THE GERMAN WATCHMEN'S SONG.

Among the watchmen in Germany, a singula custom prevails, of chanting devotional hymns as well as songs of a national or amusing character, during the night. Of the former description of pieces, the following is a specimen, the several stanzas being chanted as the hours of the night are successively announced.

HARK! ye neighbors, and hear me tell-
TEN now strikes on the belfry bell!
Ten are the holy commandments given
To man below, from GoD in Heaven.

CHORUS.

Human watch from harm can't ward us,
GOD will watch and GoD will guard us;
He, through his eternal might,
Grant us all a blessed night.

Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tell-
ELEVEN Sounds on the belfry bell!
Eleven apostles of holy mind,

Taught the Gospel to mankind.

Human watch, &c.

Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tell—
TWELVE resounds from the belfry bell!
Twelve disciples to JESUS came,
Who suffered rebuke for their SAVIOR's name,
Human watch, &c.

Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tell-
ONE has pealed on the belfry bell!
One GoD above, one LORD indeed,
Who bears us forth in hour of need.

Human watch, &c.

Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tell—
Two resounds from the belfry bell!
Two paths before mankind are free,
Neighbors choose the best for thee.

Human watch, &c.

Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tell-
THREE NOW Sounds on the belfry bell!
Threefold reigns the Heavenly Host,
FATHER, SON and HOLY GHOST!
Human watch, &c.

MISSIONARY HYMN.

FROM Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand; From many an ancient river, From many a balmy plain, They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft on Ceylon's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain with lavish kindness,

The gifts of God are strown, The heathen, in his blindness, Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to man benighted
The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! oh, salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation

Has learnt Messiah's name.
Waft, waft, ye winds, his story
And you, ye waters, roll;
Till like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole! Till o'er our ransomed nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator,

In bliss returns reign.-HEBER.

WHAT IS TIME?

I ASKED an aged man, a man of cares,
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs
"Time is the warp of life," he said, "O tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!”
I asked the ancient venerable dead,

Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled:
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed,
"Time sowed the seeds we reap in this abode !"

I asked a dying sinner, ere the stroke

Of ruthless death life's "golden bowl had broke;" I asked in, What is time? "Time," he replied "I've los it, Ah, the treasure!" and he died!

I asked the golden sun and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years;
They answered, “Time is but a meteor's glare,"
And bade me for Eternity prepare.

I asked the seasons, in their annual round
Which beautify, or desolate the ground;
And they replied (no oracle more wise),
""Tis folly's blank, and wisdom's highest prize."

I asked a spirit lost, but, O the shriek
That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak!
It cried, "a particle! a speck! a mite
Of endless years, duration infinite!"

Of things inanimate, my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply,
"Time is the season fair of living well
The path to glory, or the path to hell."

I asked my Bible, and methinks it said,
"Thine is the present hour, the past is fled;
Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On any human being rose or set!"

I asked old father Time himself at last;
But in a moment he flew swiftly past;
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, that left no trace behind.

I asked the mighty Angel, who shall stand
One foot on sea, and one on solid land;
"By heavens, great King, I swear the mystery's o'er!
Time was," he cried,-" but Time shall be no more
MARSDEN

THE BETTER LAND.

I HEAR thee speak of the better land,
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore-
Shall we not seek it and weep no more?

Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs!
"Not there, not there, my child."

Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?
"Not there, not there, my child.”

Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold-
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand-
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?
"Not there, not there, my child.

"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy,
Dreams can not picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,

It is there, it is there, my child!"-HEMANS

OF

POOR JACK.

Go patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see,
'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;

A tight water-boat and good sea-room give me,
And it ent to a little I'll strike;

Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack smooth should smite,

And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse everything

tight,

And under reefed foresail we'll scud:

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !

} heard our good chaplain palaver one day

About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch:
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow:

For," says he, "do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft
Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !"

I said to our Poll, for, d'ye see, she would cry,

When last we weighed anchor for sea

What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye?

Why, what a damned fool you m ist be!

Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all,
Both for seamen and lubbers ashore ?

And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,
You never will hear of me more:

What then? all's a hazard: come, don't be so soft;
Perhaps I may laughing come back,

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !"

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world without offering to flinch,
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,
Naaght's a trouble from duty that springs,

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's,
And as for my life, 'tis the king's:

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
As for grief to be taken aback,

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack

THE GOOD SHIP THE KITTY.

I SAILED in the good ship the Kitty,
With a smart blowing gale and rough sea;
Left my Polly, the lads call so pretty,
Safe here at an anchor-Yo, Yea!

She blabbered salt tears when we parted,
And cried, "Now be constant to me!"

I told her not to be down-hearted,
So

up went the anchor-Yo, Yea!
And from that time, no worse nor no better,
I've thought on just nothing but she;
Nor could grog nor flip make me forget her,
She's my best bower-anchor-Yo, Yea!

When the wind whistled larboard and starboard,
And the storm came on weather and lec,
The hope I with her should be harbored
Was my cable and anchor-Yo, Yea!

And yet, my boys, would you believe me?
I returned with no rhino from sea;
Mistress Polly would never receive me,
So again I heaved anchor-Yo, Yea!

THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.

AND did not you hear of a jolly young waterman,
Who at Blackfriars bridge used for to ply?
He feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity,
Winning each heart, and delighting each eye.
He looked so neat and rowed so steadily,
The maidens all flocked to his boat so readily;
And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an au,
That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

What sights of fine folks he rowed in his wherry,
'Twas cleaned out so nice and so painted withal
He was always first oars when the fine city ladies
In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.
And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering,
But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering:
For loving or liking he little did care,

For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

And yet but to see how strangely things happen,
As he rowed along thinking of nothing at all,
He was plied by a damsel so lovely and charming,
That she smiled, and so straightway in love he did fall.
And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow,
He'd wed her to-night, before to-morrow.

And how should this waterman ever know care,
When he's married and never in want of a fare?

With smiles, though horror's in his heart. But when the joyful hour shall cone, To bring him home at last,

How sweet his constant wife to greet,

His children, friends,

And in their circling arms to find amends

For all his sufferings past.

'Tis hard when, desolation spread,
Death whirls the rapid car;

And those invaded hear, and dread,
The thunder of the war.

Ah! then, indeed, friends, children, wife,

Have ye true cause to fear;

Too soon, alas! the muffled drum,
The mournful fife,

And the loud volley o'er the grave,

Shall sound sad requiems to the brave,
While those alive

THE BUSY CREW.

THE busy crew, their sails unbending,
The ship in harbor safe arrived,
Jack Oakum, all his perils ending,
Had made the port where Kitty lived.

His rigging, no one dare attack it;
Tight fore and aft, above, below;
Long-quartered shoes, check shirt, blue jacket,
With trousers like the driven snow.

His honest heart, with pleasure glowing,
He flew like lightning to the side;
Scarce Lad he been a boat's length rowing,
Before his Kitty he espied.

A flowing pennant gayly fluttered

From her neat-made hat of straw;

Red were her cheeks when first she uttered
It was "her sailor" that she saw.

And now the gazing crew surround her,
While, secure from all alarms,
Swift as a ball from a nine-pounder,
They dart into each other's arms.

THE SIGNAL TO ENGAGE THE signal to engage shall be A whistle and a hollow; Be one and all but firm, like me, And conquest soon will follow. You, Gunnel, keep the helm in handThus, thus, boys, steady, steady, Till right ahead you see the land, Then, soon as we are ready,

The signal, &c.

Keep, boys, a good look-out, d'ye hear!
'Tis for your country's honor;
Just as you brought your lower tier
Broadside to bear upon her,
The signal, &c.

All hands then, lads, the ship to clear;
Load all your guns and mortars;
Silent as death th' attack prepare:
And, when you're all at quarters,
The signal, &c.

JACK RATLIN.

JACK RATLIN was the ablest seaman,
None like him could hand, reef, and steer;
No dangerous toil but he'd encounter
With skill, and in contempt of fear.
In fight, a lion: the battle ended,
Meek as the bleating lamb he'd prove :
Thus Jack had manners, courage, merit;
Yet did he sigh-and all for love.
The song, the jest, the flowing liquor,
For none of these had Jack regard:
He, while his messmates were carousing,
High sitting on the pendant-yard,
Would think upon his fair one's beauties,
Swear never from such charms to rove;
That truly he'd adore them living,
And, dying, sigh-to end his love.

The same express the crew commanded
Once more to view their native land,
Among the rest, brought Jack some tidings-
Would it had been his love's fair hand!
Oh, fate! her death defaced the letter;
Instant his pulse forgot to move;
With quiv'ring lips, and eyes uplifted,
He heaved a sigh-and died for love!

WHEN LAST FROM THE STRAITS.

WHEN last from the Straits we had fairly cast anchor,
I went Bonny Kitty to hail,

With quintables stored, for our voyage was a spanker,
And bran new was every sail :

But I knew well enough how, with words sweet as honey,
They trick us poor tars of our gold,

And when the sly gipsies have fingered the money,
The bag they poor Jack give to hold.

So I chased her, d'ye see, my lads, under false colors,
Swore my riches were all at an end,

That I'd sported away all my good-looking dollars,
And borrowed my togs of a friend.

O then, had you seen her-no longer "My honey"-
'Twas "Varlet, audacious, and bold,

Begone from my sight! now you've spent all your money, For Kitty the bag you may hold."

With that I took out double handfuls of shiners,

And scornfully bade her good-by;

Twould have done your heart good, had you then seen her fine airs,

How she'd leer, and she'd sob, and she'd sigh;

But I stood well the broadside; while jewel and honey
She called me, I put up the gold,

And bearing away, as I sacked all the money,
Left the bag for ma'am Kitty to hold.

THE HEART OF A TAR. YET though I've no fortune to offer, I've something to put on a par; Come, then, and accept of my proffer, 'Tis the kind honest heart of a tar. Ne'er let such a trifle as this is,

Girls, be to my pleasure a bar, You'll be rich, though 'tis only in kisses, With the kind honest heart of a tar. Besides, I am none of your ninnies; The next time I come from afar I'll give you a lapful of guineas,

With the kind honest heart of a tar. Your lords, with such fine baby faces, That strut in a garter and star,

Have they, under their tambour and laces, The kind honest heart of a tar?

