lumbia's giant woods.
The sylvan songsters sing thy praise
From dawn till set of sun, and then
The nightingale, the queen of song,
In praise of thee poureth forth her lay
Till every mellow silver note,
Far floating in the silent trees,
Is taken by an elfish choir,
And chanted softly to the moon.
The eagle her wee eaglets tells
Of thee, that they may freedom love;
Then soaring full beyond the clouds,
She looks with vaunted pride on thee.
So must thy spirit fill the hearts
Of all Columbia's youth, as once
It filled old "Honest Abe," thy son,
Thy pride--the first-born of thy love.
For when each lowly lad well knows
That ever upwards he may soar,
Beyond vain tyrants' galling sway
To fairer climes where Freedom reigns:
Then will the shadow of thy wing
For aye to them a shelter be!

LIFE IN A DREAM

There is nothing so sweet as our life in our dreams,
When we soar far on fancy's swift wing;
For a thing in our dreams is all that it seems,
And the songs are so sweet that we sing.
Ah! the sun shines the brightest, and stars twinkle lightest
At the moon in her silvery beams!

There is nothing so gay as the life in our dreams,
With its joy and its laughter and mirth;
For the pleasure that teems is far greater, one deems,
Than any he finds in the earth.
There are homes are our natal, and nothing is fatal
In the beautiful land of our dreams!

There is nothing so bright as the life in our dreams,
Far away from earth's trickery chance;
There the music's wild screams and the wine in its streams
Are both lost in the song and the dance.
Oh! our joy is the sweetest and life is completest,
Ah! the life in our beautiful dreams!

There is nothing serene as the life in our dreams,
When the dove to his mate softly cooes
In the groves by the streams and the moon's silver beams,
Where the swain oft his maid gently wooes.
There the swains are the rarest and maids are the fairest,
And their love is as true as it seems!

THE MORNING STAR

TO A. B. B.

Thou art, fair maid, the Morning Star,
The guide of dawning day,
And sendest diamond sparkles far
To wake the flowers of May.

Thou makest earth to bloom anew,
A boon thou'rt wont to give,
And spillest out the morning dew,
That all may blush and live.

Thou guardest with thy hand of might,
And never showeth frown;
Earth lullest sleep when cometh night,
And wak'st her with the dawn.

Fair maiden, God hast given