_Classica._ Dull, senseless stone, I train to living grace, Trace beauty's lines upon the pallid face; From sullen marble draw the prisoned heart, And strength and sense to meaner clay impart. Over the earth I rear the grandest homes, With towering pinnacles, and stately domes; While tombs and pyramids for ages stand, To mark the workings of my gifted hand. Who follows me must labor hard and long, Be brave in trial, and in patience strong. The tasks I spread, by perils oft beset, The sculptor strengthen, when courageous met; Through me, life-studies he must ponder o'er, And dive deep down in streams of classic lore; And, if he fails to reach his ideal plan, Out of his struggles he has carved—a man. But, if he triumphs, grand is his renown; Fame can bestow no more enduring crown. Upon my marbles, maiden, look with me; Faith, Hope, and Charity,—the peerless three. _Tableau: "The Peerless Three" Music._ CLASSICA _takes_ POESIE'S _hand, and leads her_ R., _then turns, and points_ C. POESIE _falls upon her knees. The characters at back separate, showing group_: CHARITY, _a tall figure_, C., _her left hand upon the left shoulder of a child, who stands nearly in front of her, half turned towards her, with outstretched hand, into which_ CHARITY _is in the act of dropping a coin, with her right hand. At_ R. _of_ CHARITY _stands_ HOPE, _leaning upon an anchor, looking at_ CHARITY. _On her_ L. _stands_ FAITH, _with her arms folded about a large cross, which rests upon the platform, and reaches above her shoulder_. FAITH _and_ HOPE s_hould be a little shorter than_ CHARITY. _All the figures in plain white, no colors; the cross and the anchor should be white. Music soft and low until all is arranged, then_,— _Chorus_; _air, "How gently, how calmly."_ How calmly, how sweetly relieving, Moves Charity over the earth, With Faith and Hope! They deck the earth with heavenly light, That charms to calm and sweet belief. Oh, lovely spirits! Genia in triumph shall now arise; Classica calls from out the skies; Her works for ages shall endure; Goddess of Art, your crown is secure. Joyous are we, &c. _Poesie_ (_starting up; line at back changing as before_). Classica, thy sculptured forms are all divine. Has Art another realm can equal thine?