TO THE MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH. "HARP of a thousand strings!" Swept by a mightier minstrel than the wind, Outvying in its flight The fleeting footsteps of the panting steed, Thine is the magic spell With deepest tones the human heart to thrill; Peace, promise, joy, or woe, Thou, who dost herald on To the vast inland, stretching far and wide, We pause and gaze on thee, Marking with wondering eye thy tiny chords, Telling of kings and thrones, Of famine, fire, and flood, The fearful earthquake, or the whirlwind's breath, The ocean, tempest, or the field of blood, The pestilence, and death. Or tidings sweet and dear, The blissful messages of love and peace, To waiting hearts that yearn-from thee to hear Thou who shalt link all lands, Thou who at last shalt span the stormy sea, What shall we sing of thee? The earth whereon we tread, The mighty billows rolling over thee, The lightning's flash, the sky, the clouds o'erspread, Shall yet thy minstrels be. |