This world of ours was beautiful when valiant men and true Spread their white sails, and sought a home beyond the waters blue— They found it ’neath the forest old, ’mid wild and savage men, Beside the ocean’s rocky shore, within the mountain glen; And there was heard the childish laugh, and there the mother’s tone, Brought joy and gladness in their sound to many an altar-stone; Men toiled and strove, and strove and toiled, through all the weary hours, Oh! was not the world beautiful, this western world of ours? This world of ours was beautiful, when Freedom first awoke, Its cradle song the trumpet call, its toy the sabre stroke, Full armed, like Pallas, then she stood amid the deadly fight, And man by man stood boldly up, and clenched their hands of might, The tempest came, no cheek turned pale, no heart unnerved with fear, They grasped their swords more tightly then—’twas victory or a bier; Long was the struggle, hard the fight, but liberty was won; Oh! was not the world beautiful beneath fair Freedom’s sun? This world of ours was beautiful in times long, long ago, When those good men of earnest souls dwelt with us here below; Large was their faith in human kind; their mission seemed to be To teach man all his duties here—Love, Faith and Energy, To link each man to brother man, with links of firmest steel; Then touch the spark of sympathy, and all the shock will feel; Stamp the nobility of truth upon each deathless soul; Oh! was not the world beautiful beneath such pure control? This world of ours _was_ beautiful, and still is so to me; Since boyish days I’ve clung to it, with wildness and with glee; Have laughed when others talked of wo beneath so fair a sky, When time, like flights of singing birds, with melody went by, Have roved amid its fairy bowers, and drank of every stream Of joy and gladness, till I lived within a blissful dream, And life, deep ladened with its fruits, slept like a weary child; This world of ours is beautiful as ’twas when Eden smiled? This world of ours is beautiful despite what cynics say; There must be storms in winter time as well as flowers in May; But what of that?—there’s joy in both the sunshine and the shade, The light upon the mountain-top, the shadow in the glade. Be free of Soul, and firm of Heart, read all life’s lessons right, Nor look for roses in the snow, nor sunbeams in the night. Up! up! to action, armed with Love, Faith and Energy; And then this world is beautiful, as beautiful can be. * * * * * MY SPIRIT. BY HENRY MORFORD.