Chapter 2

2General White's words.

KEPT THE FLAG FLOATING

"Thank God, we have kept the flag floating."—General White.

Some men, like French, display much dash;They boldly rush upon the foe,Their sword-blades like the lightning flash,As they on helm or hauberk clash;Nor fear the foeman's blow.We praise them for their gallant deeds;They are the men the Empire needs.But true as they are those who standWithin the fort beleaguered round;Resources few at their command,Their army but a feeble band,Yet bravely hold their ground;And o'er their blood-bespattered coatsThe Union Jack in triumph floats.Reduced their strength through lack of food,And fever germs on vitals preyed;Yet they o'er trouble did not brood,By night or day of cheerful mood;This burden on them weighed—To keep the flag afloat—in brief,Till Buller came to their relief.Brave White, accept our meed of praise!We crown thee equal to the bestOf heroes of the olden days,Whose deeds inspired the poets' lays!We need no further quest;But this with gratitude we note,Thy valour kept the flag afloat!Valor like thine does not surpriseWhen we review thy noble past;A hero is the one who tries,Though he may not to ideal rise—His plan may fail at last—Yet is too brave to lay the blameOn others, but takes all the shame."The fault was mine," thy language then,Revealing the divinest gracePossessed by truly noble men,And, prophecy of triumph, whenWith foe brought face to face,The choice remains, defeat or death,The flag will float till latest breath.

Some men, like French, display much dash;

They boldly rush upon the foe,

Their sword-blades like the lightning flash,

As they on helm or hauberk clash;

Nor fear the foeman's blow.

We praise them for their gallant deeds;

They are the men the Empire needs.

But true as they are those who standWithin the fort beleaguered round;Resources few at their command,Their army but a feeble band,Yet bravely hold their ground;And o'er their blood-bespattered coatsThe Union Jack in triumph floats.

But true as they are those who stand

Within the fort beleaguered round;

Resources few at their command,

Their army but a feeble band,

Yet bravely hold their ground;

And o'er their blood-bespattered coats

The Union Jack in triumph floats.

Reduced their strength through lack of food,And fever germs on vitals preyed;Yet they o'er trouble did not brood,By night or day of cheerful mood;This burden on them weighed—To keep the flag afloat—in brief,Till Buller came to their relief.

Reduced their strength through lack of food,

And fever germs on vitals preyed;

Yet they o'er trouble did not brood,

By night or day of cheerful mood;

This burden on them weighed—

To keep the flag afloat—in brief,

Till Buller came to their relief.

Brave White, accept our meed of praise!We crown thee equal to the bestOf heroes of the olden days,Whose deeds inspired the poets' lays!We need no further quest;But this with gratitude we note,Thy valour kept the flag afloat!

Brave White, accept our meed of praise!

We crown thee equal to the best

Of heroes of the olden days,

Whose deeds inspired the poets' lays!

We need no further quest;

But this with gratitude we note,

Thy valour kept the flag afloat!

Valor like thine does not surpriseWhen we review thy noble past;A hero is the one who tries,Though he may not to ideal rise—His plan may fail at last—Yet is too brave to lay the blameOn others, but takes all the shame.

Valor like thine does not surprise

When we review thy noble past;

A hero is the one who tries,

Though he may not to ideal rise—

His plan may fail at last—

Yet is too brave to lay the blame

On others, but takes all the shame.

"The fault was mine," thy language then,Revealing the divinest gracePossessed by truly noble men,And, prophecy of triumph, whenWith foe brought face to face,The choice remains, defeat or death,The flag will float till latest breath.

"The fault was mine," thy language then,

Revealing the divinest grace

Possessed by truly noble men,

And, prophecy of triumph, when

With foe brought face to face,

The choice remains, defeat or death,

The flag will float till latest breath.

MARY

She brought her alabaster flaskWell-filled with precious nard;Nor did she deem the act a task,Nor look for great reward;She only thought of His great love,And felt her gift was smallFor Him who left His home aboveTo suffer death for all.But her blest Lord more highly prizedThe loving heart that gave;For loveless gifts are e'er despised,Yet men oft seek to paveThe way that leads to glory landWith deeds devoid of grace;But only those who love can standApproved before His face.

She brought her alabaster flask

Well-filled with precious nard;

Nor did she deem the act a task,

Nor look for great reward;

She only thought of His great love,

And felt her gift was small

For Him who left His home above

To suffer death for all.

But her blest Lord more highly prized

The loving heart that gave;

For loveless gifts are e'er despised,

Yet men oft seek to pave

The way that leads to glory land

With deeds devoid of grace;

But only those who love can stand

Approved before His face.

A WORLD REDEEMED

This world is but the shadowOf the world that is to be,A ripple on the surfaceOf a deep, unfathomed sea.God's plans are always perfect,But long ages interveneFrom the planning of the templeTo the glow upon its sheen;But we can be co-workersIn accomplishing his plan;For in God's purpose is a placeFor every son of man.The germ may be developedIn a more salubrious clime,All obstacles surmountedIn the onward march of time,And nature's forces harnessedWill their destiny fulfil,And things now deemed supernalRespond to human will;For God has so adjustedThe laws of this earthly sphere,That by man's help his plans unfold,And order doth appear.The words of God's own prophetsConcerning these latter daysOf mighty transformations,To our great Redeemer's praise;When wastes shall glow in beauty,And the savage beast be kind,Though they have prior fulfilmentIn the realm of soul and mind;Will then be more than figure,Though that we all count sublime;The earth will wear its regal robesIn every land and clime.This life is but a sampleOf the life that is to be;There we know the perfect lesson,Here we learn the a—b—c;And the life beyond is fashionedBy the thoughts and deeds of this;Fitting it for realms of darkness,Or for never-ending bliss;For those alone will sorrowWho receive His grace in vain,But those who wrought with God will proveThat godliness is gain.

This world is but the shadow

Of the world that is to be,

A ripple on the surface

Of a deep, unfathomed sea.

God's plans are always perfect,

But long ages intervene

From the planning of the temple

To the glow upon its sheen;

But we can be co-workers

In accomplishing his plan;

For in God's purpose is a place

For every son of man.

The germ may be developedIn a more salubrious clime,All obstacles surmountedIn the onward march of time,And nature's forces harnessedWill their destiny fulfil,And things now deemed supernalRespond to human will;For God has so adjustedThe laws of this earthly sphere,That by man's help his plans unfold,And order doth appear.

The germ may be developed

In a more salubrious clime,

All obstacles surmounted

In the onward march of time,

And nature's forces harnessed

Will their destiny fulfil,

And things now deemed supernal

Respond to human will;

For God has so adjusted

The laws of this earthly sphere,

That by man's help his plans unfold,

And order doth appear.

The words of God's own prophetsConcerning these latter daysOf mighty transformations,To our great Redeemer's praise;When wastes shall glow in beauty,And the savage beast be kind,Though they have prior fulfilmentIn the realm of soul and mind;Will then be more than figure,Though that we all count sublime;The earth will wear its regal robesIn every land and clime.

The words of God's own prophets

Concerning these latter days

Of mighty transformations,

To our great Redeemer's praise;

When wastes shall glow in beauty,

And the savage beast be kind,

Though they have prior fulfilment

In the realm of soul and mind;

Will then be more than figure,

Though that we all count sublime;

The earth will wear its regal robes

In every land and clime.

This life is but a sampleOf the life that is to be;There we know the perfect lesson,Here we learn the a—b—c;And the life beyond is fashionedBy the thoughts and deeds of this;Fitting it for realms of darkness,Or for never-ending bliss;For those alone will sorrowWho receive His grace in vain,But those who wrought with God will proveThat godliness is gain.

This life is but a sample

Of the life that is to be;

There we know the perfect lesson,

Here we learn the a—b—c;

And the life beyond is fashioned

By the thoughts and deeds of this;

Fitting it for realms of darkness,

Or for never-ending bliss;

For those alone will sorrow

Who receive His grace in vain,

But those who wrought with God will prove

That godliness is gain.

ALASKAN BOUNDARY SETTLEMENT

My neighbor's farm and mine lie side by side,And nothing should our mutual trust divide;But they who made th' original surveyWere guided by the stars, the records say,So that the line that marks out our domainIs indistinct, and puzzling doubts remain.Our farms are large, and portions near the lineWith rocky soil and stunted spruce and pine,With scarce a wigwam or a ranger's hearth,We left untilled, and deemed of little worth;The petals of this desert rose unfold,When man discovers mines of yellow gold."Where is the boundary line?" is now the cry.Each stakes his claim and gives his reason why;One sought an exit to the main highway,The other closed the gates and gained the dayIn custom duties on the shining ore,And stores for man and beast that inland pour.Each claimed his own, whatever that may be,Yet, neighbors true, we feared to disagree.We studied maps and treaties old and new,Yet each his own line-fence declared was true;Then, to avoid unseemly strife, we choseTo settle our dispute as friends, not foes.My neighbor chose three men in his employ,I three, at least, accepted them with joy;Not chosen these to arbitrate our case,But from material at command to trace,In harmony with law, the primal lineFor boundary fence, between his farm and mine.Ilost my case—all but one narrow lane!All other gates are closed, but why complain?Diminished somewhat is my large estate,But self-respect remains—nor place for hate;O'er our line-fence we grasp each other's hand,And for the right, united, ever stand.

My neighbor's farm and mine lie side by side,

And nothing should our mutual trust divide;

But they who made th' original survey

Were guided by the stars, the records say,

So that the line that marks out our domain

Is indistinct, and puzzling doubts remain.

Our farms are large, and portions near the lineWith rocky soil and stunted spruce and pine,With scarce a wigwam or a ranger's hearth,We left untilled, and deemed of little worth;The petals of this desert rose unfold,When man discovers mines of yellow gold.

Our farms are large, and portions near the line

With rocky soil and stunted spruce and pine,

With scarce a wigwam or a ranger's hearth,

We left untilled, and deemed of little worth;

The petals of this desert rose unfold,

When man discovers mines of yellow gold.

