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- POEMS - 10/52 -

The sword of the hero! The staff of the sage! Whose valor and wisdom Are stamped on the age! Time-hallowed mementos Of those who have riven The sceptre from tyrants, "The lightning from heaven!"

This weapon, O Freedom! Was drawn by the son, And it never was sheathed Till the battle was won! No stain of dishonor Upon it we see! 'Twas never surrendered-- Except to the free!

While Fame claims the hero And patriot sage, Their names to emblazon On History's page, No holier relics Will liberty hoard Than FRANKLIN's staff, guarded By WASHINGTON's sword.

The Chieftain's Daughter [See Notes]

Upon the barren sand A single captive stood; Around him came, with bow and brand, The red-men of the wood. Like him of old, his doom he hears, Rock-bound on ocean's rim: The chieftain's daughter knelt in tears, And breathed a prayer for him.

Above his head in air The savage war-club swung: The frantic girl, in wild despair, Her arms about him flung. Then shook the warriors of the shade, Like leaves on aspen limb-- Subdued by that heroic maid Who breathed a prayer for him.

"Unbind him!" gasped the chief-- "Obey your king's decree!" He kissed away her tears of grief, And set the captive free. 'Tis ever thus, when, in life's storm, Hope's star to man grows dim, An angel kneels in woman's form, And breathes a prayer for him.

Thy Will Be Done.

Searcher of Hearts!--from mine erase All thoughts that should not be, And in its deep recesses trace My gratitude to Thee!

Hearer of Prayer!--oh, guide aright Each word and deed of mine; Life's battle teach me how to fight, And be the victory Thine.

Giver of All!--for every good-- In the Redeemer came-- For raiment, shelter, and for food, I thank Thee in His name.

Father and Son and Holy Ghost! Thou glorious Three in One! Thou knowest best what I need most, And let Thy will be done.

Life in the West.

Ho! brothers--come hither and list to my story-- Merry and brief will the narrative be. Here, like a monarch, I reign in my glory-- Master am I, boys, of all that I see! Where once frowned a forest, a garden is smiling-- The meadow and moorland are marshes no more; And there curls the smoke of my cottage, beguiling The children who cluster like grapes round my door. Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest; The land of the heart is the land of the West! Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho!

Talk not of the town, boys--give me the broad prairie, Where man, like the wind, roams impulsive and free: Behold how its beautiful colors all vary, Like those of the clouds, or the deep-rolling sea! A life in the woods, boys, is even as changing; With proud independence we season our cheer, And those who the world are for happiness ranging, Won't find it at all if they don't find it here. Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest! I'll show you the life, boys, we live in the West! Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho!

Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger, We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own; We spread hospitality's board for the stranger, And care not a jot for the king on his throne. We never know want, for we live by our labor, And in it contentment and happiness find; We do what we can for a friend or a neighbor, And die, boys, in peace and good-will to mankind. Then enter, boys; cheerly, boys, enter and rest; You know how we live, boys, and die in the West! Oho, boys!--oho, boys!--oho!

Song of Marion's Men. [See Notes]

In the ranks of Marion's band, Through morass and wooded land, Over beach of yellow sand, Mountain, plain, and valley, A southern maid, in all her pride, Marched gayly at her lover's side, In such disguise That e'en his eyes Did not discover Sallie!

When returned from midnight tramp, Through the forest dark and damp, Oh his straw-couch in the camp, In his dreams he'd dally With that devoted, gentle fair, Whose large black eyes and flowing hair So near him seem, That in his dream, He breathes his love for Sallie!

Oh, what joy, that maiden knew, When she found her lover true!-- Suddenly the trumpet blew, Marion's men to rally! To ward the death-spear from his side!-- In battle by Santee she died!-- Where sings the surge A ceaseless dirge Near the lone grave of Sallie.

Janet McRea. [See Notes]

She heard the fight was over, And won the wrath of fame! When tidings from her lover, With his good war-steed came: To guard her safely to his tent, The red-men of the woods were sent. They led her where sweet waters gush! Under the pine-tree bough! The tomahawk is raised to crush--

POEMS - 10/52

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