Become impassible as air, one great And indestructible substance as the sea. Let all on thrones and judgment-seats reflect How dreadful Thy revenge through nations is On those who wrong them; but do Thou grant, Lord! Grant us, All-maintaining Sire ! That all the great mechanic aids to toil Man's skill hath formed, found, rendered-whether used To obviate the thousand wants of life- With serviceable knowledge for themselves, And fellows, and support not the good cause All such who do, with peace of heart and power May peace, and industry, and commerce, weld Vouchsafe, kind God! Thy blessing to this isle, The world, for she is worthiest ; and may all Her course, wherever great, or free, or just. Be wrested from us to our own reproach, But granted. We may make the whole world free, And be as free ourselves as ever, more! If policy or self-defence call forth Our forces to the field, let us in Thee Place, first, our trust, and in Thy name we shall Let us not conquer nations for ourselves, And so have done with war before Thou comest. R Civilize, Christianize, the lands we win Settle in peace and swell the gathering hosts Of the great Prince of Peace. Oh! may the hour Demolished, the great world shall be at last Of Christ, and the possession of the Spirit, One land, one home, one friend, one faith, one law, Its life peace! For the one true faith we pray; Grant us our prayers, we pray, Lord! in the name THE WINE CUP. WELL might the thoughtful race of old Of him they hailed their god of winc- BAILEY. For ivy climbs the crumbling hall And spreads its dark deceitful pall And wine will circle round the brain As ivy o'er the brow, Till what could once see far as stars Then dash the cup down! 'tis not worth A soul's great sacrifice; The wine will sink into the earth, The soul, the soul-must rise. BAILEY. AUTUMN WOODS. ERE, in the northern gale, The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The mountains that infold, In their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground. I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendours glow, My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown Along the winding way. And far in heaven, the while, The sun that sends the gale to wander here, O autumn! why so soon Depart the hues that make thy forests glad; Ah, 'twere a lot too blest, For ever in thy coloured shades to stray; And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad, the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour. BRYANT. SONG OF THE STARS. WHEN the radiant morn of creation broke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath; |