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ON MERCY.

THE

'HE quality of mercy is not strained;

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven, Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown! His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above the sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute of God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice! Therefore, Jew, though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy!— Shakespeare.

THE "MAYFLOWER" AND THE PILGRIMS.

ETHINKS I see it now, that one solitary, adven

turous vessel, the "Mayflower" of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects of a future state, and bound across the unknown sea.

I behold it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and winter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the sight of

the wished-for shore. I see them now, scantily supplied with provisions, crowded almost to suffocation in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calms, pursuing a circuitous route; and now, driven in fury before the raging tempest, in their scarcely sea-worthy vessel. The awful voice of the storm howls through the rigging. The laboring masts seem straining from their base; the dismal sound of the pumps is heard; the ship leaps, as it were, madly from billow to billow; the ocean breaks, and settles with ingulfing floods over the floating deck, and beats with deadening weight against the staggered vessel.

I see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after five months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth, weak and weary from the voyage, poorly armed, scantily provisioned, depending on the charity of their ship-master for a draught of beer on board, drinking nothing but water on shore, without shelter, without means, surrounded by hostile tribes.

Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any principle of human probability, what shall be the fate of this handful of adventurers.

Tell me, man of military science, in how many months were they all swept off by the thirty savage tribes, enumerated within the early limits of New England? Tell me, politician, how long did this shadow of a colony, on which your conventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on the distant coast ?

Student of history, compare for me the baffled projects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned adventures of other times, and find the parallel of this. Was it the winter's storm beating upon the houseless

heads of women and children? Was it hard labor and spare meals ? Was it disease ? Was it the tomahawk? Was it the deep malady of blighted hope ? a ruined enterprise, and a broken heart, aching in its last moments at the recollection of the loved and left, beyond the sea ? Was it some, or all of these united, that hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fate? And is it possible that neither of these causes, that not all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope ?

Is it possible, that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so worthy, not so much of admiration as of pity, there has gone forth a progress so steady, a growth so wonderful, a reality so important, a promise yet to be fulfilled so glorious ? ----E. Everett.

AMERICA'S THANKSGIVING HYMN.

A

LMIGHTY LORD of glory!

Our praise to Him we bring;
And chant our country's story,

Where God alone is KING;
His outstretched arm sustaining,

Behold the Mayflower come!
His mercy foreordaining

Our land for Freedom's home.

Though wintry darkness gathers,

And dearth and death prevail,
The faithful Pilgrim Fathers

Could look within the veil;

O joy amid the sadness!

They 're free to do and pray, And keep in sober gladness

Their first Thanksgiving Day.

These seeds of Faith and Freedom

God's Word hath wafted free; O'er rocks outsoaring Edom

They reach the Sunset Sea;
And East and West uniting,

One family become;
With North and South relighting

Love's lamp,-WE'RE ALL AT HOME!

With half of heaven above us,

An ocean on each hand,
We've room for all who love us,

And join our brother band;
Praising the Great All-Giver,

Our Home Feast we display, And ever and forever

Keep free Thanksgiving Day.

În palace and in prison

Our Festival is one,
The witness Christ is risen

Good-will for men begun;
Our hearts one hope rejoices,

Our souls in union pray, 'Mid songs of choral voices — GOD BLESS THANKSGIVING DAY.

S. 7. Hale.

TOM'S COME HOME.

WITH

TITH its heavily rocking and swinging load,

The stage-coach rolls up the mountain road; The mowers lean on their scythes and say, “Hullo! what brings Big George this way?" The children climb the slats, and wait To see him drive past the door-yard gate; When, four in hand, sedate and grand, He brings the old craft like a ship to land. At the window, mild grandmotherly eyes Beam from their glasses with quaint surprise, Grow wide with wonder, and guess, and doubt; Then a quick, half-stifled voice shrieks out,

“Tom! Tom's come home!”

The face at the casement disappears,
To shine at the door, all joy and tears,
As a traveller, dusty and bearded and brown,
Over the wheels steps lightly down.
“Well, mother!” “My son!” And to his breast
A forward tottering form is pressed.
She lies there, and cries there; now at arm's length
Admires his manly size and strength
(While he winks hard one misty eye);
Then calls to the youngsters staring nigh,
"Quick! go for your gran'ther! run, boys, run!
Tell him your uncle tell him his son

Our Tom's come home!”

The stage-coach waits; but little cares she
What faces pleasantly smile to see

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