BIRTHDAY VERSES.

Arise, and call her blessed,— seventy years!

Each one a tongue to speak for her, who needs

No poor device of ours to tell to-day

The story of her glory in our hearts.

Precede us all, ye quiet lips of love,

Ye honors high of home — nobilities

Of mother and of wife — the heraldry

Of happiness; dearer to her than were

The homage of the world. We yield unto

The royal claims of tenderness. Speak thou

Before all voices, ripened human life!

Arise, and call her blessed, dark-browed men!

She put the silver lyre aside for you.

She could not stroll across the idle strings

Of fancy, while you wept uncomforted,

But rang upon the fetters of a race

Enchained, the awful chord which pealed along,

And echoed in the cannon-shot that broke

The manacle, and bade the bound go free.

She brought a Nation on its knees for shame,

She brought a world into a black slave's heart.

Where are our lighter laurels? O my friends!

Brothers and sisters of the busy pen,

Five million freemen crown her birthday feast,

Before whose feet our little leaf we lay.

Arise and call her blessed, fainting souls!

For whom she sang the strains of holy hope.

Within the gentle twilight of her days,

Like angels, bid her own hymns visit her.

Her life no ivy-tangled door, but wide

And welcome to His solemn feet, who need

Not knock for entrance, nor one ever ask

“Who cometh there?” so still and sure the step,

So well we know God doth “abide in her.”

Oh, wait to make her blessed, happy world!—

To which she looketh onward, ardently.

Lie in fair distance far, ye streets of gold,

Where up and down light-hearted spirits walk,

And wonder that they stayed so long away.

Be patient for her coming, for our sakes,

Who will love Heaven better, keeping her.

This only ask we:— When from prayer to praise

She moves, and when from peace to joy; be hers

To know she hath the life eternal, since

Her own heart's dearest wish did meet her there.