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The tapestry of Fate. Above the roar
And tumult of the little race of men
Anon Thou dost unsheathe Thy mighty.sword
In awful stillness, and Thou dost let fall
A blow that shakes the world. The nations all
Fall prostrate, awed, and recollect once more
That over all, invincible, supreme,
Strong beyond our imagination, great
Beyond the picturing of a prophet's dream,
Thou rulest, arbiter of human fate!

'Twas in Thy name we bid the war drum suund.
We rose, full-armed, as for a new crusade.
We trusted to Thy strength to compass round
Our forces that are naught without Thine aid,
And not in vain did we our trust repose.
Thine ancient promises Thou still dost keep.
Thine angel came and led us to our foes
Over the silent deep.
Our ships went forth upon the shaken sea,
Terrible as Leviathan. Thy hand
Was strong to shelter those who fought for Thee,
Thy voice was clear to comfort and command.
Through the blue mist of battle didst Thou lead
The champions of Thy cause. The flaming shower
Of shot and shell that roared from fort and ship
Could not dismay the souls that in Thy power
Had faith, nor feared dark Azrael's chill grip.
They felt, with peace, that Thou wert Lord indeed.
Ah! as of old we know
Thine overshadowing hand is stretched out still
As smitten by Thine angel fell the foe-
And could not work us ill.
Supernal hands, as in the olden days,
Did from its path the flaming missile bend.
Wherefore, to Thee, O Lord, we lift our praise
That can not know an end.

Like vengeful spirits on the thoughtless foe
Swept down our ships, then the still air awoke
To shattering sound, and furious crashing blow

Of shell on steel,--the screaming fire-birds broke
Through the gray fog of smoke
And flew in deadly flocks across the sea,
As if the demons held high jubilee,
Thick-thronging in the awful mist, the eye
Could almost seem to spy
The phantom figures of our nation's dead,
Called from the tomb by the fierce battle-cry.
From their stern lips a soundless cheer arose
For him who led
Our nation's strength against our nation's foes,
Heroic Dewey! Through the fearful hours
He strove, courageous, till the strife was crowned
With glorious victory and the day was ours.
From her long servitude at last unbound,
Manila, princess of the Philippines,
Beautiful tropic-queens,
Stood proudly gazing on the wreck-strewn flood,
Baptized to Freedom with her tyrant's blood.

Hail to the hero! He has earned his place
Among the laureled leaders of our race!
Perry his kinship owns,
Farragut, Porter, and the brave Paul Jones,
The patriot privateer.
Columbia's dead and living swell the cheer
That hails brave Dewey.
The envious hand of Time shall not efface
This victory from the archives of our race,
The battle in the cause of truth and right,
Wherein, through God's great might,
The triumph cost not one devoted life
Of those who faced the strife
Beneath our banner floating fair and bright.

Lord, in our memory be Thy goodness set !
Let us not in ingratitude forget
The mighty deeds which Thou for us hast done!
The battle over, and the victory won,
We bow the knee in praise, and lift again
Our eyes to Thee. So be it aye! Amen.

HOUSE-CLEANING.

YES,

FRANKLYN W. LEE.
ES, M'rilly's bin house-cleaning 'n' I'm sleepin' in the

shed,
With some buggy robes for kivers 'n' the wash-bench

for a bed. There's confusion in the parlor, 'n' a heap sight more up-stairs, While I kaint find comfort nowhere fer the varnish on the

chairs.

First they tore up all the carpets; then they pulled down all the

shades, Till the place looked like a homestead after one of Moseby's

raids; Next the walls were renervated, 'n' the floors was soaked 'n'

scrubbed, 'N' M'rilly bossed the workers as they pounded, shook 'n'

rubbed.

Oh, I tell yer, 'tain't so funny when yer eatin' off the shelf,
'N’ a feller has to hustle fer a place to lay hisself;
Fer the wimen folks mean bizness, 'n' they make a feller jump
Till he's like a pesky camel with a double action hump.

REPARATION

a

O use denyin', Haines; it's all my fault

That the poor creatur' a'n't turned out this minute.

Wish I'd a shanty o' my own—you'd see!
I'd make her an' her younguns tumble in it.
What's that? Whose a big fool? That a’n’t the talk

To give to me, sir, an' I'd have you know it.
You'd felt the very same yerself—you bet !

Savin' you'd had the gumption not to show it.
You got it up complete—this 'jectment bizness,

Writin' an' all. She never once mistrusted

But what I was a sheriff. Fur a minute

She looked so clean took in I nearly bu'sted; But when she giv' a groan and p'inted-well,

There laid a youngun cold an' dead—that's soAn' one most dyin'—what with the dark room

An' scant o' time, I hadn't seen, you know.

Well, when I see that lyin' in the corner

An' how the rest were starvin' on ter death, An' this 'ere writ o' 'jectment served upon 'em

To turn 'em out, it made me ketch my breath. (I don't deny it 't all. In course, she owed it

In course, you want your rent-No, sir! Stop there! You ha'n't seed for yerself the sight I see, Haines,

Er blame me ef you'd say, No more 'an fair.")

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Snowin', an' not a stick ner splint o' kindlin';

The clothes upon 'em wasn't clothes, but rags;
An' that ’ar woman, bones or not, was comely-

None o' yer dried-up, saller kind o' hags.
I don't know when I've been so tetched by trouble,

Leastwise in others, 's when, with quite an air
O' gentlefolks, she wipes her eyes, half sobbin':

Sorry the gentleman can't have a chair."

I kind o' slipped my hat off then (forgot it

At first), an' 'fore I knowed it she was tellin How fer a week she hedn't fed her children,

An' how she hadn't nothin' left worth sellin'; An' how her husband dead an' gone a fortnight, Had bin a trial-allus drunk er fightin’;

a An' how she'd strove fur work—then bu’st out cryin'

Whilst I just grabbed that blasted bit o' writin’

An' run off like a fool. An' here I am, Haines,

An' here's the dockyment-I'd like ter soak it! You'll sarve your own ejectments after this 'ere!

Put that into yer stingy pipe an’ smoke it! Hey? Well, that's more 'n I took you fur, old feller!

You a’n't a-goin' to let the gal off clean?

Ar' let her stay? By Josh! Haines, fur a poor chap

I a’n't come nigh a better man this year.
An' now, Haines, can you take it? Listenin'?

Rec'lect the thing you told me long ago
Although I wa’n’t to tech upon it, never-

'Bout you an' Bully Bangs? There now! Let go! Can't a man speak in private conversation ?

It wa’n’t your fault-I allus said it, Haines. He drawed you on. Well, well—I won't; but sartain,

Honest repentance takes out blackest stains.

An' Haines, old chap, it's allers seemed to me

You've blamed yerself a heap more'n you ought to. What's all this drivin' at? Why, only this:

That starvin' woman yonder's Bully's daughter, Bangs' oldest gal, by thunder! Why, he's off!

“Thank God!” 'd he say? Actchally gone to fetch herHer an' her younguns! Well, that's Haines all over!

I bet he won't let no more trouble tetch her.

AN INCIDENT.

AGNES MACDONELL.
TNARMED and unattended, walks the czar

Through Moscow's busy street one winter's day.
The crowd uncovered as his face they see-
God the czar!” they say.

.

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greet

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Along his path there moved a funeral,

Gray spectacle of poverty and woe:
A wretched sledge, dragged by one weary man,

Slowly across the snow;

And on the sledge, blown by the winter wind,

Lay a poor coffin, very rude and bare; And he who drew it bent before his load

With dull and sullen air.

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