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And Brunskill's is a living name
Remembered to this day."

"More pleasure," I returned, "shall I

From this time forth partake, When I remember Helbeck woods,

For old John Brunskill's sake.

"He knew how wholesome it would be

Among these wild wide fells, And upland vales, to catch at time

The sound of Christian bells;

"What feelings, and what impulses

That cadence might convey
To herdsman, or to shepherd boy,
Whiling in indolent employ

The solitary day;

"That when his brethren were convened

To meet for social prayer,
He too, admonished by the call,

In spirit might be there.

"Or when a glad thanksgiving sound,

Upon the winds of heaven, Was sent to speak a nation's joy,

For some great blessing given,—

"For victory by sea or land,

And happy peace at length,— Peace by h?s country's valor won,

And 'stablished by her strength.

"When such exultant peals were borne

Upon the mountain air, The sound should stir his blood, and give

An English impulse there."

Such thoughts were in the old man's mind,
When he that eve looked down

From Stanemore's side, on Borrodaile,
And on the distant town.

And had I store of wealth, methinks,

Another herd of kine,
John Brunskill, I would freely give,

That they may crune with thine.

R. Southey




T7 THEREAL race, inhabitants of air,
t- Who hymn your God amid the secret grove,
Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair,
And raise majestic strains, or melt in love.

Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid!
With what soft woe they thrill the listener's heart!
Sure from the hand of some unhappy maid,
Who died in youth, these sweet complainings part.

But hark! that strain was of a graver tone,

On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws;

Or he the sacred Bard who sat alone

In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes.

Such was the song which Zion's children sung,
When by Euphrates' stream they made their plaint;
And to such sadly solemn tones are strung
Angelic harps, to soothe a dying saint.

Methinks I hear the full celestial choir
Thro' heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise;
Now chanting clear, and now they all conspire
To swell the lofty hymn from praise to praise.

Let me, ye wand'ring spirits of the wind,
Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the string,
Smit with your theme, be in your chorus joined,
For till you cease my muse forgets to sing.

J. Thomson



GOD is love; the heavens tell it
Through their glorious orbs of light,
In that glad and golden language
Speaking to us day and night,

Their great story,
God is love, and God is light .

And the teeming earth rejoices
In that message from above,

With ten thousand thousand voices
Telling back, from hill and grove,

Her glad story,
God is might, and God is love.

Through these anthems of creation,
Struggling up with gentle strife,

Christian songs of Christ's salvation
To the world, with blessings rife,
Tell their story,

God is love, and God is life.

Up to Him let each affection

Duly rise, and round Him move;
Our whole lives one resurrection
To the life of life above;

Our glad story,
God is life, and God is love.



ALL things bright and beautiful,
All creatures, great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,

He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings;

The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,

God made them, high or lowly,
And ordered their estate.

The purple-headed mountain,

The river running by,
The sunset, and the morning

That brightens up the sky;

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,

The ripe fruits in the garden,—
He made them every one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,

The rushes by the water
We gather every day; —

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