"Where is the boundary line?" is now the cry.Each stakes his claim and gives his reason why;One sought an exit to the main highway,The other closed the gates and gained the dayIn custom duties on the shining ore,And stores for man and beast that inland pour.

"Where is the boundary line?" is now the cry.

Each stakes his claim and gives his reason why;

One sought an exit to the main highway,

The other closed the gates and gained the day

In custom duties on the shining ore,

And stores for man and beast that inland pour.

Each claimed his own, whatever that may be,Yet, neighbors true, we feared to disagree.We studied maps and treaties old and new,Yet each his own line-fence declared was true;Then, to avoid unseemly strife, we choseTo settle our dispute as friends, not foes.

Each claimed his own, whatever that may be,

Yet, neighbors true, we feared to disagree.

We studied maps and treaties old and new,

Yet each his own line-fence declared was true;

Then, to avoid unseemly strife, we chose

To settle our dispute as friends, not foes.

My neighbor chose three men in his employ,I three, at least, accepted them with joy;Not chosen these to arbitrate our case,But from material at command to trace,In harmony with law, the primal lineFor boundary fence, between his farm and mine.

My neighbor chose three men in his employ,

I three, at least, accepted them with joy;

Not chosen these to arbitrate our case,

But from material at command to trace,

In harmony with law, the primal line

For boundary fence, between his farm and mine.

Ilost my case—all but one narrow lane!All other gates are closed, but why complain?Diminished somewhat is my large estate,But self-respect remains—nor place for hate;O'er our line-fence we grasp each other's hand,And for the right, united, ever stand.

Ilost my case—all but one narrow lane!

All other gates are closed, but why complain?

Diminished somewhat is my large estate,

But self-respect remains—nor place for hate;

O'er our line-fence we grasp each other's hand,

And for the right, united, ever stand.

MY PRIMROSE

My sweet primrose with thy open face,And with fringe-like leaves, without a traceOf coarseness, either in flower or stem,Among all my plants thou art the gem.My lovely lilies soon disappear;Thy bloom is constant through all the year;In summer's heat and winter's cold,Undimmed the light of thy floral gold.Or if thy color be pink, or blue,Or white as snow, thou art ever true;My room is bright with thy smiling eyes,And thy fragrance rare I also prize.Thou hast done thy part, my little pet—Let me keep thy roots forever wet,But guard with care all thy tender leavesAnd growing crown, which the earth-crust heaves.Thou dost heaven-ward tend, aspiring high,To kiss the stars in the vaulted sky,And they look down from the azure blue,My sweet primrose—they are smiling, too.

My sweet primrose with thy open face,And with fringe-like leaves, without a traceOf coarseness, either in flower or stem,Among all my plants thou art the gem.

My sweet primrose with thy open face,

And with fringe-like leaves, without a trace

Of coarseness, either in flower or stem,

Among all my plants thou art the gem.

My lovely lilies soon disappear;Thy bloom is constant through all the year;In summer's heat and winter's cold,Undimmed the light of thy floral gold.

My lovely lilies soon disappear;

Thy bloom is constant through all the year;

In summer's heat and winter's cold,

Undimmed the light of thy floral gold.

Or if thy color be pink, or blue,Or white as snow, thou art ever true;My room is bright with thy smiling eyes,And thy fragrance rare I also prize.

Or if thy color be pink, or blue,

Or white as snow, thou art ever true;

My room is bright with thy smiling eyes,

And thy fragrance rare I also prize.

Thou hast done thy part, my little pet—Let me keep thy roots forever wet,But guard with care all thy tender leavesAnd growing crown, which the earth-crust heaves.

Thou hast done thy part, my little pet—

Let me keep thy roots forever wet,

But guard with care all thy tender leaves

And growing crown, which the earth-crust heaves.

Thou dost heaven-ward tend, aspiring high,To kiss the stars in the vaulted sky,And they look down from the azure blue,My sweet primrose—they are smiling, too.

Thou dost heaven-ward tend, aspiring high,

To kiss the stars in the vaulted sky,

And they look down from the azure blue,

My sweet primrose—they are smiling, too.

NIAGARA'S RAINBOW

Upon the "table-rock" I stand,And gaze into the depths profound,In ecstacy at sights so grand,And deafened by the soundOf rushing waters, as they leapLike maddened steeds, down hillside steep.The falling spray my head bedews,As gently as a vernal shower;Or, as the Holy Ghost imbuesIn consecrated hour,The soul that inly yearns for love,And seeks it from the throne above.But I see more than chasm deep,Than falling spray and rushing tide.Sublime, indeed, the awful leap;The awe will long abide—God'srainbow hangs in colors bright,A thing of beauty in my sight.Our cousins on the other sideAnd we too often disagree;Puffed up, I fear, at times, with pride,Each strong, and brave, and free;But we forget the stormy past,Our lands and hearts are linked at last.The "Union-Jack" hangs o'er my head,The "Stars and Stripes" my cousin rears,But old-time grievances are deadFor all the coming years;As separate flags they still may wave,But we areonethe world to save.

Upon the "table-rock" I stand,And gaze into the depths profound,In ecstacy at sights so grand,And deafened by the soundOf rushing waters, as they leapLike maddened steeds, down hillside steep.

Upon the "table-rock" I stand,

And gaze into the depths profound,

In ecstacy at sights so grand,

And deafened by the sound

Of rushing waters, as they leap

Like maddened steeds, down hillside steep.

The falling spray my head bedews,As gently as a vernal shower;Or, as the Holy Ghost imbuesIn consecrated hour,The soul that inly yearns for love,And seeks it from the throne above.

The falling spray my head bedews,

As gently as a vernal shower;

Or, as the Holy Ghost imbues

In consecrated hour,

The soul that inly yearns for love,

And seeks it from the throne above.

But I see more than chasm deep,Than falling spray and rushing tide.Sublime, indeed, the awful leap;The awe will long abide—God'srainbow hangs in colors bright,A thing of beauty in my sight.

But I see more than chasm deep,

Than falling spray and rushing tide.

Sublime, indeed, the awful leap;

The awe will long abide—

God'srainbow hangs in colors bright,

A thing of beauty in my sight.

Our cousins on the other sideAnd we too often disagree;Puffed up, I fear, at times, with pride,Each strong, and brave, and free;But we forget the stormy past,Our lands and hearts are linked at last.

Our cousins on the other side

And we too often disagree;

Puffed up, I fear, at times, with pride,

Each strong, and brave, and free;

But we forget the stormy past,

Our lands and hearts are linked at last.

The "Union-Jack" hangs o'er my head,The "Stars and Stripes" my cousin rears,But old-time grievances are deadFor all the coming years;As separate flags they still may wave,But we areonethe world to save.

The "Union-Jack" hangs o'er my head,

The "Stars and Stripes" my cousin rears,

But old-time grievances are dead

For all the coming years;

As separate flags they still may wave,

But we areonethe world to save.

MY SISTER NELL AND I

We strolled down by the river side,My sister Nell and I,To watch the waters onward glide,And vessels passing by.On Nature's floor of lovely green,Bedecked with flowers of gold,The purple sassafras as sheen,Which trumpet vines enfold.We played our youthful games for hours,And told our childish tales;Adorned each brow with fragrant flowers,And slept 'neath cooling gales.For I was then but nine years old,And she was only seven;Yet joys like ours can ne'er be told—They savored much of heaven.Close by the bank, in shady nooks,The waxen lilies grew;We called them fish, and with our hooksTo shore full many drew.With these I made a wreath for Nell.She was so good and pure,They seemed to suit her brow so well,Yet could not long endureThe heated brow and dewless air—The river suits them best;But graced awhile her golden hair,As dove would silken nest.Frail like the lilies, too, was Nell.The fever's scorching blastSwept by, and my fair flowerette fell,And to the dust was cast.But now she blooms in glory land,Close by the tree of Life;Better to bloom at God's right handThan in this world of strife.I hope some day to meet her there,And as in days of yoreWe plucked the lilies, pure and fair,Up there we'll gather more.

We strolled down by the river side,My sister Nell and I,To watch the waters onward glide,And vessels passing by.

We strolled down by the river side,

My sister Nell and I,

To watch the waters onward glide,

And vessels passing by.

On Nature's floor of lovely green,Bedecked with flowers of gold,The purple sassafras as sheen,Which trumpet vines enfold.

On Nature's floor of lovely green,

Bedecked with flowers of gold,

The purple sassafras as sheen,

Which trumpet vines enfold.

We played our youthful games for hours,And told our childish tales;Adorned each brow with fragrant flowers,And slept 'neath cooling gales.

We played our youthful games for hours,

And told our childish tales;

Adorned each brow with fragrant flowers,

And slept 'neath cooling gales.

For I was then but nine years old,And she was only seven;Yet joys like ours can ne'er be told—They savored much of heaven.

For I was then but nine years old,

And she was only seven;

Yet joys like ours can ne'er be told—

They savored much of heaven.

Close by the bank, in shady nooks,The waxen lilies grew;We called them fish, and with our hooksTo shore full many drew.

Close by the bank, in shady nooks,

The waxen lilies grew;

We called them fish, and with our hooks

To shore full many drew.

With these I made a wreath for Nell.She was so good and pure,They seemed to suit her brow so well,Yet could not long endure

With these I made a wreath for Nell.

She was so good and pure,

They seemed to suit her brow so well,

Yet could not long endure

The heated brow and dewless air—The river suits them best;But graced awhile her golden hair,As dove would silken nest.

The heated brow and dewless air—

The river suits them best;

But graced awhile her golden hair,

As dove would silken nest.

Frail like the lilies, too, was Nell.The fever's scorching blastSwept by, and my fair flowerette fell,And to the dust was cast.

Frail like the lilies, too, was Nell.

The fever's scorching blast

Swept by, and my fair flowerette fell,

And to the dust was cast.

But now she blooms in glory land,Close by the tree of Life;Better to bloom at God's right handThan in this world of strife.

But now she blooms in glory land,

Close by the tree of Life;

Better to bloom at God's right hand

Than in this world of strife.

I hope some day to meet her there,And as in days of yoreWe plucked the lilies, pure and fair,Up there we'll gather more.