I've this here, say, now, and mind it,
If love, that no hazard can mar,
You are seeking, you'll certainly find it-
In the kind honest heart of a tar.

EACH BULLET HAS ITS COMMISSION.

WHAT argufies pride and ambition?

Soon or late death will take us in tow: Each bullet has got its commission,

And when our time's come we must go
Then be merry-hang pain and sorrow,
The halter was made for the neck;
He that's now 'live and lusty, to-morrow
Perhaps may be stretched on the deck.

There was little Tom Linstock of Dover
Got killed, and left Polly in pain;
Poll cried, but her grief was soon over,
And then she got married again.
Then be merry, &c.

Jack Junk was ill used by Bet Crocker,
And so took to guzzling the stuff,
Till he tumbled in old Davy's locker,
And there he got liquor enough.
Then be merry, &c.

For our prize-money then to the proctor,
Take of joy, while 'tis going, our freak;
For what argufies calling the doctor
When the anchor of life is a-peak?
Then be merry, &c.

SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES.

"TWAS Saturday night, the twinkling star Shone on the rippling sea;

No duty called the jovial tars,
The helm was lashed a-lee;

The ample can adorned the board-
Prepared to see it out,

Each gave the girl that he adored,
And pushed the can about.

Cried honest Tom, my Peg I'll toast,

A frigate neat and trim,

All jolly Portsmouth's favorite boast;
I'd venture life and limb-

Sail seven long years, and ne'er see land,
With dauntless heart and stout,

So tight a vessel to command;
Then push the can about.

I'll give, cried little Jack, my Poll,
Sailing in comely state,
Top-ga'nt sails set, she is so tall,
She looks like a first-rate;

Ah! would she take her Jack in tow,
A voyage for life throughout,
No better berth I'd wish to know;
Then push the can about.

I'll give, cried I, my charming Nan,
Trim, handsome, neat, and tight;
With joy so fine a ship to man,
She is my heart's delight!
So well she bears the storms of life,
I'd sail the world throughout,
Brave ev'ry toil for such a wife:
Then push the can about.

Thus to describe Poll, Peg, or Nan,
Each his best manner tried,
Till, summoned by the empty can
They to their hammocks hied;
Yet still did they their vigils keep,
Though the huge can was out,
For, in soft visions, gentle sleep
Still pushed the can about.

BONNY KATE.

THE wind was hushed, the fleecy wave
Scarcely the vessel's sides could lave,
When in the mizen-top his stand
Tom Clueline, taking, spied the land.
Oh, sweet reward for all his toil!
Once more he views his native soil-
Once more he thanks indulgent Fate,
That brings him to his bonny Kate.
Soft as the sighs of Zephyr flow,
Tender and plaintive as her wo,
Serene was the attentive eve,

That heard Tom's bonny Kitty grieve.
"O what avails," cried she, "my pain?
He's swallowed in the greedy main;
Ah, never shall I welcome home,
With tender joy, my honest Tom!"

Now high upon the faithful shroud,
The land awhile that seemed a cloud,
While objects from the mist arise,
A feast presents Tom's longing eyes.
A riband near his heart which lay,
Now see him on his hat display,
The given sign to show that Fate
Had brought him safe to bonny Kate.
Near to a cliff, whose heights command
A prospect of the shelly strand,
While Kitty Fate, and Fortune, blamed,
Sudden with rapture she exclaimed,
"But see, oh Heaven! a ship in view-
My Tom appears among the crew;
The pledge he swore to bring safe home
Streams in his hat-'tis honest Tom!"

What now remains were easy told;
Tom comez, his pockets lined with gold;
Now rich enough no more to roam,
He serves his native land at home;
Recounts each toil, and shows each scar,
While Kitty and her constant tar

With rev'rence teach to bless their fates
Young honest Toms and Bonny Kates.

BEN BACKSTAY.

BEN BACKSTAY loved the gentle Anna,
Constant as purity was she,
Her honey words, like succ'ring manna,
Cheered him each voyage he made to sea
One fatal morning saw them parting,
While each other's sorrow dried,
They, by the tear that then was starting,
Vowed to be constant till they died.

At distance from his Anna's beauty,
While howling winds the sky deform,
Ben sighs, and well performs his duty,
And braves, for love, the frightful storm.
Alas, in vain! The vessel battered,
On a rock splitting, opened wide;
While, lacerated, torn, and shattered,
Ben thought of Anna, sighed, and died.
The semblance of each charming feature
That Ben had worn around his neck,
Where art stood substitute for nature,
A tar, his friend, saved from the wreck.
In fervent hope, while Anna, burning,
Blushed as she wished to be a bride,
The portrait came-joy turned to mourning-
She saw, grew pale, sunk down, and died.

LITTLE BEN. RESPLENDENT gleamed the ample moon, Reflected on the glitt❜ring lee,

The bell proclaimed night's awful noon, And scarce a ripple shook the sea, When thus for sailors, nature's care, What education has denied,

Are of strong sense, a bounteous share, By observation well supplied