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A strict decorum strikes the enchanted gaze,
Yet all redounds to the Odd-Fellows' praise.
Thus first by curiosity impelled,

He rests well pleased, when, as a brother, held.
Next in the order, in this threefold chain,
Calm Pleasure holds her mild and equal reign.
Pleasure a constant motive holds to view
To man, for ever seeking something new.
Pleasure a motive gives, the ranks to increase,
Where love prevails, and all contentions cease;
Where kindred feeling holds perennial reign,
Where each aspires the worthiest name to gain:
And all, while seeking intellectual food,

Enjoy the luxury of doing good.

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And TO DO GOOD to alleviate mortal pain The third constituent in this threefold chain In order claims analysis: - And hereWhat is it, that in man we most revere? What, but true merit, and the gifts of mind, Can mark distinction in the human kind? MIND is the acknowledged standard of the man; — 'Tis wisdom, then, the mental powers to scan. To those, who deepest drink of wisdom's lore, We first appeal; from these expect the more. Where much is given, we there may much require, And love fraternal fans the generous fire.

Here Charity, on systematic plan,

Dispenses gifts to assuage the ills of man.

The good Odd-Fellows, with their treasured gains,
Diminish tears, and sighs, and groans, and pains!
Obedient to their honored HEAD's behest,

The SICK they VISIT,- SUCCOR the DISTRESSED;
BURY the DEAD,-
0,- the ORPHAN EDUCATE,

And countless human miseries mitigate.

They kindly wipe the tear from Sorrow's eye;
They list the widow's groan, the orphan's sigh;
Lend timely aid to brothers in distress,

And feel

·to enjoy a blessing, is, to bless!

A brother's household when stern death invades,
And bears an inmate to his dreary shades;
When dire bereavements rend the heart with pain,
Which with the Priest and Levite plead in vain,
These odd Samaritans, with love divine,
Come forth spontaneous, bearing oil and wine.
These healing elements they freely pour,
And wounded hearts to healthful tone restore;
Bear their dead brethren to the friendly tomb,

And with their Christian light dispel the funeral gloom!
-With mourners thus they mourn give sigh for sigh,
Wipe off the tear from many a weeping eye;
And, in accordance with our LORD's behest,
"Be merciful to all"—they, “MERCIFUL," are

PHILADELPHIA, August 21, 1845.

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66 BLESSED.

N. LANESFORD FOSTER.

1

FUGITIVE STANZAS.

BY P. SQUIRES.

THE world is glad and gay without: I hear
The voice of mirth, and merriment, and joy;
Music's sweet breath comes softly to my ear,

From many a palace grand, where pleasures cloy, And wealth's proud heirs their wasting hour employ In listless luxury, or thoughtless cheer.

Yon spacious hall sends forth a dazzling ray,
Athwart the shades that darkly round it fall;
And liveried menials hasten to obey,

Obsequiously, their pampered master's call:
Anticipate each wish, each thought, till all
The heart can crave is theirs, by night or day.

Oh, little think they of the woes that wait
Along the pathway of the friendless poor-
There famine stalks-who early toil and late,
The smallest wants of nature to secure,
And many a hardship patiently endure,
Which ne'er disturbs the wealthy and the great.

And yet their gilded joys I envy not,

Nor all that honor, wealth, and fame, can give; If sweet contentment may but be my lot,

I have a wealth which princes can not give

A wealth for which alone 't is meet to live, When years increase, and childhood is forgot.

Give me this boon, and when the hand of Time
Shall leave its impress on my brow and form,
And point me to the tomb, scenes more sublime

Than those of earth, and all the thoughts that warm The heart of love, shall cheer me through the storm With hopes of joys more heavenly and divine.

NEW YORK, June, 1846.

A SEASIDE SABBATH.

A SABBATH in summer-how glorious the morning;
The air all dew-laden, delicious, and cool!
The day-king mounts upward, in splendor adorning
The mountains and valleys that joy in his rule.

Look abroad, thou repiner! and say if thy vision
E'er roamed o'er a prospect more wondrously fair;
If the Paphian fables, or dreamings Elysian,

Could e'er with the glory around thee compare.

Away in the orient, rolling and swelling,

The moon-loving billows of Neptune's domain, From their strife with the whirlwind (of night-tempest telling), Are sinking to calmness and quiet again.

The crest of each wave, as in snow-foam it dashes,
Dissolves in a torrent of many-hued flames,
And the sea, as in sunlight it sparkles and flashes,
Seems a river of fire in an ocean of gems.

Look out to the landward, thy home and dominion,
Thy scene of probation, the realm of thy rest —
From whose cold, clayey bosom, on Faith's mighty pinion,
Thy soul will upspeed to the world of the blest.

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