a loving
Father. It declares society to be no mere framework tied together by
interest, but a brotherhood, like a living soul, having a common Father,
Saviour, and Home. In place of supply and demand, policy, interest, it
enunciates but one word, _love_.

It would be worse than useless if we had come so far in reasoning, and
obtained no practical result, which might be embodied in each man's
action. We have shown the existence of this tendency, and the powers
that are antagonistic to it. We cannot prove the result, for there is no
analogy in any preceding case which history affords; we cannot calculate
the strength of the opposing powers, for the issue lies in man's
volition, which is above mathematics. Yet practically, the result, as
far as regards us individually, is as valuable as though this were
possible. The result depends upon the world's decision, and each man is
responsible for his part of that decision, whether he will give his
heart to outward or inward prosperity. If he would have his children, to
unnumbered generations, rise up to bless the age in which he lived, and
him who lived therein; if he would do what he can to make his country's
civilization perpetual, and his own life truly happy, let him give up
all thought of _laissez faire_, 'it will last my time,' and begin to
lead an earnest, thoughtful life, sacrificing, if need be, something of
outward prosperity for the sake of fulfilling his duty in love and
action to his fellow men and to God.

AN INDIAN LOVE-SONG.

From his ambush in thy shadowy eyes young Love an arrow shot,
When beneath thy father's wigwam my youthful brain grew hot.
My heart is all a-quiver, but hear me while I sing;
Oh let me be thy beau, and I will never snap the string!
Then clad in noiseless moccasons the feet of the years shall fall;
For I will cherish thee, my love, till Time shall scalp us all.

Not with the glittering wampum have I come thy smiles to woo;
But I offer a cabin passage down life's river in my canoe;
And to beguile the voyage, if thou wilt come aboard,
Till sunset fire the waters the fire-water shall be poured.
While clad in noiseless moccasons the feet of the years shall fall;
And I will cherish thee, my love, till Time shall scalp us all.

Though my pipe of peace thy cruelty has shattered, stem and bowl,
A thousand thongs from thy dear hide are knotted round my soul.
From every murderous tomahawk my dove shal