I hope some day to meet her there,

And as in days of yore

We plucked the lilies, pure and fair,

Up there we'll gather more.

GATHER THE WAYSIDE FLOWERS

'Tis well to have a goal in mind,A life-aim, high and true;Clear as the day, and well defined,And ever kept in view.But God has strewn along the wayBright flowers of every hue.Gather the brightest while you may,For they were meant for you.Heaven's joy transcends the joys of earth,But if earth's joys be pureThey must have had a heavenly birth,And bless while they endure;So pluck the flower before it fades—Drink from the purling stream;Nor look for sorrow's darkening shades,But for the morning gleam.Life's burdens lose full half their weightIf gay our spirits be;The rest beyond we antedate,And serve, though ever free.Our lamentations all will end,Exchanged for smile and song,And men will mark our upward trendBy joy-points all along.The poet wrote, "no room for mirth;"Much less for sigh and frown."A vale of tears" may be this earth—'Tis so to every clown.The desert blossoms as the rose,And joy flows everywhere;The star of hope in brightness glows,No room for dark despair.Before we reach God's heaven above,Enjoy His heaven below;And by the ministries of loveA Christlike nature show;For he who lives a selfish lifeMust lose the joy of this;For highest good, vain is our strife,If man share not our bliss.

'Tis well to have a goal in mind,

A life-aim, high and true;

Clear as the day, and well defined,

And ever kept in view.

But God has strewn along the way

Bright flowers of every hue.

Gather the brightest while you may,

For they were meant for you.

Heaven's joy transcends the joys of earth,But if earth's joys be pureThey must have had a heavenly birth,And bless while they endure;So pluck the flower before it fades—Drink from the purling stream;Nor look for sorrow's darkening shades,But for the morning gleam.

Heaven's joy transcends the joys of earth,

But if earth's joys be pure

They must have had a heavenly birth,

And bless while they endure;

So pluck the flower before it fades—

Drink from the purling stream;

Nor look for sorrow's darkening shades,

But for the morning gleam.

Life's burdens lose full half their weightIf gay our spirits be;The rest beyond we antedate,And serve, though ever free.Our lamentations all will end,Exchanged for smile and song,And men will mark our upward trendBy joy-points all along.

Life's burdens lose full half their weight

If gay our spirits be;

The rest beyond we antedate,

And serve, though ever free.

Our lamentations all will end,

Exchanged for smile and song,

And men will mark our upward trend

By joy-points all along.

The poet wrote, "no room for mirth;"Much less for sigh and frown."A vale of tears" may be this earth—'Tis so to every clown.The desert blossoms as the rose,And joy flows everywhere;The star of hope in brightness glows,No room for dark despair.

The poet wrote, "no room for mirth;"

Much less for sigh and frown.

"A vale of tears" may be this earth—

'Tis so to every clown.

The desert blossoms as the rose,

And joy flows everywhere;

The star of hope in brightness glows,

No room for dark despair.

Before we reach God's heaven above,Enjoy His heaven below;And by the ministries of loveA Christlike nature show;For he who lives a selfish lifeMust lose the joy of this;For highest good, vain is our strife,If man share not our bliss.

Before we reach God's heaven above,

Enjoy His heaven below;

And by the ministries of love

A Christlike nature show;

For he who lives a selfish life

Must lose the joy of this;

For highest good, vain is our strife,

If man share not our bliss.

HIDE THEIR SCARS!

A painter, high in worldy fame,Was sought to reproduce by artA likeness of the man whose nameSent darts of anguish through the heartOf mighty monarchs in his day;For he by arms subdued the world.Kingdoms and empires owned his swayAnd bowed beneath his flag unfurled.But Alexander bore a scar,Deep marked upon his royal brow;To paint him thus would greatly marThe monarch's beauty; as a sloughWould mar the beauty of a lawn,Where queenly feet are wont to tread;Or like the cloud at early dawn,Which hides some glory 'neath its spread.To leave it out would not be true,For Alexander bore the scar;The painter this resolved to do,Which would be true, yet would not mar:To paint the monarch's head reclined,With his fore-finger on his brow;And thus much grace with art combined,Like ornament on vessel's prow.The finger rested on the scar,As if mere chance had placed it there;And hid from sight this fruit of war,And left a likeness true and fair.So let us try, as best we can,To cover o'er each ugly scarUpon the brow of mortal man,So none may see it, near nor far.

A painter, high in worldy fame,

Was sought to reproduce by art

A likeness of the man whose name

Sent darts of anguish through the heart

Of mighty monarchs in his day;

For he by arms subdued the world.

Kingdoms and empires owned his sway

And bowed beneath his flag unfurled.

But Alexander bore a scar,Deep marked upon his royal brow;To paint him thus would greatly marThe monarch's beauty; as a sloughWould mar the beauty of a lawn,Where queenly feet are wont to tread;Or like the cloud at early dawn,Which hides some glory 'neath its spread.

But Alexander bore a scar,

Deep marked upon his royal brow;

To paint him thus would greatly mar

The monarch's beauty; as a slough

Would mar the beauty of a lawn,

Where queenly feet are wont to tread;

Or like the cloud at early dawn,

Which hides some glory 'neath its spread.

To leave it out would not be true,For Alexander bore the scar;The painter this resolved to do,Which would be true, yet would not mar:To paint the monarch's head reclined,With his fore-finger on his brow;And thus much grace with art combined,Like ornament on vessel's prow.

To leave it out would not be true,

For Alexander bore the scar;

The painter this resolved to do,

Which would be true, yet would not mar:

To paint the monarch's head reclined,

With his fore-finger on his brow;

And thus much grace with art combined,

Like ornament on vessel's prow.

The finger rested on the scar,As if mere chance had placed it there;And hid from sight this fruit of war,And left a likeness true and fair.So let us try, as best we can,To cover o'er each ugly scarUpon the brow of mortal man,So none may see it, near nor far.

The finger rested on the scar,

As if mere chance had placed it there;

And hid from sight this fruit of war,

And left a likeness true and fair.

So let us try, as best we can,

To cover o'er each ugly scar

Upon the brow of mortal man,

So none may see it, near nor far.

"ASHAMED, BUT NOT AFRAID"

O God, I am ashamed to die,But not the least afraid;Tho' death's dark shadow draweth nigh,Atonement has been madeFor every member of our race,And I on it rely,And hope immortal blooms thro' grace;I'm not afraid to die.But Thou hast done great things for me,And I have nothing done.To set my sin-bound spirit free,Was sacrificed Thy Son;And every day by Thy kind handRich blessings are bestowed;Oh, how can I before Thee stand,Or rest in Thine abodeWith self-respect, or feel at homeWith no returns to show,My whole life like the worthless foamOn time's incessant flow.Oh, that in life's great harvest field,I may some reaping do;Early and late the sickle wield,And prove a reaper true.And when the summons comes from Thee,While I on Christ rely,Thou wilt not be ashamed of me,Nor I ashamed to die.

O God, I am ashamed to die,But not the least afraid;Tho' death's dark shadow draweth nigh,Atonement has been made

O God, I am ashamed to die,

But not the least afraid;

Tho' death's dark shadow draweth nigh,

Atonement has been made

For every member of our race,And I on it rely,And hope immortal blooms thro' grace;I'm not afraid to die.

For every member of our race,

And I on it rely,

And hope immortal blooms thro' grace;

I'm not afraid to die.

But Thou hast done great things for me,And I have nothing done.To set my sin-bound spirit free,Was sacrificed Thy Son;

But Thou hast done great things for me,

And I have nothing done.

To set my sin-bound spirit free,

Was sacrificed Thy Son;

And every day by Thy kind handRich blessings are bestowed;Oh, how can I before Thee stand,Or rest in Thine abode

And every day by Thy kind hand

Rich blessings are bestowed;

Oh, how can I before Thee stand,

Or rest in Thine abode

With self-respect, or feel at homeWith no returns to show,My whole life like the worthless foamOn time's incessant flow.

With self-respect, or feel at home

With no returns to show,

My whole life like the worthless foam

On time's incessant flow.

Oh, that in life's great harvest field,I may some reaping do;Early and late the sickle wield,And prove a reaper true.

Oh, that in life's great harvest field,

I may some reaping do;

Early and late the sickle wield,

And prove a reaper true.

And when the summons comes from Thee,While I on Christ rely,Thou wilt not be ashamed of me,Nor I ashamed to die.

And when the summons comes from Thee,

While I on Christ rely,

Thou wilt not be ashamed of me,

Nor I ashamed to die.

