BOSTON HYMN. READ IN MUSIC HALL, JANUARY 1, 1863. THE word of the Lord by night To the watching Pilgrims came, As they sat by the seaside; And filled their hearts with flame. God said, "I am tired of kings, "Think ye I made this ball A field of havoc and war, "My angel, his name is Freedom,- "Lo! I uncover the land Which I hid of old time in the West, As the sculptor uncovers the statue When he has wrought his best; "I show Columbia, of the rocks Which dip their foot in the seas, And soar to the air-borne flocks Of clouds, and the boreal fleece. "I will divide my goods; Call in the wretch and slave: None shall rule but the humble, And none but Toil shall have. "I will have never a noble, No lineage counted great; Fishers and choppers and ploughmen Shall constitute a state. "Go, cut down trees in the forest, "Call the people together, The young men and the sires, The digger in the harvest field, Hireling, and him that hires; "And here in a pine state-house They shall chocse men to rule In every needful faculty, In church, and state, and school. "Lo now! if these poor men "And ye shall succour men; Help them who cannot help again: I break your bonds and masterships, Free be his heart and hand henceforth "I cause from every creature "But, laying hands on another To coin his labour and sweat, He goes in pawn to his victim For eternal years in debt. "To-day unbind the captive, So only are ye unbound; Lift up a people from the dust,— Pay ransom to the owner, "O North! give him beauty for rags, And honour, O South! for his shame; Nevada! coin thy golden crags With Freedom's image and name. "Up! and the dusky race That sat in darkness long,Be swift their feet as antelopes, And as behemoth strong. "Come, East and West and North, By races, as snow-flakes, And carry my purpose forth Which neither halts nor shakes. "My will fulfilled shall be ; UNA. ROVING, roving, as it seems, In the homestead, homely thought.; If from home chance draw me wide, In my house and garden-plot, At home a deeper thought may light But if upon the seas I sail, So the gentle poet's name To foreign parts is blown by fame; He is hidden and unknown. SOLUTION. I AM the Muse who sung alway Flown to Italy from Greece, With spasms of terror for balm of hope. And Dante searched the triple spheres, So shaped, so coloured, swift or still, Seethed in mists of Penmanmaur, And life was larger than before: Orbit and sum of Shakspeare's wit. Far in the North, where polar night Through snows above, mines underground, The inks of Erebus he found; Rehearsed to men the damned wails On which the seraph music sails. In spirit-worlds he trod alone, But walked the earth unmarked, unknown. The near by-stander caught no sound,-Yet they who listened far aloof |