Brothers! let us all remember, How that Strong Man self betrayed; He that with a heart of iron; Where he journeyed, heard the lion Roar against him—undismayed: He, the mightiest of the land, By the harlotry of Sense, Blind and fettered, came to be A jester at a jubilee, A proverb for his impotence! And though his strength came back anew When he bowed himself in prayer, Until he had avenged the wrong That called him up with shout and song And jeer and scoff—he perished there. * * * * * TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL. BY J. R. BARRICK. I do not love thee—yet my heart is filled With a sweet spirit of the beautiful, Whene’er I sit alone to muse upon Thy dark eye beaming in a sea of light, Thy cheek all flush with summer’s rosy glow, Thy pure, high brow, so beautiful and calm, O’er which the light and glory of thy thoughts Beam like the tints of summer’s genial sky Above a waveless lake—the low, sweet tones Thy gentle voice breathes on the evening breeze— Thy pure, high heart, the paradise of peace, Where lovely flowers spring up in beauty wild, And blossom into hope—where angels come On missioned wings from their far homes in heaven, To chant their Eden songs. I love thee not With the wild, wayward love of earth, and yet If worship be that deep idolatry The heathen pays in homage to the sun, Then I have worshiped thee, for I have bowed In passions deep and holy hour to thee, And at thy shrine of beauty offered up The tribute of affection. I have mused On Nature in her morning light, when first The sun looks out upon a world of peace, When the glad air was vocal with the songs Of many warblers in their morning joy, And thou wast there in all of sight and sound, Thyself the spirit of the beautiful In all to eye and ear. And I have gone At evening ’mid the shadows of the wood To view the glories of the bursting spring, And hear the thousand sweet and joyous strains That thrilled each warbler in his evening praise, And thou wast there, thy beauty dearer far Than aught in nature seen, and thy sweet voice, Than all earth’s melodies. I’ve gazed upon The sunset sky in its last glowing tint, And felt the spirit of the twilight hour Stealing upon the scene with potent spell, Yet thou wast there, and in those happy hours Thy spirit, like the rainbow o’er a cloud, Was spanning o’er my bosom. Thou hast been A rainbow set above my wildest storm, A star within my else all darkened sky, A lovely flower beside my desert path, A gentle spirit in my heart of hearts, To bless me with its presence. From the waves, And from the winds, and from the gentle streams,