DUNBAR

Up to Dunbar our Cromwell went,Not to invade was his intent;But they who first King Charles soldNow turn their backs on friends of old,And principles they then held dearWere sacrificed for self, I fear.Another Stuart they receive,Who knew too well how to deceive;The most perfidious of his race,Corrupt in life, and void of grace,The menial of the Papacy;And yet content by oath to freeHimself from Holy See's control,And covenant to save his soulBy the Scotch Presbyterian mode,As to the crown this paved the road.But Cromwell brooked not this control;He wished man free to save his soulAs conscience may to him dictate,Without subservience to the State.He saw also thro' the disguiseOf one well versed in fraud and lies,And saw how England's libertiesWere threatened by this scheme of his.So up to Dunbar Cromwell went;To break this compact his intent,Conserve the rights of Britons trueTo worship God in desk and pewAs conscience may to them dictate,Without control of king, or state,Or Papal "bull," or legate's rod—Only accountable to God.On Sunday night he reached Dunbar.From darkened sky gleamed not a star;The way he travelled o'er was drear,Made doubly so by Scotchmen's fear.At his approach like sheep they fled,Made frantic by an awful dreadOf red-hot irons, spear, and sword,Of breasts thrust thro', and bodies gored,Which they were told would be their lotWhen Cromwell came. So from each cotThey bore away what pleased them best,And to the flames consigned the rest.But now Dunbar is reached; yet heFinds himself in extremity;Midst swamps and bogs unfit to tent,By Lammermoor from hillside rent,Leslie in front defiant standsA noble army he commandsOf thousands two score seven, or more,Ready on Cromwell shot to pour.Behind the sea cut off retreat;With such great odds can he compete?The mountain sheep may safely treadThe Lammermoor, but men may dreadTo cross this heath at any time;Much more now, midst the rain and slime,Will Cromwell with the smaller scoreDare to cross o'er to Dunbar shore?Tho' shipped were half his guns and menThe foe falls ere he turn again.With foresight keen, like one inspired,He saw the end ere Leslie fired."The Lord," said he, as rapt he stands,"Hath given them into our hands!"'Tis the ninth month and second day,A wild, wet night, historians say.Quit you like men, and bravely stand;Death's wrestle now is close at hand;Heed not the hoarse sea's doleful moan,As on the cliffs its waves are thrown.Think not of life nor kindred dear—Who goes to war should nothing fearBut God, whose eye-lids never sleep—His Israel He will safely keep.Oh, pray! but keep your powder dry—Your part do, then on God rely.Stand to your arms the whole night thro'Or lie awake with arms in view.And you, ye Scots, your lights blow out,But stay not in your strong redoubt.'Midst shocks of corn your shelter seek,And rest in sleep; your foe is weak,Yet ere another night comes 'roundIn deeper slumber shall be foundFull many of your stalwart host,And stilled for aye their every boast.In Cromwell's camp all night was heardThe voice of prayer in tones which stirredThe tender hearts of "Ironside" men,As never can be told by pen.Ere shone the first faint streak of morn,The Scots beneath the shocks of corn,Stretched out full length in quiet sleep,Hear a loud blast, and upward leapTo seize their arms and face the foe.Too late the warning! or, too slowTheir movements when the trump was heard,Yet rang along the lines the wordOf battle-cry by Leslie sent,"The Covenant! The Covenant!"While high and strong was Cromwell's boast,"The Lord of Hosts! The Lord of Hosts!"With master skill he struck the blow,And when shone out the crimson glowOf morning sun upon the sea,Brave Leslie's men began to flee."They run! Oh, I protest they run!Let God arise! Let God arise!And scattered be His enemies!"Loud Cromwell cried.The work was done.Then rose from England's host a cryWhich rent the very heavens on high.Now halt they on the battle fieldAnd to the Lord their homage yield—And sing this song with hearts devout:"O praise the Lord, ye nations all!Laud Him all peoples on this ball!His mercy toward us e'er is great;His truth and grace for sinners wait,Let all the people shout!"

Up to Dunbar our Cromwell went,

Not to invade was his intent;

But they who first King Charles sold

Now turn their backs on friends of old,

And principles they then held dear

Were sacrificed for self, I fear.

Another Stuart they receive,

Who knew too well how to deceive;

The most perfidious of his race,

Corrupt in life, and void of grace,

The menial of the Papacy;

And yet content by oath to free

Himself from Holy See's control,

And covenant to save his soul

By the Scotch Presbyterian mode,

As to the crown this paved the road.

But Cromwell brooked not this control;

He wished man free to save his soul

As conscience may to him dictate,

Without subservience to the State.

He saw also thro' the disguise

Of one well versed in fraud and lies,

And saw how England's liberties

Were threatened by this scheme of his.

So up to Dunbar Cromwell went;

To break this compact his intent,

Conserve the rights of Britons true

To worship God in desk and pew

As conscience may to them dictate,

Without control of king, or state,

Or Papal "bull," or legate's rod—

Only accountable to God.

On Sunday night he reached Dunbar.

From darkened sky gleamed not a star;

The way he travelled o'er was drear,

Made doubly so by Scotchmen's fear.

At his approach like sheep they fled,

Made frantic by an awful dread

Of red-hot irons, spear, and sword,

Of breasts thrust thro', and bodies gored,

Which they were told would be their lot

When Cromwell came. So from each cot

They bore away what pleased them best,

And to the flames consigned the rest.

But now Dunbar is reached; yet he

Finds himself in extremity;

Midst swamps and bogs unfit to tent,

By Lammermoor from hillside rent,

Leslie in front defiant stands

A noble army he commands

Of thousands two score seven, or more,

Ready on Cromwell shot to pour.

Behind the sea cut off retreat;

With such great odds can he compete?

The mountain sheep may safely tread

The Lammermoor, but men may dread

To cross this heath at any time;

Much more now, midst the rain and slime,

Will Cromwell with the smaller score

Dare to cross o'er to Dunbar shore?

Tho' shipped were half his guns and men

The foe falls ere he turn again.

With foresight keen, like one inspired,

He saw the end ere Leslie fired.

"The Lord," said he, as rapt he stands,

"Hath given them into our hands!"

'Tis the ninth month and second day,

A wild, wet night, historians say.

Quit you like men, and bravely stand;

Death's wrestle now is close at hand;

Heed not the hoarse sea's doleful moan,

As on the cliffs its waves are thrown.

Think not of life nor kindred dear—

Who goes to war should nothing fear

But God, whose eye-lids never sleep—

His Israel He will safely keep.

Oh, pray! but keep your powder dry—

Your part do, then on God rely.

Stand to your arms the whole night thro'

Or lie awake with arms in view.

And you, ye Scots, your lights blow out,

But stay not in your strong redoubt.

'Midst shocks of corn your shelter seek,

And rest in sleep; your foe is weak,

Yet ere another night comes 'round

In deeper slumber shall be found

Full many of your stalwart host,

And stilled for aye their every boast.

In Cromwell's camp all night was heard

The voice of prayer in tones which stirred

The tender hearts of "Ironside" men,

As never can be told by pen.

Ere shone the first faint streak of morn,

The Scots beneath the shocks of corn,

Stretched out full length in quiet sleep,

Hear a loud blast, and upward leap

To seize their arms and face the foe.

Too late the warning! or, too slow

Their movements when the trump was heard,

Yet rang along the lines the word

Of battle-cry by Leslie sent,

"The Covenant! The Covenant!"

While high and strong was Cromwell's boast,

"The Lord of Hosts! The Lord of Hosts!"

With master skill he struck the blow,

And when shone out the crimson glow

Of morning sun upon the sea,

Brave Leslie's men began to flee.

"They run! Oh, I protest they run!

Let God arise! Let God arise!

And scattered be His enemies!"

Loud Cromwell cried.The work was done.

Then rose from England's host a cry

Which rent the very heavens on high.

Now halt they on the battle field

And to the Lord their homage yield—

And sing this song with hearts devout:

"O praise the Lord, ye nations all!

Laud Him all peoples on this ball!

His mercy toward us e'er is great;

His truth and grace for sinners wait,

Let all the people shout!"

MARSTON MOOR

The armies met on Marston Moor,'Midst lightning's flash and thunder's roar;As murky clouds sweep o'er the sky,God's cannonade with man's will vie.The Royalists in phalanx strong,By fiery Rupert led along,From Bolton's cruel massacreTowards York, in hope to keep it freeFrom the Roundheads at any cost."If York be lost, my crown is lost"—Wrote Charles to this trusted chief,And he must bring it prompt relief.The foe's true strength he did not know,But dazzled much by victory's glowHe hoped with ease to overthrowThe untrained volunteers;Nor did he for brave Cromwell care,Tho' he had asked "is Cromwell there?"Would not his grenadiersScatter those yeomen to their fields,To hold their ploughs instead of shields?Thus confident of great successHe asked his chaplain now to blessFrom God's own word their going out,And seemed to hear the victor's shout,While from the ranks of Roundheads roseTriumphant hymns, ere came the blows.Now Rupert madly dashes out,"God and the King!" his battle shout;Charges the parliamentary ranksIn centre, heedless of the flanks,Defeats Lord Fairfax and Leven,Scatters like leaves their untrained men.Remorselessly he hewed them down,And chased their leaders far from town.But Cromwell kept his men restrainedTill Rupert thought the victory gained.His eye was all ablaze with fire,And burned his soul with righteous ire;Then sharp and passionate came the cry,"Charge, in the name of the Most High!"His features now most clearly showA strange, enthusiastic glow.With zeal he wraps himself about,And fires men's hearts with glance and shout."For God and king," is Rupert's cry."For truth and peace we dare to die!"Shouts Cromwell, all the lines along,Which holds as with a mighty thongTh' immortal hosts of Puritans,While on them fall the Royal bans.As Roundheads, Rupert them derides;Not Roundheads now, butIronsides.The heavens were black, the storm still raged,As tho' with earth a war it waged,But raged a fiercer war just then,Not forces blind, but men with men;For two score thousand men were there;And booming cannon rent the air.* * *The Cavaliers were scattered wide,Brought to the dust their haughty pride;Across the beanfield Rupert fled,His standard gone, his garments red;His men by many hundreds turnedTo ask for mercy, nor were spurned;While he left all and to York sped,Heedless of stores, or Royal dead.To Cromwell's swords as stubble they,AndTruth and Peacehad gained the day.

The armies met on Marston Moor,

'Midst lightning's flash and thunder's roar;

As murky clouds sweep o'er the sky,

God's cannonade with man's will vie.

The Royalists in phalanx strong,

By fiery Rupert led along,

From Bolton's cruel massacre

Towards York, in hope to keep it free

From the Roundheads at any cost.

"If York be lost, my crown is lost"—

Wrote Charles to this trusted chief,

And he must bring it prompt relief.

The foe's true strength he did not know,

But dazzled much by victory's glow

He hoped with ease to overthrow

The untrained volunteers;

Nor did he for brave Cromwell care,

Tho' he had asked "is Cromwell there?"

Would not his grenadiers

Scatter those yeomen to their fields,

To hold their ploughs instead of shields?

Thus confident of great success

He asked his chaplain now to bless

From God's own word their going out,

And seemed to hear the victor's shout,

While from the ranks of Roundheads rose

Triumphant hymns, ere came the blows.

Now Rupert madly dashes out,

"God and the King!" his battle shout;

Charges the parliamentary ranks

In centre, heedless of the flanks,

Defeats Lord Fairfax and Leven,

Scatters like leaves their untrained men.

Remorselessly he hewed them down,

And chased their leaders far from town.

But Cromwell kept his men restrained

Till Rupert thought the victory gained.

