From out my deep, wide-bosomed West, Where unnamed heroes hew the way For worlds to follow, with stern zest,-- Where gnarled old maples make array, Deep-scarred from red men gone to rest,-- Where pipes the quail, where squirrels play Through tossing trees, with nuts for toy,-- A boy steps forth, clear-eyed and tall, A bashful boy, a soulful boy, Yet comely as the sons of Saul,-- A boy, all friendless, poor, unknown, Yet heir-apparent to a throne. II. Lo! Freedom's bleeding sacrifice! So like some tall oak tempest-blown Beside the storied stream he lies Now at the last, pale-browed and prone. A nation kneels with streaming eyes, A nation supplicates the throne, A nation holds him by the hand, A nation sobs aloud at this: The only dry eyes in the land Now at the last, I think, are his. Why, we should pray, God knoweth best, That this grand, patient soul should rest. III. The world is round. The wheel has run Full circle. Now behold a grave Beneath the old loved trees is done. The druid oaks lift up, and wave A solemn welcome back. The brave Old maples murmur, every one, "Receive him, Earth!" In centre land, As in the centre of each heart, As in the hollow of God's hand, The coffin sinks. And with it part All party hates! Now, not in vain He bore his peril and hard pain. IV. Therefore, I say, rejoice! I say, The lesson of his life was much,-- This boy that won, as in a day, The world's heart utterly; a touch Of tenderness and tears; the page Of history grows rich from such; His name the nation's heritage,-- But oh! as some sweet angel's voice Spake this brave death that touched us all, Therefore, I say, Rejoice! rejoice! Run high the flags! Put by the pall! Lo! all is for the best for all! _Boston Globe._ J. A. G. HUMANITAS REGNANS. BY M. J. SAVAGE. With finger on lip, and breath bated With an eager and sad desire, The world stood hushed, as it waited For the click of the fateful wire,-- "_Better_:" and civilization Breathed freer and hoped again; "_Worse_:" and through every nation Went throbbing a thrill of pain. A cry at midnight! and listening-- "_Dead!_" tolled out the bells of despair; And millions of eyelids were glistening As sobbed the sad tones on the air. But who is he toward whom all eyes are turning. And who is he for whom all hearts are yearning? What is the threat at which earth holds its breath While one lone man a duel fights with death? No thrones are hanging in suspense; No kingdoms totter to their fall. Peace, with her gentle influence, Is hovering over all.