h velvet step it steals;
And passing on as though in dreamful trance,
The story of its mission unreveals.

Ever the silent river flows:
It clothes the meadows with a fleecy mist;
Softens earth's arid heart with gentle rain,
Till by the warm and sunny Morning kisst
Nature looks upward--fresh and bright again.

Ever the silent river flows:
And weeping willows, reaching prayerfully
As though in adoration, droop to greet
The dreamy river as it passes by;
And throw their leafy blessings at its feet.

Ever the silent river flows:
All Nature tells the story of its worth:
A daily miracle--morn, noon, and night
Softly beneficent: of joy the birth:
A voiceless messenger of hope and light.

Ever the silent river flows:
And so, in gentle meekness and sweet stealth,
Out from the life of him whose loss we mourn
There flowed of Charity a boundless wealth,
To cheer the Poor by griefs and sorrows torn.

Ever the silent river flows:
For ever and for ever flowing on:
So runs the river of his goodness rare,
A noble heritage from sire to son;
With grateful hearts abounding everywhere.

SONG OF THE WORKER.

TO BE SUNG IN PRAISE OF THOSE WHO DESERVE IT, BY
THOSE WHO THINK SO.

The strokes of the hammer ring out day and night,
And the huge wheels whirl and they spin:
The sky is on fire with the forge's light--
Oh, Oh! for the roar and the din.
The sparks fly aloft like a starry cloud,
And the voices of workmen ring
With a cheery refrain both happy and loud,
And this is the song they sing:
Bless thee, my master--bless thee;
Prosperity always be thine.
May plenty in store ever garnish thy door,
And each day bring its blessings divine.

The cottage that stands by the mountain side
Is bright with the cheerful fire,
And the house-wife gazes with honest pride
On the faces of husband and sire,
Who, fresh from the forge, with their brawny hands
The food that they eat have won,
And this is the wish that each breast expands
Ere the bountiful meal is begun:
Bless thee, my master--bless thee;
Prosperity always be thine.
May plenty in store ever garnish thy door,
And each day bring its blessings divine.

'Tis dark in that cottage: and sorrow is there;
For sickness brings troubles amain;
Th