e bricks are bones, whose mortar's blood,
Whose pinnacle is Crime!--

Go to, for we who strain our power
For light and warmth and scope,
For wives', for children's happier hour,
Can teach you faith and hope.

Hark to the shout of those who cleared
The Missionary Ridge!
Look on those dead who never feared
The battle's bloody bridge!

Watch the stern swarm at that last breach
March up that came not thence--
And learn Democracy can teach
Divine obedience. {33}

Pass through that South at last brought low
Where loyal freemen live,
And learn Democracy knows how
To utterly forgive.

Come then, and take this free-given bread
Of us who've scarce enough;
Hush your proud lips, bow down your head
And worship human love!

TO THE EMPEROR WILLIAM.

You are at least a man, of men a king.
You have a heart, and with that heart you love.
The race you come from is not gendered of
The filthy sty whose latest litter cling
Round England's flesh-pots, gorged and gluttoning.
No, but on flaming battle-fields, in courts
Of honour and of danger old resorts,
The name of Hohen-Zollern clear doth ring.
O Father William, you, not falsely weak,
Who never spared the rod to spoil the child,
Our mighty Germany, we only speak
To bless you with a blessing sweet and mild,
Ere that near heaven your weary footsteps seek
Where love with liberty is reconciled.

SONG OF THE DISPOSSESSED.
"TO JESUS."

"Be with us by day, by night,
O lover, O friend;
Hold before us thy light
Unto the end!

"See, all these children of ours
Starved and ill-clad.
Speak to thy heart's lily-flowers,
And make them glad!

"Our wives and daughters are here,
Knowing wrong and shame's touch
Bid them be of good cheer
Who have loved much.

"And we, we are robbed and oppressed,
Even as thine were.
Tell us of comfort and rest,
Banish despair!

"_Be with us by day_, _by night_,
_O lover_, _O friend_;
_Hold before us thy light_
_Unto the end_!"

ART.

Yes, let Art go, if it must be
That with it men must starve--
If Music, Painting, Poetry
Spring from the wasted hearth.

Pluck out the flower, however fair,
Whose beauty cannot bloom,
(However sweet it be, or rare