His eye was all ablaze with fire,

And burned his soul with righteous ire;

Then sharp and passionate came the cry,

"Charge, in the name of the Most High!"

His features now most clearly show

A strange, enthusiastic glow.

With zeal he wraps himself about,

And fires men's hearts with glance and shout.

"For God and king," is Rupert's cry.

"For truth and peace we dare to die!"

Shouts Cromwell, all the lines along,

Which holds as with a mighty thong

Th' immortal hosts of Puritans,

While on them fall the Royal bans.

As Roundheads, Rupert them derides;

Not Roundheads now, butIronsides.

The heavens were black, the storm still raged,

As tho' with earth a war it waged,

But raged a fiercer war just then,

Not forces blind, but men with men;

For two score thousand men were there;

And booming cannon rent the air.

* * *

The Cavaliers were scattered wide,Brought to the dust their haughty pride;Across the beanfield Rupert fled,His standard gone, his garments red;His men by many hundreds turnedTo ask for mercy, nor were spurned;While he left all and to York sped,Heedless of stores, or Royal dead.To Cromwell's swords as stubble they,AndTruth and Peacehad gained the day.

The Cavaliers were scattered wide,

Brought to the dust their haughty pride;

Across the beanfield Rupert fled,

His standard gone, his garments red;

His men by many hundreds turned

To ask for mercy, nor were spurned;

While he left all and to York sped,

Heedless of stores, or Royal dead.

To Cromwell's swords as stubble they,

AndTruth and Peacehad gained the day.

OIL THE CRICKET

"Mamma, what noises do I hear?They keep me wide awake.""The chirping crickets, little dear;What funny noise they make!""Yes, ma, but touch their tongues with oil,To take the squeak away;For soon it will their voices spoil,To squeak thus night and day."Well done, my little girl of three;'Twould tune our speaking gearTo utter sweeter melodyFor your attentive ear,If it were oiled a little, too,For harsh too oft its tones;Though formed to thrill with pleasure true,It gives forth shrieks and groans,Which fall discordant on the ear,And budding pleasures spoil,And speaking gear, likewise I fear;So bring along the oil.

"Mamma, what noises do I hear?They keep me wide awake.""The chirping crickets, little dear;What funny noise they make!"

"Mamma, what noises do I hear?

They keep me wide awake."

"The chirping crickets, little dear;

What funny noise they make!"

"Yes, ma, but touch their tongues with oil,To take the squeak away;For soon it will their voices spoil,To squeak thus night and day."

"Yes, ma, but touch their tongues with oil,

To take the squeak away;

For soon it will their voices spoil,

To squeak thus night and day."

Well done, my little girl of three;'Twould tune our speaking gearTo utter sweeter melodyFor your attentive ear,

Well done, my little girl of three;

'Twould tune our speaking gear

To utter sweeter melody

For your attentive ear,

If it were oiled a little, too,For harsh too oft its tones;Though formed to thrill with pleasure true,It gives forth shrieks and groans,

If it were oiled a little, too,

For harsh too oft its tones;

Though formed to thrill with pleasure true,

It gives forth shrieks and groans,

Which fall discordant on the ear,And budding pleasures spoil,And speaking gear, likewise I fear;So bring along the oil.

Which fall discordant on the ear,

And budding pleasures spoil,

And speaking gear, likewise I fear;

So bring along the oil.

THE REAL

The leaf is faded, and decayed the flower,The birds have ceased to sing in wayside bower,The babbling brook is silenced by the cold,And hill and vale the frost and snow enfold.The life we see seems hasting to the tombNor sun, nor star, relieves the dismal gloom;The good man suffers with the base and vile,And honesty and truth give place to guile.* * *Things are not always as they seem to be;The outer surface only man may see.The summer sleeps beneath the quilt of snow,Behind the clouds is hid the solar glow,The babbling brook will burst its icy bands,And birds will sing, and trees will clap their hands.The fallen leaf has left a bud behind,And flowers will bloom of brightest hue and kind;For when we look beneath the outward crustWith vision clear, and free from worldly lust,We will behold a brighter world than this,With less of curse and much of noble bliss;For God's kind hand in all our conflicts hereIs clearly seen and doubts must disappear;The end He has in view is most benign;The fire will dross consume and gold refine.

The leaf is faded, and decayed the flower,

The birds have ceased to sing in wayside bower,

The babbling brook is silenced by the cold,

And hill and vale the frost and snow enfold.

The life we see seems hasting to the tomb

Nor sun, nor star, relieves the dismal gloom;

The good man suffers with the base and vile,

And honesty and truth give place to guile.

* * *

Things are not always as they seem to be;The outer surface only man may see.The summer sleeps beneath the quilt of snow,Behind the clouds is hid the solar glow,The babbling brook will burst its icy bands,And birds will sing, and trees will clap their hands.The fallen leaf has left a bud behind,And flowers will bloom of brightest hue and kind;For when we look beneath the outward crustWith vision clear, and free from worldly lust,We will behold a brighter world than this,With less of curse and much of noble bliss;For God's kind hand in all our conflicts hereIs clearly seen and doubts must disappear;The end He has in view is most benign;The fire will dross consume and gold refine.

Things are not always as they seem to be;

The outer surface only man may see.

The summer sleeps beneath the quilt of snow,

Behind the clouds is hid the solar glow,

The babbling brook will burst its icy bands,

And birds will sing, and trees will clap their hands.

The fallen leaf has left a bud behind,

And flowers will bloom of brightest hue and kind;

For when we look beneath the outward crust

With vision clear, and free from worldly lust,

We will behold a brighter world than this,

With less of curse and much of noble bliss;

For God's kind hand in all our conflicts here

Is clearly seen and doubts must disappear;

The end He has in view is most benign;

The fire will dross consume and gold refine.

VICTORY GAINED AND LIFE LOST

As fought the Paladins of old,With gleaming swords and spirit bold,To thwart the schemes of base Lothar,Give France to Karl in holy war,So would we battle for the right,Tho' we may perish in the fight.Our trusty blade, not made of steel,While wounding deep, doth also heal;With this, and clad in Christian mail,The hosts of sin we would assail,To gain the world for Christ, tho' weShould fall while shouting victory!

As fought the Paladins of old,

With gleaming swords and spirit bold,

To thwart the schemes of base Lothar,

Give France to Karl in holy war,

So would we battle for the right,

Tho' we may perish in the fight.

Our trusty blade, not made of steel,While wounding deep, doth also heal;With this, and clad in Christian mail,The hosts of sin we would assail,To gain the world for Christ, tho' weShould fall while shouting victory!

Our trusty blade, not made of steel,

While wounding deep, doth also heal;

With this, and clad in Christian mail,

The hosts of sin we would assail,

To gain the world for Christ, tho' we

Should fall while shouting victory!

THE BAPTISM OF CLOVIS

Five hundred years have nearly passed awaySince that glad morn, when o'er fair Bethl'hem's plainA light resplendent as the glow of day,Shone down from heaven, and holy angels deignTo sing the sweetest song e'er heard by mortal ear,Which fills sad hearts with joy and drives away their fear.Clovis, of the brave Franks, the king, and sheen,Heard from Aurelian of a maid to wed,Matchless in feature, and of graceful mein—"Zenobia, of the Alps," Aurelian said,"The daughter of Chilperic, the Burgundian king,Clotilda is her name; fair maids her praises sing."She dwells among the Alps, in forest glade,And by the shore of its most famous lake;But fairer than that land is this fair maid;And brighter than its peaks at morn's awake;A Christian girl is she, whose heart God has renewed,And her fine, comely mind with grace and truth embued."Then Clovis, by Aurelian, sent a ringTo this fair damsel, whom he hoped to wed;She took the ring; and soon fair songsters singThe marriage hymn, as he to altar ledThis lovely Christian maid. They plight their nuptial vows;And the old priest invoked a blessing on their brows.Then on her head a coronet was placed,And she sat down by Clovis on his throne;And never was a throne so highly graced,Nor ever monarch felt less sad and lone;He found in her a bride, and counsellor, as well,And happy are the men who in her palace dwell.In tones of eloquence and words of power,The wond'rous story of the cross she told;Christ's lowly birth, pure life, and of the hourWhen He, to bring us to the heavenly fold,Bore on the cross our sins, and opened mercy's door,Then from the dead arose to reign for evermore.Soon on Tolbiac's bloody field the kingLed on his troops against a mighty foe;A foe too strong; for soon, though no weakling,Clovis retreats—his men returned no blow;But fled as timid sheep before a beast of prey;The conquering Alemanni will surely win the day."O king! cry on Clotilda's Christ for aid!"Shouted Aurelian, as the monarch fled;Then, on his helmet, Clovis his hand laid,And lifting it, these words the monarch said:"My gods have failed to help: O Christ, Clotilda's God,Grant me Thy mighty aid, and I will kiss Thy rod."On the French pennons triumph perches now;The foe is routed by Clotilda's God;And Clovis wished to have upon his browThe symbol of her faith; for 'neath the rodOf the eternal King he bows his regal will,And waits, with heart devout, Christ's purpose to fulfil.On Rheims now dawns a cloudless Christmas morn;And flags of silk and satin grace each tower;This is the day Clotilda's Christ was born,And to His cause a great triumphal hour,For see, on carpet stretched from church to palace door,A grand procession march, of two-score priests or more!Remigius had led the way, and then,Assisted by his priests, on monarch's brow,And on the brows of full six thousand men,As they before the holy altar bow;The water from the font he sprinkled down like rain,Thankful that his blest Lord so many hearts should gain.

Five hundred years have nearly passed away

Since that glad morn, when o'er fair Bethl'hem's plain

A light resplendent as the glow of day,

Shone down from heaven, and holy angels deign

To sing the sweetest song e'er heard by mortal ear,

Which fills sad hearts with joy and drives away their fear.

Clovis, of the brave Franks, the king, and sheen,Heard from Aurelian of a maid to wed,Matchless in feature, and of graceful mein—"Zenobia, of the Alps," Aurelian said,"The daughter of Chilperic, the Burgundian king,Clotilda is her name; fair maids her praises sing.

