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The Song of Steam.

ARNESS me down with your iron bands,

Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands

As a tempest scorns a chain.

How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight,
For many a countless hour,

At the childish boasts of human might,
And the pride of human power!

When I saw an army upon the land,

A navy upon the seas,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,

Or waiting the wayward breeze;
When I marked the peasant faintly reel
With the toil that he daily bore,

As he feebly turned the tardy wheel,
Or tugged at the weary oar;

When I measured the panting courser's speed,
The flight of the carrier dove,

As they bore the law a king decreed,

Or the lines of impatient love,

I could but think how the world would feel,
As these were outstripped afar,

When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chained to the flying car.

Ha ha ha! they found me at last,

They invited me forth at length,

And I rushed to my throne with a thunder blast,
And laughed in my iron strength!
O, then ye saw a wondrous change
On the earth and ocean wide,
Where now my fiery armies range
Nor wait for wind or tide!

Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er,

The mountain's steep decline;
Time-space-have yielded to my power;
The world, the world is mine!

The rivers the sun hath earliest blest,
Or those where his beams decline,
The giant streams of the queenly West,
Or the Orient floods divine.

The ocean pales wherever I sweep
To hear my strength rejoice,
And monsters of the briny deep

Cower trembling at my voice.

I carry the wealth of the lord of earth,
The thoughts of his godlike mind;
The wind lags after my going forth,
The lightning is left behind.

In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine
My tireless arm doth play,

Where the rocks never saw the sun's decline,
Or the dawn of the glorious day;

I bring earth's glittering jewels up
From the hidden caves below,
And I make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erflow.

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel,
In all the shops of trade;

I hammer the ore and turn the wheel
Where my arms of strength are made;

I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint,
I carry, I spin, I weave,

And all my doings I put into print
On every Saturday eve.

I've no muscles to weary, no brains to decay,
No bones to be laid on the shelf,
And soon I intend you may go and play,
While I manage the world myself!
But harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands
As the tempest scorns the chain.

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The Good Time Coming.

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There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:

The pen shall supersede the sword; And right, not might, shall be the lord In the good time coming.

Worth, not birth, shall rule mankind,

And be acknowledged stronger; The proper impulse has been given; Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:

War in all men's eyes shall be,
A monster of iniquity

In the good time coming.
Nations shall not quarrel then

To prove which is the stronger; Nor slaughter men for glory's sake; Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming: Hateful rivalries of creed

Shall not make their martyrs bleed

In the good time coming. Religion shall be shorn of pride, And flourish all the stronger; And charity shall trim her lamp; Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming: And a poor man's family Shall not be his misery

In the good time coming. Every child shall be a help

To make his right arm stronger; The happier he the more he has; Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:

Little children shall not toil
Under, or above, the soil,

In the good time coming;
But shall play in healthful fields

Till limbs and mind grow stronger; And every one shall read and write; Wait a little longer.

There's a good time coming, boys,

A good time coming:
The people shall be temperate,
And shall love instead of hate,

In the good time coming.
They shall use, and not abuse,

And make all virtue stronger; The reformation has begun; Wait a little longer.

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Onward.

HERE is a firefly in the Southern clime Which shineth only when upon the wing; So it is with the mind when once we rest, We darken. On! said God unto the soul

As to the earth forever. On it goes,
A rejoicing native of the infinite-
As a bird of air-an orb of heaven.

-Philip James Bailey.

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TH fingers weary and worn,

With eyelids heavy and red,

: A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and threadStitch, stitch, stitch,

In poverty, hunger and dirt;

And with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the " Song of the Shirt."

Work, work, work,

While the cock is crowing aloof, And work-work-work,

Will the stars shine through the roof, It's O, to be slave

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It seems so like my own

Because of the fasts I keep;

O God! hat bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!

Work-work-work!

My labor never flags;

And what are its wages? A bed of straw,
A crust of bread-and rags.

That shattered roof-and this naked floor-
A table-a broken chair-

And a wall so blank my shadow I thank
For sometimes falling there!

Work-work-work!

From weary chime to chime! Work-work-work!

As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam,

Seam, and gusset, and band

Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbod, As well as the weary hand.

Work-work-work!

In the dull December light!

And work-work-work,

When the weather is warm and bright!

While underneath the eaves

The brooding swallows cling,

As if to show me their sunny backs,
And twit me with the spring.

Oh! but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweetWith the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet! For only one short hour

To feel as I used to feel,

Before I knew the woes of want,

And the walk that costs a meal!

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