft, Yearning, wind-swift, indolent, wild, THE AXE. BLISS CARMAN. FROM "MALCOLM'S KATIE." HIGH grew the snow beneath the low-hung sky, In trance of stillness Nature heard her God "Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree! What doth thy bold voice promise me?" "I promise thee all joyous things That furnish forth the lives of kings! "For every silver ringing blow, Cities and palaces shall grow!" "Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree! Tell wider prophecies to me." "When rust hath gnawed me deep and red, A nation strong shall lift his head. "His crown the very Heavens shall smite, Eons shall build him in his might!" "Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree; Bright Seer, help on thy prophecy!" Max smote the snow-weighed tree, and lightly laughed. "See, friend," he cried to one that looked and smiled, "My axe and I-we do immortal tasks— We build up nations-this my axe and I!" ISABELLA VALANCEY CRAWFORD. LABOR. PAUSE not to dream of the future before us; Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven! Never the ocean-wave falters in flowing; More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing, "Labor is worship!"-the robin is singing; Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart. From the small insect, the rich coral bower; Labor is life! "T is the still water faileth; Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth; Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us, Labor is health! Lo! the husbandman reaping, 1 Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth ; From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth : Temple and statue the marble block hides. Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee! Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee! Look to yon pure Heaven smiling beyond thee; Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God! FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. THE SONG OF THE LOWER CLASSES. WE plough and sow-we 're so very, very low Till we bless the plain with the golden grain, Our place we know-we 're so very low, We 're not too low the bread to grow, Down, down we go-we 're so very, very low-- But we gather the proudest gems that glow And whenever he lacks, upon our backs |