Clovis, of the brave Franks, the king, and sheen,

Heard from Aurelian of a maid to wed,

Matchless in feature, and of graceful mein—

"Zenobia, of the Alps," Aurelian said,

"The daughter of Chilperic, the Burgundian king,

Clotilda is her name; fair maids her praises sing.

"She dwells among the Alps, in forest glade,And by the shore of its most famous lake;But fairer than that land is this fair maid;And brighter than its peaks at morn's awake;A Christian girl is she, whose heart God has renewed,And her fine, comely mind with grace and truth embued."

"She dwells among the Alps, in forest glade,

And by the shore of its most famous lake;

But fairer than that land is this fair maid;

And brighter than its peaks at morn's awake;

A Christian girl is she, whose heart God has renewed,

And her fine, comely mind with grace and truth embued."

Then Clovis, by Aurelian, sent a ringTo this fair damsel, whom he hoped to wed;She took the ring; and soon fair songsters singThe marriage hymn, as he to altar ledThis lovely Christian maid. They plight their nuptial vows;And the old priest invoked a blessing on their brows.

Then Clovis, by Aurelian, sent a ring

To this fair damsel, whom he hoped to wed;

She took the ring; and soon fair songsters sing

The marriage hymn, as he to altar led

This lovely Christian maid. They plight their nuptial vows;

And the old priest invoked a blessing on their brows.

Then on her head a coronet was placed,And she sat down by Clovis on his throne;And never was a throne so highly graced,Nor ever monarch felt less sad and lone;He found in her a bride, and counsellor, as well,And happy are the men who in her palace dwell.

Then on her head a coronet was placed,

And she sat down by Clovis on his throne;

And never was a throne so highly graced,

Nor ever monarch felt less sad and lone;

He found in her a bride, and counsellor, as well,

And happy are the men who in her palace dwell.

In tones of eloquence and words of power,The wond'rous story of the cross she told;Christ's lowly birth, pure life, and of the hourWhen He, to bring us to the heavenly fold,Bore on the cross our sins, and opened mercy's door,Then from the dead arose to reign for evermore.

In tones of eloquence and words of power,

The wond'rous story of the cross she told;

Christ's lowly birth, pure life, and of the hour

When He, to bring us to the heavenly fold,

Bore on the cross our sins, and opened mercy's door,

Then from the dead arose to reign for evermore.

Soon on Tolbiac's bloody field the kingLed on his troops against a mighty foe;A foe too strong; for soon, though no weakling,Clovis retreats—his men returned no blow;But fled as timid sheep before a beast of prey;The conquering Alemanni will surely win the day.

Soon on Tolbiac's bloody field the king

Led on his troops against a mighty foe;

A foe too strong; for soon, though no weakling,

Clovis retreats—his men returned no blow;

But fled as timid sheep before a beast of prey;

The conquering Alemanni will surely win the day.

"O king! cry on Clotilda's Christ for aid!"Shouted Aurelian, as the monarch fled;Then, on his helmet, Clovis his hand laid,And lifting it, these words the monarch said:"My gods have failed to help: O Christ, Clotilda's God,Grant me Thy mighty aid, and I will kiss Thy rod."

"O king! cry on Clotilda's Christ for aid!"

Shouted Aurelian, as the monarch fled;

Then, on his helmet, Clovis his hand laid,

And lifting it, these words the monarch said:

"My gods have failed to help: O Christ, Clotilda's God,

Grant me Thy mighty aid, and I will kiss Thy rod."

On the French pennons triumph perches now;The foe is routed by Clotilda's God;And Clovis wished to have upon his browThe symbol of her faith; for 'neath the rodOf the eternal King he bows his regal will,And waits, with heart devout, Christ's purpose to fulfil.

On the French pennons triumph perches now;

The foe is routed by Clotilda's God;

And Clovis wished to have upon his brow

The symbol of her faith; for 'neath the rod

Of the eternal King he bows his regal will,

And waits, with heart devout, Christ's purpose to fulfil.

On Rheims now dawns a cloudless Christmas morn;And flags of silk and satin grace each tower;This is the day Clotilda's Christ was born,And to His cause a great triumphal hour,For see, on carpet stretched from church to palace door,A grand procession march, of two-score priests or more!

On Rheims now dawns a cloudless Christmas morn;

And flags of silk and satin grace each tower;

This is the day Clotilda's Christ was born,

And to His cause a great triumphal hour,

For see, on carpet stretched from church to palace door,

A grand procession march, of two-score priests or more!

Remigius had led the way, and then,Assisted by his priests, on monarch's brow,And on the brows of full six thousand men,As they before the holy altar bow;The water from the font he sprinkled down like rain,Thankful that his blest Lord so many hearts should gain.

Remigius had led the way, and then,

Assisted by his priests, on monarch's brow,

And on the brows of full six thousand men,

As they before the holy altar bow;

The water from the font he sprinkled down like rain,

Thankful that his blest Lord so many hearts should gain.

THE WATER LILY

This lovely lily, so pure and white,Seems covered o'er with celestial light;As if it grew on the "Tree of Life,"And not down here, in this world of strife;Too pure for earth it now seems to be;My queenly wife, it was meant for thee.Its wax-like petals with graceful bend,Drink in the sunbeams as they descend;And lade with fragrance the heated airAs it floats around us everywhere;And the world grows better by its advent,This lovely lily, so kindly sent.It rested once on its crystal bed;Neither wind, nor wave, occasioned dread;Admired by all as they passed it by,Though the contrast oft produced a sigh;In purer soil than affords this earthThis lovely lily must have had its birth.Dive down in search, where the root is found;In vain you look for the purer ground;The root is fixed in the foulest mud;And from it grows this pure lily bud;While speckled frogs, and the slimy eels,Around its roots find their daily meals.As lilies fair from the foul mud grow,So oft it is with good men below;In daily life they absorb the pure,And the adverse elements endure;And rise, through grace, to a higher sphere,Their hearts in heaven, and their root down here.Though foul the world where they have their growth,Unfit the soil, and the climate both,The blood of Christ does their stains remove;His power to keep they all daily prove;As lilies pure are these plants of grace,Though growing now in so foul a place.

This lovely lily, so pure and white,

Seems covered o'er with celestial light;

As if it grew on the "Tree of Life,"

And not down here, in this world of strife;

Too pure for earth it now seems to be;

My queenly wife, it was meant for thee.

Its wax-like petals with graceful bend,Drink in the sunbeams as they descend;And lade with fragrance the heated airAs it floats around us everywhere;And the world grows better by its advent,This lovely lily, so kindly sent.

Its wax-like petals with graceful bend,

Drink in the sunbeams as they descend;

And lade with fragrance the heated air

As it floats around us everywhere;

And the world grows better by its advent,

This lovely lily, so kindly sent.

It rested once on its crystal bed;Neither wind, nor wave, occasioned dread;Admired by all as they passed it by,Though the contrast oft produced a sigh;In purer soil than affords this earthThis lovely lily must have had its birth.

It rested once on its crystal bed;

Neither wind, nor wave, occasioned dread;

Admired by all as they passed it by,

Though the contrast oft produced a sigh;

In purer soil than affords this earth

This lovely lily must have had its birth.

Dive down in search, where the root is found;In vain you look for the purer ground;The root is fixed in the foulest mud;And from it grows this pure lily bud;While speckled frogs, and the slimy eels,Around its roots find their daily meals.

Dive down in search, where the root is found;

In vain you look for the purer ground;

The root is fixed in the foulest mud;

And from it grows this pure lily bud;

While speckled frogs, and the slimy eels,

Around its roots find their daily meals.

As lilies fair from the foul mud grow,So oft it is with good men below;In daily life they absorb the pure,And the adverse elements endure;And rise, through grace, to a higher sphere,Their hearts in heaven, and their root down here.

As lilies fair from the foul mud grow,

So oft it is with good men below;

In daily life they absorb the pure,

And the adverse elements endure;

And rise, through grace, to a higher sphere,

Their hearts in heaven, and their root down here.

Though foul the world where they have their growth,Unfit the soil, and the climate both,The blood of Christ does their stains remove;His power to keep they all daily prove;As lilies pure are these plants of grace,Though growing now in so foul a place.

Though foul the world where they have their growth,

Unfit the soil, and the climate both,

The blood of Christ does their stains remove;

His power to keep they all daily prove;

As lilies pure are these plants of grace,

Though growing now in so foul a place.

"HE SHALL WIPE AWAY EVERY TEAR"

Every tear that dims the eye,Or bedews the careworn cheek,Will our God, who reigns on high,With a hand so kind and meek,Wipe away, nor leave a traceOf its stain on eye or face.He alone life's ills can right.Each His tender pity needs;None are hidden from His sight;"Every tear," the promise reads—Every tear shall cease to flow,Cease, likewise, the cause of woe.O may I in Him confideWhile I tread this vale of tears!Walking closely by His sideHe will dissipate my fears,And when ends the weary strife,May I share the tearless life!

Every tear that dims the eye,Or bedews the careworn cheek,Will our God, who reigns on high,With a hand so kind and meek,Wipe away, nor leave a traceOf its stain on eye or face.

Every tear that dims the eye,

Or bedews the careworn cheek,

Will our God, who reigns on high,

With a hand so kind and meek,

Wipe away, nor leave a trace

Of its stain on eye or face.

He alone life's ills can right.Each His tender pity needs;None are hidden from His sight;"Every tear," the promise reads—Every tear shall cease to flow,Cease, likewise, the cause of woe.

He alone life's ills can right.

Each His tender pity needs;

None are hidden from His sight;

"Every tear," the promise reads—

Every tear shall cease to flow,

Cease, likewise, the cause of woe.

O may I in Him confideWhile I tread this vale of tears!Walking closely by His sideHe will dissipate my fears,And when ends the weary strife,May I share the tearless life!

O may I in Him confide

While I tread this vale of tears!

Walking closely by His side

He will dissipate my fears,

And when ends the weary strife,

May I share the tearless life!

