Our mission is a progressive wonder. The voice of the first pilgrim who had landed upon our shores, breathing liberty in its sweet tones, has been echoing from that time till now over the hills and valleys, lakes and rivers, mountains and plains of this our almost boundless country. It has reached from the Atlantic far, far away, even climbing that vast rocky barrier betwixt us and the wide-spreading Pacific.

Our language, too, is the language of freedom. The nations that use it are either free, or on the high-road toward the full enjoyment of freedom. What may we, therefore, not expect in the advancing march of our America, the very Eden of the world?

We see at a glance, in our brilliant and happy career, the most marked demonstrations that we have a heavenly star to light up our onward course. God in his providence has reared his Christian standard of liberty in all parts of our territory, has given us school-houses, and religious temples devoted to his service, making our people a terror to evil-doers, and a praise to them that do well.

With such a wealth of promises surrounding us on all sides, we will not permit ourselves to be disturbed about our national destiny, for we are satisfied that "our Union" is in the safe-keeping of a Power that will preserve it sure and steadfast, even as "the everlasting hills."

IT

GRANDEUR OF THE TRACKLESS SEA.

"The sea is His, and He made it."

TS majesty is God. What is there more sublime than the trackless, desert, all-surrounding, unfathomable sea? What is there more peacefully sublime than the calm, gently-heaving, silent sea? What is there more terribly sublime than the angry, dashing, foaming sea? Power resistless, overwhelming power, is its attribute and its expression, whether in the careless, conscious grandeur of its deep rest, or the wild tumult of its excited wrath. It is awful where its crested waves rise up to make a compact with the black clouds, and the howling winds, and the thunder, and the thunderbolt; and they sweep on, in the joy of their dread

alliance, to do the Almighty's bidding. And it is awful, too, when it stretches its broad level out to meet in quiet union the bended sky, and show in the line of meeting the vast rotundity of the world. There is majesty in its wild expanse, separating and enclosing the great continents of the earth, occupying twothirds of the whole surface of the globe, penetrating the land with its bays and secondary seas, and receiving the constantly pouring tribute of every river, of every shore. There is majesty in its fulness, never diminishing, and never increasing. There is majesty in its integrity, for the whole vast surface is uniform; in its local unity, for there is but one ocean, and the inhabitants of any one meridian spot may visit the inhabitants of any other in the wide world. Its depth is sublime - who can sound it? Its strength is sublime - what fabric of man can resist it? Its voice is sublime, whether in the prolonged song of its ripple, or the stern music of its roar; whether it utters its hollow and melancholy tones within a labyrinth of wave-worn caves, or thunders at the base of some huge promontory; or beats against some toiling vessel's side, lulling the voyager to rest with its wild monotony; or dies away with the calm and dying twilight, in gentle murmurs, on some sheltered shore. What sight is there more magnificent than the quiet or the stormy sea? What music is there, however artful, which can be compared with the natural and changeful melodies of the resounding sea?

Its beauty is of God. It possesses it, in richness of its own; it borrows it from earth, and air, and heaven. The clouds lend it the various dyes of their wardrobe, and throw down upon it the broad masses of their shadows as they go sailing and sweeping by. The rainbow laves in it its many-colored feet. The sun loves to visit it, and the moon, and the glittering brotherhood of planets and stars; for they delight themselves in its beauty. The sunbeams return from it in showers of diamonds and glances of fire; the moonbeams find in it a pathway of silver, when they dance to and fro with the breeze and the waves through the livelong night. It has a light, too, of its own, soft and streaming behind a milky-way of dim and uncertain lustre, like that which is shining dimly above. It harmonizes in its forms and sounds both with the night and the day. It cheerfully reflects the light, and unites solemnly with the darkness. It imparts sweetness to the music of men, and grandeur to the thunder of heaven.

0

BRIGHT WATER.

H, water for me! bright water for me,

And wine for the tremulous debauchee.

Water cooleth the brow, and cooleth the brain,
And maketh the faint one strong again;

It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea,
All freshness, like infant purity;

Oh, water, bright water for me, for me:
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee!

Fill to the brim, fill to the brim;
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim!
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,

For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.

Oh, water, bright water's a mine of wealth,

And the ores which it yieldeth are vigor and health.

So water, pure water, for me, for me!

And wine for the tremulous debauchee!

Fill again to the brim-again to the brim!
For water strengtheneth life and limb!

To the days of the aged it addeth length,
To the might of the strong it addeth strength;
It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight,
'Tis like quaffing a goblet of morning light!
So, water, I will drink nothing but thee,
Thou parent of health and energy!

When over the hills, like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride,
And, leading a band of laughing Hours,
Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers,
Oh! cheerily then my voice is heard
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matin loud,

As he freshens his wing in the cold, gray cloud.

But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying, and weaving anew

Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,

How gently, O sleep, fall thy poppies on me!

For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright,

And my dreams are of Heaven the livelong night.

So hurrah for thee, water! hurrah! hurrah!

Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star:
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!

E PLURIBUS UNUM.

THOUGH many and bright are the stars that appear

THOUG

In that flag by our country unfurl'd,

And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there

Like a rainbow adorning the world —

Their light is unsullied as those in the sky,

By a deed that our fathers have done,

And they're linked in as true and as holy a tie,
In their motto of "Many in One."

From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung
That banner of starlight abroad,

Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung
As they clung to the promise of God;

By the bayonet traced in the midnight of war,

On the fields where our glory was won

Oh! perish the heart or the hand that would mar

Our motto of "Many in One."

'Mid the smoke of the conflict, the cannon's deep roar,

How oft it has gathered renown!

While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore,

Where the cross and the lion went down;

And though few were their lights in the gloom of that hour,

Yet the hearts that were striking below

Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power,
And they stopped not to number the foe.

From where our green mountain-tops blend with the sky,
And the giant St. Lawrence is rolled,

To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie,
Like the dream of some prophet of old,

They conquered, and, dying, bequeathed to our care
Not this boundless dominion alone,

But that banner whose loveliness hallows the air,
And their motto of "Many in One."

We are many in one, while there glitters a star
In the blue of the heavens above,

And tyrants shall quail, 'mid their dungeons afar,
When they gaze on that motto of love.

It shall gleam o'er the sea, 'mid the bolts of the storm
Over tempest, and battle, and wreck-

And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm,
'Neath the blood on the slippery deck.

The oppress'd of the earth to that standard shall fly,
Wherever its folds shall be spread,

And the exile shall feel 't is his own native sky,

Where its stars shall wave over his head;

And those stars shall increase till the fulness of time

Its millions of cycles have run

Till the world shall have welcomed their mission sublime,
And the nations of earth shall be one.

Though the old Allegheny may tower to heaven,

And the Father of Waters divide,

The links of our destiny cannot be riven

While the truth of those words shall abide.
Then, oh! let them glow on each helmet and brand,
Though our blood like our rivers should run;

Divide as we may in our own native land,

To the rest of the world we are ONE.

Then up with our flag!- let it stream on the air;
Though our fathers are cold in their graves,

They had hands that could strike-they had souls that could

dare

And their sons were not born to be slaves.