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Page 149 - OF Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line : It was ten of April morn by the chime : As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death; And the boldest...
Page 150 - Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC...
Page 150 - Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry...
Page 261 - For Him shall prayer unceasing And daily vows ascend, His kingdom still increasing, A kingdom without end: The mountain-dews shall nourish ' A seed in weakness sown, Whose fruit shall spread and flourish And shake like Lebanon.
Page 339 - The pains of death are past; Labor and sorrow cease ; And, life's long warfare closed at last, His soul is found in peace. Soldier of Christ, well done ! Praise be thy new employ ; And, while eternal ages run, Rest in thy Saviour's joy.
Page 116 - Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Time, And rule the spacious world from clime to clime ; Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore.
Page 151 - I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! — oh! my daughter!
Page 150 - Sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger, The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee; But I have no refuge from famine and danger, — A home and a country remain not to me. Never again, in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers lived , shall I spend the sweet hours, Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh ! Erin, my country!