THE TAJ OF AGRA

The Shah Jehan sat with his much-loved wife,The Empress Mahal, one hot summer day,In a cool arbor far from courtly strife,Close by the Jumna, winding on its way.In silence played they long their game of chess,But Jehan's eyes rose oft to Mahal's brow,His ardent love he could not well repress,Nor tried—she was his own rich jewel now.He stayed the game to breathe some words of loveAnd press her lips with lips that knew no guile,And felt the thrill, and peace like white-winged doveFlew down, and she repaid with loving smile.Then said, "What would you do if I should die?"He paused a moment, some bright thought to woo,And then, in solemn tone, made this reply:"This thing, by Allah's help, I'll surely do:"I'll build upon the spot where we now sitThe grandest tomb a woman ever had;All sombre tints I deem would be unfit;For never have such tints thy bosom clad."Of pure white marble shall its walls be built,Adorned with gold, and earth's most costly gems;Each minaret shall glow like jewelled hilt,Sarcophagus surpass kings' diadems."Then to the world it shall the truth proclaimThat Moomtaza surpassed all woman kind,And I esteemed her more than gold or fame:Thus cycles vast will find our names combined."The summer breeze now sighed among the flowersAs they play on with solemn thoughts; and sweetAs running brook passed by the pleasant hours,And likewise passed the burning summer heat.And like the fading day, the Empress, too,For scarce a year had passed ere set her sun,But Shah Jehan, to promise ever true,Thought of the tomb his loving wife had won.No common architect would he engage;From far and near he sought with eager heart.At last there came one Issa, gifted sage,Whose plan pleased the great shah in whole and part.On the same spot where they that day had playedThe game of chess, and he the promise gave,The massive stone foundation strong was laid,On which would rest a palace o'er her grave.Then Issa disappeared, but where, none knew;Cast in the Jumna stream, by foes, some thought.They dragged the stream, nor came the slightest clue,And on his fate the oracles were dumb.The years rolled by, yet Jehan rested not,Tho' hope, so long delayed, engendered gloom,Content to live himself in any cot;But no inferior hand must touch her tomb.Seven years had gone, when Issa came again,And offered this excuse for his delay,"The soil is spongy all along this glen—To have it settle I have stayed away."I now can build on base that will not sink,Though pierced the clouds which bend so kindly down,'Twere fit this long delay, dost thou not think?So chide me not nor on thy servant frown."Then on this base as firm as granite rock,He built its walls as fair as falling snow,And built them well, nor storm, nor earthquake shockHas moved, tho' built two hundred years ago.For ten long years wrought twenty thousand men,While many thousand carts the marble drew;And proud Jehan told o'er his love again;To love so Jacob-like the years seemed few.From every part of his domain they broughtRare gems and precious stones of every hue;Skilled hands, in form of birds and flowers inwroughtIn snow-white walls, these gems the building through,The name of God, one hundred times save one,On the sarcophagus, by cunning hand,Then lined with gold ere they pronounced it done;But then the grandest tomb in any land.By Titans built, it seems, as mountain highOf pure white marble, based on pink sandstone;In length it is a thousand feet well nigh,Its width three hundred feet by measure shown.It seems a temple of the livingOne,Though tomb to hide the dust of Jehan's queen.It serves each purpose well—her course was run,Returned to God, love must the dust ensheen.To many hearts it speaks of God and rest,And lifts our thoughts above the things of earth;It teaches us that love will give its best,And then regard its gifts of little worth.

The Shah Jehan sat with his much-loved wife,The Empress Mahal, one hot summer day,In a cool arbor far from courtly strife,Close by the Jumna, winding on its way.

The Shah Jehan sat with his much-loved wife,

The Empress Mahal, one hot summer day,

In a cool arbor far from courtly strife,

Close by the Jumna, winding on its way.

In silence played they long their game of chess,But Jehan's eyes rose oft to Mahal's brow,His ardent love he could not well repress,Nor tried—she was his own rich jewel now.

In silence played they long their game of chess,

But Jehan's eyes rose oft to Mahal's brow,

His ardent love he could not well repress,

Nor tried—she was his own rich jewel now.

He stayed the game to breathe some words of loveAnd press her lips with lips that knew no guile,And felt the thrill, and peace like white-winged doveFlew down, and she repaid with loving smile.

He stayed the game to breathe some words of love

And press her lips with lips that knew no guile,

And felt the thrill, and peace like white-winged dove

Flew down, and she repaid with loving smile.

Then said, "What would you do if I should die?"He paused a moment, some bright thought to woo,And then, in solemn tone, made this reply:"This thing, by Allah's help, I'll surely do:

Then said, "What would you do if I should die?"

He paused a moment, some bright thought to woo,

And then, in solemn tone, made this reply:

"This thing, by Allah's help, I'll surely do:

"I'll build upon the spot where we now sitThe grandest tomb a woman ever had;All sombre tints I deem would be unfit;For never have such tints thy bosom clad.

"I'll build upon the spot where we now sit

The grandest tomb a woman ever had;

All sombre tints I deem would be unfit;

For never have such tints thy bosom clad.

"Of pure white marble shall its walls be built,Adorned with gold, and earth's most costly gems;Each minaret shall glow like jewelled hilt,Sarcophagus surpass kings' diadems.

"Of pure white marble shall its walls be built,

Adorned with gold, and earth's most costly gems;

Each minaret shall glow like jewelled hilt,

Sarcophagus surpass kings' diadems.

"Then to the world it shall the truth proclaimThat Moomtaza surpassed all woman kind,And I esteemed her more than gold or fame:Thus cycles vast will find our names combined."

"Then to the world it shall the truth proclaim

That Moomtaza surpassed all woman kind,

And I esteemed her more than gold or fame:

Thus cycles vast will find our names combined."

The summer breeze now sighed among the flowersAs they play on with solemn thoughts; and sweetAs running brook passed by the pleasant hours,And likewise passed the burning summer heat.

The summer breeze now sighed among the flowers

As they play on with solemn thoughts; and sweet

As running brook passed by the pleasant hours,

And likewise passed the burning summer heat.

And like the fading day, the Empress, too,For scarce a year had passed ere set her sun,But Shah Jehan, to promise ever true,Thought of the tomb his loving wife had won.

And like the fading day, the Empress, too,

For scarce a year had passed ere set her sun,

But Shah Jehan, to promise ever true,

Thought of the tomb his loving wife had won.

No common architect would he engage;From far and near he sought with eager heart.At last there came one Issa, gifted sage,Whose plan pleased the great shah in whole and part.

No common architect would he engage;

From far and near he sought with eager heart.

At last there came one Issa, gifted sage,

Whose plan pleased the great shah in whole and part.

On the same spot where they that day had playedThe game of chess, and he the promise gave,The massive stone foundation strong was laid,On which would rest a palace o'er her grave.

On the same spot where they that day had played

The game of chess, and he the promise gave,

The massive stone foundation strong was laid,

On which would rest a palace o'er her grave.

Then Issa disappeared, but where, none knew;Cast in the Jumna stream, by foes, some thought.They dragged the stream, nor came the slightest clue,And on his fate the oracles were dumb.

Then Issa disappeared, but where, none knew;

Cast in the Jumna stream, by foes, some thought.

They dragged the stream, nor came the slightest clue,

And on his fate the oracles were dumb.

The years rolled by, yet Jehan rested not,Tho' hope, so long delayed, engendered gloom,Content to live himself in any cot;But no inferior hand must touch her tomb.

The years rolled by, yet Jehan rested not,

Tho' hope, so long delayed, engendered gloom,

Content to live himself in any cot;

But no inferior hand must touch her tomb.

Seven years had gone, when Issa came again,And offered this excuse for his delay,"The soil is spongy all along this glen—To have it settle I have stayed away.

Seven years had gone, when Issa came again,

And offered this excuse for his delay,

"The soil is spongy all along this glen—

To have it settle I have stayed away.

"I now can build on base that will not sink,Though pierced the clouds which bend so kindly down,'Twere fit this long delay, dost thou not think?So chide me not nor on thy servant frown."

"I now can build on base that will not sink,

Though pierced the clouds which bend so kindly down,

'Twere fit this long delay, dost thou not think?

So chide me not nor on thy servant frown."

Then on this base as firm as granite rock,He built its walls as fair as falling snow,And built them well, nor storm, nor earthquake shockHas moved, tho' built two hundred years ago.

Then on this base as firm as granite rock,

He built its walls as fair as falling snow,

And built them well, nor storm, nor earthquake shock

Has moved, tho' built two hundred years ago.

For ten long years wrought twenty thousand men,While many thousand carts the marble drew;And proud Jehan told o'er his love again;To love so Jacob-like the years seemed few.

For ten long years wrought twenty thousand men,

While many thousand carts the marble drew;

And proud Jehan told o'er his love again;

To love so Jacob-like the years seemed few.

From every part of his domain they broughtRare gems and precious stones of every hue;Skilled hands, in form of birds and flowers inwroughtIn snow-white walls, these gems the building through,

From every part of his domain they brought

Rare gems and precious stones of every hue;

Skilled hands, in form of birds and flowers inwrought

In snow-white walls, these gems the building through,

The name of God, one hundred times save one,On the sarcophagus, by cunning hand,Then lined with gold ere they pronounced it done;But then the grandest tomb in any land.

The name of God, one hundred times save one,

On the sarcophagus, by cunning hand,

Then lined with gold ere they pronounced it done;

But then the grandest tomb in any land.

By Titans built, it seems, as mountain highOf pure white marble, based on pink sandstone;In length it is a thousand feet well nigh,Its width three hundred feet by measure shown.

By Titans built, it seems, as mountain high

Of pure white marble, based on pink sandstone;

In length it is a thousand feet well nigh,

Its width three hundred feet by measure shown.

It seems a temple of the livingOne,Though tomb to hide the dust of Jehan's queen.It serves each purpose well—her course was run,Returned to God, love must the dust ensheen.

It seems a temple of the livingOne,

Though tomb to hide the dust of Jehan's queen.

It serves each purpose well—her course was run,

Returned to God, love must the dust ensheen.

