One was a grumbler; the other went
About his work in rare content,

For labor was his element.

"Buzz, buzz," quoth one, "it doesn't pay To toil so hard from day to day; Leisure is best; I'd rather play.

"Of what use is it, after all?
Our labors unto nothing fall;
The task is hard, the gain is small.

"We never share in what we hive;
We work that idle men may thrive;
I feel the sorest bee alive."

"Buzz, buzz, good neighbor, would you then Be idle just because of men?

Up! up! and to your toil again.

"Must he who labors, foolish elf, Think but to benefit himself,

To heap with gain his narrow shelf?

"What makes our striving doubly dear Is that some others it may cheer, Known or unknown, afar or near.

"Such labor bringeth sweetest ease, And maketh, too—the world agrees— The best of men, the best of bees !"

ONE BY ONE.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

One by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going;
Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee

Let thy whole strength go to each, Let no future dreams elate thee,

Learn thou first what these can teach.
One by one (bright gifts from heaven)
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given-
Ready, too, to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,
Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others greet thee-
Shadows passing through the land.

Do not look at life's long sorrow;

See how small each moment's pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
So each day begin again.

Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown, and holy,
When each gem is set with care.

Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond;
Nor, thy daily trial forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God's token,
Reaching heaven; but, one by one,
Take them, let the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.

CENTENNIAL HYMN.

WHITTIER.

Our fathers' God, from out whose hand The centuries fall, like grains of sand,

We meet to-day, united, free,

And loyal to our land and Thee,

To thank Thee for the era done,
And trust Thee for the opening one.

Here, where of old, by Thy design,
The fathers spake that word of thine
Whose echo is the glad refrain
Of rended bolt and falling chain,
To grace our festal time from all
The zones of earth our guests we call.

Be with us while the new world greets
The old world thronging all its streets,
Unveiling all the triumphs won
By art or toil beneath the sun;
And into common good ordain
This rivalship of hand and brain.

Thou who hast here in concord furled
The war flag of a gathered world,
Beneath our western skies fulfil
The Orient's mission of good will,
And freighted with Life's golden fleece,
Send back the argonauts of peace.

For art and labor met in truce,
For beauty made the bride of use,
We thank thee, while withal we crave
The austere virtues strong to save,
The honor proof to place or gold,
The manhood never bought or sold !

Oh, make Thou us, thro' centuries long,
In peace secure in justice strong;
Around our gift of freedom draw
The safeguards of Thy righteous law,
And cast in some diviner mould,
Let the new cycle shame the old.

BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN.

0. W. HOLMES.

It was a tail young oysterman lived by the river-side,
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;
The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,
Lived over on the other bank right opposite to him.

It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid,
Upon a moonlight evening, a sitting in the shade;

He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,
"I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away."

Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he,

"I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear the folks should see: I read it in the story book that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont, and I will swim this here."

And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,
And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam;
Oh, there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain—
But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again!

Out spoke the ancient fisherman, "Oh, what was that, my daughter ?" ''Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water." "And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?" "It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a swimming past."

Out spoke the ancient fisherman, "Now bring me my harpoon!
I'll get into my fishing boat, and fix the fellow soon."
Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow white lamb,

Her hair dropped round her pallid cheeks, like seaweed on a clam.

Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swoon,

And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned; But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe,

And now they keep an oyster shop for mermaids down below.

THE COOKNEY.

J. G. SAXE.

It was in my foreign travel,
At a famous Flemish inn,
That I met a stoutish person
With a very ruddy skin;

And his hair was something sandy,

And was done in knotty curls,
And was parted in the middle,
In the manner of a girl's.

He was clad in checkered trousers,
And his coat was of a sort
To suggest a scanty pattern,
It was bobbed so very short
And his cap was very little,
Such as soldiers often use;
And he wore a pair of gaiters,
And extremely heavy shoes.

I addressed the man in English,
And he answered in the same,

Tho' he spoke it in a fashion

That I thought a little lame;

For the aspirate was missing

Where the letter should have been,

And where'er it wasn't wanted,

He was sure to put it in !