SPEAK GENTLY.-DAVID BATES. This beautiful, and well known poem, was originally published in l'hiladelphia in 1845. The author died, January, 1870. Speak gently! it is better far To rule by love than fear. Speak gently-let no harsh words mar Speak gently! Love doth whisper low Speak gently to the little child; Teach it in accents soft and mild- Speak gently to the young, for they Pass through this life as best they may Speak gently to the aged one, Grieve not the care-worn heart, Speak gently, kindly, to the poor; Speak gently to the erring-know Speak gently-He who gave his life Speak gently! 'tis a little thing Dropped in the heart's deep well; "IF IT WAS NOT FOR THE DRINK." A. L. WESTCOMBE, 'Tis close upon the midnight chimes, The fire is burning low, My eyes are blinded so with tears I cannot see to sew; I'm faint and hungry, and I fain We have but rags upon us now, There's nothing but my shadow now Across the empty space Where our old clock stood, year after year, With its round and cheery face. I used to like to hear it tick, And to see the hour draw on Yet he would be so kind and good I'm thankful that your mother's lot My Lizzie with the flaxen curls, There seemed no bitterness in death, As I stood beside your grave, For the Heavenly Shepherd had stooped down, The weakest lamb to save. You'll never cry again, my child, With hunger or with cold, For the sound of weeping is not heard In the city all of gold. Yet still I miss your little face, And the tears fall as I think Oh! sometimes when I'm sitting here And call the wish back as I think To earn a little bit of bread To keep us just alive. For it's very, very seldom now, That I hear Joe's wages chink; But he would bring them all to me, If it was not for the drink. Ah me! it is a bitter grief To feel one's love and trust Have leaned upon a broken reed, This bruise is sore-but oh! my heart And try to hide, whose hand it was That gave the cruel blow. For the drink has got that hold on Joe, I feel ashamed to go to church, 'Tis very long since I have had A gown that was not old, And my bonnet has been soaked with rain, And so I have to stay at home, And silently to pray That God would pity my poor Joe, And take his sin away, Without the power to think; Yet he would think, and he would pray, It makes me mad to see the man With his glittering rings and chain of gold, "Tis hard to see his wife and girls In silks and satins shine, And to know the money that they spend And I'm ready oftentimes to wish That all the drink could be, With those that make and those that sell, Flung down into the sea; For almost all the country's woe And crime would with them sink, And men might have the chance for good, WASHINGTON.-DANIEL WEBSTER. Delivered at the laying of the corner stone of the new wing of the Capitol at Washington, July 4, 1851. Washington! Methinks I see his venerable form now before me. He is dignified and grave; but concern and anxiety seem to soften the lineaments of his countenance. The government over which he presides is yet in the crisis of experiment. Not free from troubles at home, he sees the world in commotion and arms all around him. He sees that imposing foreign powers are half disposed to try the strength of the recently established American government. Mighty thoughts, mingled with fears as well as with hopes, are struggling within him. He heads a short procession over these then naked fields; he crosses yonder stream on a fallen tree; he ascends to the top of this eminence, whose original oaks of the forest stand as thick around him as if the spot had been devoted to Druidical worship, and here he performs the appointed duty of the day. And now, if this vision were a reality; if Washington actually were now amongst us, and if he could draw around him the shades of the great public men of his own day, patriots and warriors, orators and statesmen, and were to address us in their presence, would he not say to us: "Ye men of this generation, I rejoice and thank God for being able to see that our labors, and toils, and sacrifices, were not in vain. You are prosperous, you are happy, you are grateful. The fire of liberty burns brightly and steadily in your hearts, while duty and the law restrain it from bursting forth in wild and destructive conflagration. Cherish liberty, as you love it; cherish its securities, as you wish to preserve it. Maintain the Constitution which we labored so painfully to establish, and which has been to you such a source of inestimable blessings. Preserve the Union of the States, cemented as it was by our prayers, our tears, and our blood. Be true to God, to your country, and to your duty. So shall the whole Eastern world follow the morning sun, to contemplate you as a nation; so shall all generations honor you, as they honor us; and so shall that Almighty power which so graciously protected us, and which now protects you, shower its everlasting blessings upon you and your posterity!" Great father of your country! we heed your words; we feel their force, as if you now uttered them with lips of flesh and blood. Your example teaches us, your affectionate addresses teach us, your public life teaches us your sense of the value of the blessings of the Union. Those blessings our fathers have tasted, and we have tasted, and still taste. Nor do we intend that those who |