Night is the time to pray;
Our Saviour oft withdrew
To desert mountains far away,
So will his followers do;
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod,
And hold communion there with God.
Night is the time for death;
When all around is peace
Calmly to yield the weary breath,
From sin and suffering cease;
Think of heaven's bliss-and give the sign
To parting friends; such death be mine.
Go, let me weep! there's bliss in tears,
When he who sheds them inly feels
Some lingering stain of early years,
Effaced by every drop that steals.
The fruitless show'rs of worldly woe
Fall dark to earth and never rise;
While tears that from repentance flow,
In bright exhalement reach the skies.
Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew
More idly than the summer's wind,
And, while they pass'd, a fragrance threw,
But left no trace of sweets behind.
The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves,
Is cold, is faint, to those that swell
The heart where pure repentance grieves
O'er hours of pleasure loved too well!
How dear to me the hour when twilight dies,
And sunbeams melt along the silent sea!
For then sweet dreams of other days arise,
And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee.
And, as I watch the line of light that plays
Along the smooth wave toward the burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays,
And think 't would lead to some bright isle of rest..
How calm, how beautiful comes on
The stilly hour, when storms are gone;
When warring winds have died away,
And clouds beneath the glancing ray,
Melt off, and leave the land and sea
Sleeping in bright tranquillity,-
Fresh as if Day again were born,
Again upon the lap of Morn!
When the light blossoms, rudely torn
And scattered at the whirlwind,s will,
Hang floating in the pure air still;
Filling it all with precious balm,
In gratitude for this sweet calm ;-
And every drop the thunder-show'rs,
Have left upon the grass and flow'rs,
Sparkles, as 't were that lightning-gem,
Whose liquid flame is born of them!
When 'stead of one unchanging breeze,
There blow a thousand gentle airs,
And each a different perfume bears,-
As if the loveliest plants and trees
Had vassal breezes of their own
To watch and wait on them alone,
And waft no other breath than theirs!
Blest pow'r of sunshine! genial Day!
What balm, what life is in thy ray!
VAIN was the man, and false as vain,
Who said, were he ordain'd to run
His long career of life again,
He would do all that he had done."
Ah, 'tis not thus the voice that dwells
In sober birthdays, speaks to me;
Far otherwise-of time it tells,
Lavished, unwisely, carelessly;
Of counsel mock'd, of talents made,
Haply, for high and pure designs;
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines.
All this it tells, and, could I trace
Th' imperfect picture o'er again,
With power to add, retouch, efface,
The lights and shades, the joy and pain, How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all would melt awayAll but that freedom of the mind,
Which hath been more than wealth to me;
Those friendships in my boyhood twined,
And kept till now unchangingly:
And that dear home, that saving ark,
Where love's true light at last I've found,
Cheering within, when all grows dark,
And comfortless, and stormy round.
RULE BRITANNIA.
BY THOMSON.
WHEN Britain first at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main,
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang this strain:
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves,
Britons never will be slaves!"
The nations not so blest as thee,
Must in their turns to tyrants fall;
While thou shalt flourish, great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies, Serves but to root thy native oak.
The haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous flame-
But work their woe and thy renown.
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main; And every shore it circles thine.
The Muses still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blest isle! with matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair:
“Rule, Britannia, rule the waves,
Britons never will be slaves!"
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
BY CAMPBELL.
YE mariners of England!
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!-
For the deck, it was their field of fame
And Ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long
And the stormy winds do blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
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