cret admiring enthrone
Whatever a martyr or minion may do;
But down in my bosom while reasonings reign,
Of friendship and love there is never a dearth
For him who is toiling in pleasure or pain,
The farmer, the lord and the king of the earth.

"NATURE HAS A THOUSAND CHOIRS."

Nature has a thousand choirs
Singing in the sylvan shadows,
And the music of her lyres
Echoes in the merry meadows;
Always glad with golden glee
Sounds her happy melody,
Swelling wild in fairy measure
With the songs of purest pleasure.

Where the dancing fountains play
Winding warbles shake and shiver,
And soft carols rise alway
From the ripples of the river;
Sweetest voices fondly call
From the fleecy waterfall,
And the joyful chimes are creeping
Where the lovely lake is sleeping.

Raptures echo in the wood,
Where the pimpernel reposes;
Gladness fills the solitude
Where the blushes kiss the roses;
Sunny beam and somber gloom
Utter hymns from bowers of bloom,
Where the vernal winds are crying
And the vocal birds are flying.

O'er the smiling scenes of earth
Nature throws no sullen weather;
All her soul is full of mirth,
Song and springtime walk together;
For the harps of happy days
Wake the woodlands with their lays,
And where lilies white are springing
Gentle melodies are ringing.

O, wild Nature, from thy soul
Fill the human hearts with gladness,
Till their lives shall gladly troll
Songs that banish all their sadness!
Bathe their breasts with songs of love
From the Edens found above,
Till their lips shall sing the story
Of their happiness and glory!

THE WORKINGMAN.

God bless the brawny arms of toil,
The noble hearts and royal hands,
That plow the plain and seed the soil,
And grow the grains of laughing lands!
King in the blessed vales of life
Where perfect pleasures first began,
May blessings come with raptures rife
To crown the humble workingman!

His kingdoms wave with bannered corn
And meadows bright with fairy bloom,
While duties of his heart are born
Where sylvan shadows hide the gloom;
Sweet Nature fills his heart with health,
While rustic warbles lead his soul
Where rill and fountain sing by stealth
And breezes soft with music roll.

He lives where simple wishes throng,
And give contentment to his breast,
While ten