THE THREE PREACHERS.

BY CHARLES MACKAY.

There are three preachers, ever preaching, Fill'd with eloquence and power:-- One is old, with locks of white, Skinny as an anchorite; And he preaches every hour With a shrill fanatic voice, And a bigot's fiery scorn:-- "Backward! ye presumptuous nations; Man to misery is born!

Born to drudge, and sweat, and suffer-- Born to labour and to pray; Backward!' ye presumptuous nations-- Back!--be humble and obey!"

The second is a milder preacher; Soft he talks as if he sung; Sleek and slothful is his look, And his words, as from a book, Issue glibly from his tongue.

With an air of self-content, High he lifts his fair white hands: "Stand ye still! ye restless nations; And be happy, all ye lands!

Fate is law, and law is perfect; If ye meddle, ye will mar; Change is rash, and ever was so: We are happy as we are."

Mightier is the younger preacher, Genius flashes from his eyes: And the crowds who hear his voice Give him, while their souls rejoice, Throbbing bosoms for replies.

Awed they listen, yet elated, While his stirring accents fall:-- "Forward! ye deluded nations, Progress is the rule of all: Man was made for healthful effort; Tyranny has crush'd him long; He shall march from good to better, And do battle with the wrong.

"Standing still is childish folly, Going backward is a crime: None should patiently endure Any ill that he can cure; Onward! keep the march of Time, Onward! while a wrong remains To be conquer'd by the right; While Oppression lifts a finger To affront us by his might; While an error clouds the reason Of the universal heart, Or a slave awaits his freedom Action is the wise man's part.

"Lo! the world is rich in blessings: Earth and Ocean, flame and wind, Have unnumber'd secrets still, To be ransack'd when you will, For the service of mankind; Science is a child as yet, And her power and scope shall grow, And her triumphs in the future Shall diminish toil and woe; Shall extend the bounds of pleasure With an ever-widening ken, And of woods and wildernesses Make the homes of happy men.

"Onward!--there are ills to conquer, Daily wickedness is wrought, Tyranny is swoln with Pride, Bigotry is deified, Error intertwined with Thought, Vice and Misery ramp and crawl;-- Root them out, their day has pa.s.s'd; Goodness is alone immortal; Evil was not made to last: Onward! and all earth shall aid us Ere our peaceful flag be furl'd."-- And the preaching of this preacher Stirs the pulses of the world.

SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE.

BY ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

Say not the struggle nought availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain.

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.

And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light, In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright.

PATRIOTISM.

BY LORD TENNYSON.

Love thou thy land, with love far-brought From out the storied Past, and used Within the Present, but transfused Thro' future time by power of thought.

True love turned round on fixed poles, Love that endures not sordid ends, For English natures, freemen, friends, Thy brothers, and immortal souls.

But pamper not a hasty time, Nor feed with crude imaginings The herd, wild hearts, and feeble wings, That every sophister can lime.

Deliver not the tasks of might To weakness, neither hide the ray From those, not blind, who wait for day, Tho' sitting girt with doubtful light.

Make knowledge circle with the winds; But let her herald, Reverence, fly Before her to whatever sky Bear seed of men and growth of minds.

Watch what main currents draw the years: Cut Prejudice against the grain: But gentle words are always gain: Regard the weakness of thy peers:

Nor toil for t.i.tle, place, or touch Of pension, neither count on praise: It grows to guerdon after-days: Nor deal in watch-words overmuch:

Not clinging to some ancient saw; Not master'd by some modern term; Not swift nor slow to change, but firm; And in its season bring the law;

That from Discussion's lip may fall With Life, that, working strongly, binds-- Set in all lights by many minds, To close the interests of all.

For Nature also, cold and warm, And moist and dry, devising long, Thro' many agents making strong, Matures the individual form.

Meet is it changes should control Our being, lest we rust in ease.

We all are changed by still degrees, All but the basis of the soul.

So let the change which comes be free To ingroove itself with that, which flies, And work, a joint of state, that plies Its office, moved with sympathy.

A saying, hard to shape in act; For all the past of Time reveals A bridal dawn of thunder-peals, Wherever Thought hath wedded Fact.

Ev'n now we hear with inward strife A motion toiling in the gloom-- The Spirit of the years to come Yearning to mix himself with Life.

A slow-develop'd strength awaits Completion in a painful school; Phantoms of other forms of rule, New Majesties of mighty States--

The warders of the growing hour, But vague in vapour, hard to mark; And round them sea and air are dark With great contrivances of Power.

Of many changes, aptly join'd, Is bodied forth the second whole.

Regard gradation, lest the soul Of Discord race the rising wind;

A wind to puff your idol-fires, And heap their ashes on the head; To shame the boast so often made, That we are wiser than our sires.

O yet, if Nature's evil star Drive men in manhood, as in youth, To follow flying steps of Truth Across the brazen bridge of war--

If New and Old, disastrous feud, Must ever shock, like armed foes, And this be true, till time shall close, That Principles are rain'd in blood;

Not yet the wise of heart would cease To hold his hope thro' shame and guilt, But with his hand against the hilt Would pace the troubled land, like Peace;

Not less, tho' dogs of Faction bay, Would serve his kind in deed and word, Certain, if knowledge bring the sword, That knowledge takes the sword away--

Would love the gleams of good that broke From either side, nor veil his eyes: And if some dreadful need should rise Would strike, and firmly, and one stroke:

To-morrow yet would reap to-day, As we bear blossom of the dead; Earn well the thrifty months, nor wed Raw Haste, half sister to Delay.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW.