still that horn is filled
With blessings for our race,
And we calmly look thro' winter's storm
To thy benignant face.

Father, we raise our thanks to Thee,--
Who seldom thanked before;
And seldom bent the stubborn knee
Thy goodness to adore:

But Father, thou hast blessings poured
On all our wayward days
And now thy mercies manifold
Have filled our hearts with praise

The winter-storm may rack and roar;
We do not fear its blast;
And we'll bear with faith and fortitude
The lot that thou hast cast.

But Father,--Father,--O look down
On the poor and homeless head
And feed the hungry thousands
That cry to thee for bread.

Thou givest us our daily bread;
We would not ask for more;
But, Father, give their daily bread
To the multitudes of poor.

In all the cities of the land
The naked and hungry are;
O feed them with thy manna, Lord,
And clothe them with thy care.

Thou dost not give a serpent, Lord,
We will not give a stone;
For the bread and meat thou givest us
Are not for us alone.

And while a loaf is given to us
From thy all-bounteous horn
We'll cheerfully divide that loaf
With the hungry and forlorn.

CHARITY

Frail are the best of us, brothers--
God's charity cover us all--
Yet we ask for perfection in others,
And scoff when they stumble and fall.
Shall we give him a fish--or a serpent--
Who stretches his hand in his need?
Let the proud give a stone, but the manly
Will give him a hand full of bread.

Let us search our own hearts and behavior
Ere we cast at a brother a stone,
And remember the words of the Savior
To the frail and unfortunate one;
Remember when others displease us
The Nazarene's holy command,
For the only word written by Jesus
Was charity--writ in the sand.

CHARITY

[Written in a friend's book of autographs, 1876.]

Bear and forbear, I counsel thee,
Forgive and be forgiven,
For Charity is the golden key
That opens the gate of heaven.

SAILOR-BOY'S SONG

Away, away, o'er the bounding sea
My spirit flies like a gull;
For I know my Mary is watching for me,
And the moon is bright and full.

She sits on the rock by the sounding shore,
And gazes over the sea;
And she sighs, "Will my sailor-boy come no more?
Will he never come back to me?"

The moonbeams play in her raven hair;
And the soft breeze kisses her brow;
But if your sailor-boy, love, were there,
He would kiss your sw