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Who with ready weapon bure,
Fronting to the troopers there,

Cried aloud : · God save rs i Call yo epward him who stood Ankle deep, in Latzený Mond,

With the brave, Gustavus jibo

"Nay, I do not need thy sword, Comrade mine, asid Ury's land: * Put it up I pray thees Passive to His holy will, Trust I in my Master still,

Even though, bo slay me."

Bry's

Mock of knave and sport or child,

In his own good city!

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Speak the word, and, master mine,

As we charged on Tilly's line,

And his Walloon lancers,

Smiting through their midst we'll teach Civil look and decent speech

To these boyish prancers!"

"Marvel not, mine ancient friend,
Like beginning, like the end:"
Quoth the Laird of Ury,
"Is the sinful servant more
Than his gracious Lord who bore
Bonds and stripes in Jewry?

"Give me joy that in His name
I can bear, with patient frame,
All these vain ones offer;
While for them He suffereth long,
Shall I answer wrong with wrong,
Scoffing with the scoffer?

"Happier I, with loss of all, Hunted, outlawed, held in thrall,

With few friends to greet me,

Than when reeve and squire were seen,

Riding out from Aberdeen,

With bared heads, to meet me.

"When each good wife, o'er and o'er, Blessed me as I passed her door; And the snooded daughter,

Through her casement glancing down,
Smiled on him who bore renown
From red fields of slaughter.

"Hard to feel the stranger's scoff,
Hard the old friend's falling off,
Hard to learn forgiving:

But the Lord His own rewards,
And His love with theirs accords,

Warm and fresh and living.

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