Nothing But Faith.

Thine was no faith of pulseless form, Of actor, acting well his role; Or deeming, through mere solemn rites, To nourish the immortal soul, Nor thine that bare and stunted growth, To limits of a sect confined; Expanding not in broader realm Than atmosphere by man defined.

Nor thine that crude philosophy Whose meteor-flash hath oft beguiled The traveller from clear mountain heights, To perish on the misty wild. No gloomy cypress wreath for thee! Oh brow unkenned of bigot frown! Fair coronet of laurel leaves; Meet emblem of thy fadeless crown.

Bright as the pure, cerulean arch, Thy faith all creeds and rites doth span And sees, through Love's refining lens, The Deity in brother man. With active, humanizing power, Uplifts the soul, low sunk in sin; Till, yielding to its tender touch, The chains unbar--God enters in.

BEECHER.

THE LAST TIME IN PLYMOUTH CHURCH.

The organ grandly pealed; Still rose the peaceful hymn; The lights, though waxing dim, A beauteous sight revealed.

From off the busy street Into the sacred pile, Adown the shadowy aisle Came little wandering feet.

Secure from fear of harm, With eager, upturned face, The lone ones rest a space; Joy-filled of music's charm.

Forgot their hapless fate; Forgot cold, worlding scorn; Unseen the life forlorn; Seems nigh heaven's golden gate.

Upriseth from his seat He of a world-wide fame; He of the lustrous name, Those nameless ones to greet.

The mightiest orb on high Doth kiss the meanest flower; True love, in bounteous shower, Doth rift earth's formal sky.

Stoops low the silvered head To kiss the smooth young brow, To seal the sacred vow Which life-long fragrance shed.

And tenderly his arms Those boyish forms enfold; As if, o'er life's drear wold, He'd shield from rude alarms.

Thus pass they from the sight, From out the vaulted door;-- He walks the pearly floor, They grope through dismal night.

Oh scene surpassing fair! Soul-filling, all sublime; Undimmed of dark'ning time, Unlit of earthly glare.

Fair soul of tenderness! Unselfish, meek and mild, The waif, the outcast child Thou deignest to caress.

Sweet, humanizing love! Beyond choice gifts of mind, 'Yond culture most refined; Bright essence from above!

Columbia! brave young land! Long is thy scroll of fame; Full many a deathless name Hath led thee by the hand.

High on that scroll of fame, Whilst hero echoes ring, Whilst votaries pause to sing, Shall glow thy Beecher's name.

ALLELUIA.

No more upon Parnassus' hill Thou'lt string thy patriot lyre; To tell those feats which nations thrill, Which youthful spirits fire. How, on the blood-red battle field Great heroes fall, but never yield; True courage is the only shield Thy whole-souled Briton owns.

No more thou'lt sing thy graceful lays Of rock, and mount, and stream; Or cause the light from Heaven's pure rays O'er nature's face to beam. We heard the rustle of the tree, The humming of the busy bee, When nature waked to life with thee In joyous harmony.

But though thy harp is silent now, And hearts may mourn thee long; Where halos crown the victor's brow Thou sing'st the angels' song. Dust mingles with its kindred dust, Soul joins the army of the just;-- Their Leader was thy hope and trust Through life's long pilgrimage.