to his breast,
And turned away from his fireside bright,
And glided into the stormy night;
Then soon and safely made his way
To where the patriot army lay.
But first he bent in the dim firelight,
And kissed the forehead broad and white,
And blessed the girl who had ridden so well
To keep him out of a prison-cell.
The girl roused up at the martial din,
Just as the troopers came rushing in,
And laughed, e'en in the midst of a moan,
Saying, "Good sirs, your bird has flown.
'Tis I who have scared him from his nest;
So deal with me now as you think best."
But the grand young captain bowed, and said,
"Never you hold a moment's dread.
Of womankind I must crown you queen;
So brave a girl I have never seen.
Wear this gold ring as your valor's due;
And when peace comes I will come for you."
But Jennie's face an arch smile wore,
As she said, "There's a lad in Putnam's corps,
Who told me the same, long time ago;
You two would never agree, I know.
I promised my love to be as true as steel,"
Said good, sure-hearted Jennie M'Neal.

_Will Carleton._

The Hand That Rules the World

They say that man is mighty, he governs land and sea;
He wields a mighty scepter o'er lesser powers that be;
By a mightier power and stronger, man from his throne is hurled,
And the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of woman! angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel, oh, no matter where the place!
Would that never storms assailed it, rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain, power may with beauty flow;
Mother's first to guide the streamlets, from them souls unresting grow;
Grow on for the good or evil, sunshine streamed or darkness hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages are from mother-love impearled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of woman! fathers, sons and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled with the worship in the sky--
Mingles where no tempest darkens, rainbows evermore are curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world.

_William Ross Wallace._

What I Live For