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When musing sorrow weeps the past,
And mourns the present pain ; How sweet to think of peace at last,
And feel that death is gain !
'Tis not that murm’ring thoughts arise,
And dread a father's will ; 'Tis not that meek submission flies,
And would not suffer still.
It is that heaven-taught faith surveys,
The path to realms of light; And longs her eagle plumes to raise,
And lose herself in sight.
It is that hope with ardour glows,
So see Him face to face, Whose dying love no language knows
Sufficient art to trace.
It is that harassed conscience feels
The pangs of struggling sin;
And ends her war within.
Oh! let me wing my hallowed flight
From earth-born woe and care ;
My Saviour's bliss to share.
LANDING OF THE BRITISH ARMY
The shout grew loud.
And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, And the wild beach returned the seaman's jovial cheer.
It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight!
And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb,
A various host they came-whose ranks display
Nor the feet ordnance whirled by rapid steed,
A various host-from kindred realms they came,
of azure, and their locks of brown, And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, And freeborn thoughts, which league the soldier with the
And oh! loved warriors of the minstrel's land !
your bonnets nod, your tartans wave!
And level for the charge your arms are laid, Where lives the desperate foe, that for such onset staid ?
Hark! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings,
And he, yon chieftain-strike the proudest tone
Sir W, Scott.
THE FLIGHT OF FAITH.
The dove let loose in eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,
Where idle warblers roam.
But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
So grant me, God, from earthly care,
From pride and passion free,
To hold my course to thee.
No lure to tempt, no art to stay
My soul, as home she springs ; Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom on her wings.