To many hearts it speaks of God and rest,And lifts our thoughts above the things of earth;It teaches us that love will give its best,And then regard its gifts of little worth.

To many hearts it speaks of God and rest,

And lifts our thoughts above the things of earth;

It teaches us that love will give its best,

And then regard its gifts of little worth.

ENGLAND'S BRAVE SONS

The yeoman lays aside his soil-stained smock,And from his herd selects a trusty steed,And sallies forth to help in hour of need;Nor dreads the battle's shock.The artisan from mine, or shop, or store,Responds at duty's call without delay,Nor stops to ask, "What will my nation pay?"It calls—what needs he more?The man of law—the herald of the cross—The painter, skilled—he of the healing art—The man of trade—come each with loyal heart,Nor calculates his loss.But brave as these are those of noble birth;Genteel in manner, but with athlete frames,They do full honor to their ancient names,And prove by deeds their worth.Palatial homes have they and wealth untold;Nor need to labor, and no cause for fret,But deeds of noble sires they ne'er forget;Deem honor more than gold.Brave lads are these on whom we may rely.They go uncalled, content the gaps to fill,And in their places fall, if God so will,For they fear not to die.The whole Empire is loyal to the core.From far-off East, brave Indians seek the fray,And on French soil have clearly shown that theyWere true to flag they bore.Their old-time leader greets his men once more,Bestows his parting blessing ere his death,And praised their valor with his final breath,Then crossed toothershore.Our own brave youth by thousands answer call,And in our common cause enroll their names;With cultured minds and well-developed framesThey stand like granite wall.Fortruthandbrotherhoodall face the foe;Themselves they cannot save, but others may.But, live or die, they hope to win the day.To sacrifice they go!

The yeoman lays aside his soil-stained smock,And from his herd selects a trusty steed,And sallies forth to help in hour of need;Nor dreads the battle's shock.

The yeoman lays aside his soil-stained smock,

And from his herd selects a trusty steed,

And sallies forth to help in hour of need;

Nor dreads the battle's shock.

The artisan from mine, or shop, or store,Responds at duty's call without delay,Nor stops to ask, "What will my nation pay?"It calls—what needs he more?

The artisan from mine, or shop, or store,

Responds at duty's call without delay,

Nor stops to ask, "What will my nation pay?"

It calls—what needs he more?

The man of law—the herald of the cross—The painter, skilled—he of the healing art—The man of trade—come each with loyal heart,Nor calculates his loss.

The man of law—the herald of the cross—

The painter, skilled—he of the healing art—

The man of trade—come each with loyal heart,

Nor calculates his loss.

But brave as these are those of noble birth;Genteel in manner, but with athlete frames,They do full honor to their ancient names,And prove by deeds their worth.

But brave as these are those of noble birth;

Genteel in manner, but with athlete frames,

They do full honor to their ancient names,

And prove by deeds their worth.

Palatial homes have they and wealth untold;Nor need to labor, and no cause for fret,But deeds of noble sires they ne'er forget;Deem honor more than gold.

Palatial homes have they and wealth untold;

Nor need to labor, and no cause for fret,

But deeds of noble sires they ne'er forget;

Deem honor more than gold.

Brave lads are these on whom we may rely.They go uncalled, content the gaps to fill,And in their places fall, if God so will,For they fear not to die.

Brave lads are these on whom we may rely.

They go uncalled, content the gaps to fill,

And in their places fall, if God so will,

For they fear not to die.

The whole Empire is loyal to the core.From far-off East, brave Indians seek the fray,And on French soil have clearly shown that theyWere true to flag they bore.

The whole Empire is loyal to the core.

From far-off East, brave Indians seek the fray,

And on French soil have clearly shown that they

Were true to flag they bore.

Their old-time leader greets his men once more,Bestows his parting blessing ere his death,And praised their valor with his final breath,Then crossed toothershore.

Their old-time leader greets his men once more,

Bestows his parting blessing ere his death,

And praised their valor with his final breath,

Then crossed toothershore.

Our own brave youth by thousands answer call,And in our common cause enroll their names;With cultured minds and well-developed framesThey stand like granite wall.

Our own brave youth by thousands answer call,

And in our common cause enroll their names;

With cultured minds and well-developed frames

They stand like granite wall.

Fortruthandbrotherhoodall face the foe;Themselves they cannot save, but others may.But, live or die, they hope to win the day.To sacrifice they go!

Fortruthandbrotherhoodall face the foe;

Themselves they cannot save, but others may.

But, live or die, they hope to win the day.

To sacrifice they go!

QUEEN VICTORIA

A Prize Birthday Poem, 1885.

We do not sing of vast domain—Empires as vast as ours are seen,And o'er their millions despots reign;We sing the virtues of our Queen.We think of her when but a maidThe message came, "the King is dead!"And at her feet a crown was laid;In deep distress of mind, she said:"In my behalf I ask your prayers."Then falling on her knees to pray,She told the Lord her fears and cares,And sought from Him strength for her day.He seemed to say, "Child, do not fear;I will uphold thee with my hand,And I will make thy pathway clear,Thy throne establish in the land."'Twas thus began Victoria's reign,And God has made her throne secure;Her enemies will plot in vain,For it is destined to endure.But while she sits on regal throne,And acts full well a regal part,She reigns not on the throne alone,She reigns to-day in England's heart.Her queenly heart with pity throbsFor every suffering subject's woes;In lowly cot, 'midst groans and sobs,She like a ray of sunshine goes.As sweet perfume by outward galeIs carried far o'er sea and land,So queenly virtues never failTo touch true hearts on every strand.In every land, her name is blest;She is beloved by old and young;From pole to pole, from east to west,The song, "God save the Queen," is sung.Through sorrows deep her path has led,And tender ties have sundered been;Bright hopes were buried with her dead,And love has kept their memory green.By grief secluded from the world,Her path through lonely years she trod,And oft her life has been imperilled;But she has leaned upon her God.And as she wept a nation's tearsIn heartfelt sympathy were shed;Forgetting their own griefs and biers,They wept beside the royal dead.With grateful hearts her natal dayWe loyal Britons hail again,And join with millions as they pray"God bless our Queen! Long may she reign!"And when at last life's glories fade,And robes of state are laid aside,When nature's debt to dust is paidAnd charms no more earth's pomp and pride,May angel bands her spirit bearUp to the palace of her King,Where she a fadeless crown shall wear,And the new song with rapture sing.

We do not sing of vast domain—Empires as vast as ours are seen,And o'er their millions despots reign;We sing the virtues of our Queen.

We do not sing of vast domain—

Empires as vast as ours are seen,

And o'er their millions despots reign;

We sing the virtues of our Queen.

We think of her when but a maidThe message came, "the King is dead!"And at her feet a crown was laid;In deep distress of mind, she said:

We think of her when but a maid

The message came, "the King is dead!"

And at her feet a crown was laid;

In deep distress of mind, she said:

"In my behalf I ask your prayers."Then falling on her knees to pray,She told the Lord her fears and cares,And sought from Him strength for her day.

"In my behalf I ask your prayers."

Then falling on her knees to pray,

She told the Lord her fears and cares,

And sought from Him strength for her day.

He seemed to say, "Child, do not fear;I will uphold thee with my hand,And I will make thy pathway clear,Thy throne establish in the land."

He seemed to say, "Child, do not fear;

I will uphold thee with my hand,

And I will make thy pathway clear,

Thy throne establish in the land."

'Twas thus began Victoria's reign,And God has made her throne secure;Her enemies will plot in vain,For it is destined to endure.

'Twas thus began Victoria's reign,

And God has made her throne secure;

Her enemies will plot in vain,

For it is destined to endure.

But while she sits on regal throne,And acts full well a regal part,She reigns not on the throne alone,She reigns to-day in England's heart.

But while she sits on regal throne,

And acts full well a regal part,

She reigns not on the throne alone,

She reigns to-day in England's heart.

Her queenly heart with pity throbsFor every suffering subject's woes;In lowly cot, 'midst groans and sobs,She like a ray of sunshine goes.

Her queenly heart with pity throbs

For every suffering subject's woes;

In lowly cot, 'midst groans and sobs,

She like a ray of sunshine goes.

As sweet perfume by outward galeIs carried far o'er sea and land,So queenly virtues never failTo touch true hearts on every strand.

As sweet perfume by outward gale

Is carried far o'er sea and land,

So queenly virtues never fail

To touch true hearts on every strand.

In every land, her name is blest;She is beloved by old and young;From pole to pole, from east to west,The song, "God save the Queen," is sung.

In every land, her name is blest;

She is beloved by old and young;

From pole to pole, from east to west,

The song, "God save the Queen," is sung.

Through sorrows deep her path has led,And tender ties have sundered been;Bright hopes were buried with her dead,And love has kept their memory green.

Through sorrows deep her path has led,

And tender ties have sundered been;

Bright hopes were buried with her dead,

And love has kept their memory green.

By grief secluded from the world,Her path through lonely years she trod,And oft her life has been imperilled;But she has leaned upon her God.

By grief secluded from the world,

Her path through lonely years she trod,

And oft her life has been imperilled;

But she has leaned upon her God.

And as she wept a nation's tearsIn heartfelt sympathy were shed;Forgetting their own griefs and biers,They wept beside the royal dead.

And as she wept a nation's tears

In heartfelt sympathy were shed;

Forgetting their own griefs and biers,

They wept beside the royal dead.

With grateful hearts her natal dayWe loyal Britons hail again,And join with millions as they pray"God bless our Queen! Long may she reign!"

With grateful hearts her natal day

We loyal Britons hail again,

And join with millions as they pray

"God bless our Queen! Long may she reign!"

And when at last life's glories fade,And robes of state are laid aside,When nature's debt to dust is paidAnd charms no more earth's pomp and pride,

And when at last life's glories fade,

And robes of state are laid aside,

When nature's debt to dust is paid

And charms no more earth's pomp and pride,

May angel bands her spirit bearUp to the palace of her King,Where she a fadeless crown shall wear,And the new song with rapture sing.

May angel bands her spirit bear

Up to the palace of her King,

Where she a fadeless crown shall wear,

And the new song with rapture sing.

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