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I looked on the mountains--a vapour lay
Folding their heights in its dark array:
Thou brokest forth, and the mists became
A crown and a mantle of living flame!

I looked on the peasant's lowly cot, .
Something of sadness had wrapped the spot ;
But a gleam of thee on its casement fell,
And it laughed into beauty at that bright spell.

To the earth's wild places a guest thou art,
Flushing the waste like the rose's heart;
And thou scornest not, from thy pomp, to shed
A tender light on the ruin's head.

Thou takest through the dim church-aisle thy way, And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day ; And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old, Are bathed in a flood as of burning gold.

And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest,-Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.

Sunbeam of Summer! oh, what is like thee ?
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea !
One thing is like thee, to mortals given-
The Faith, touching all things with hues of heaven.



WHEN is the time for prayer ?
With the first beams that light the morning sky,
Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare,

Lift up thy thoughts on high ;
Commend thy loved ones to His watchful care :-

Morn is the time for prayer !

And in the noontide hour,
If worn by toil or by sad cares oppressed,
Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour

And He will give thee rest :
Thy voice shall reach Him through the fields of air :-

Noon is the time for prayer !

When the bright sun hath set,
Whilst yet eve's glowing colours deck the skies, –
When with the loved, at home, again thou'st met,

Then let thy prayer arise
For those who in thy joys and sorrows share :

Eve is the time for prayer !

And when the stars come forth,When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given, And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth

To pure bright dreams of heaven,Kneel to thy God, ask strength life's ills to bear :

Night is the time for prayer !

When is the time for prayer ?—
In every hour, while life is spared to thee-
In crowds or solitude-in joy or care-

Thy thoughts should heavenward flee.
At home-at morn and eve—with loved ones there,
Bend thou the knee in prayer!



Be kind to the old man, while strong in thy youth-
Be kind, not in seeming alone, but in truth;
He once was as young and as hopeful as thou,
With a bosom as light, as unwrinkled a brow !

Be kind to the poor man, and give of thy bread,
With shelter and pillow to comfort his head ;
His lot and thine own may be one ere he dieth,
Or neighbour to thine the low grave where he lieth !
Be kind to the crooked, the lame, and the blind;
What's lacked in the body they feel in the mind;
And while virtue through trial and pain cometh forth,
In the mind, not the body, is man's truest worth.

Be kind to the fallen who lives but to mourn;
Be kind to the outcast who seeks to return;
Be kind to the hardened who never hath prayed ;
Be kind to the timid who still is afraid !

The injured, who down by oppression is borne ;
The slighted who withers, the victim of scorn ;
The flattered who topples aloft but to fall ;
The wronger and wronged-oh, be kindly to all !

For vast is the world of the generous mind,
And narrow the sphere to the selfish assigned ;
And clear is the path of the warm and the true-
Of the haughty and vain, how delusive the view !

Then unto the old show respect while thou mayest-
The poor, while to Him who gives all things thou prayest,-
The weak or the lost, 'neath the load of his sorrow-
And thine own cup of joy shall o’erflow ere the morrow!



THERE was heard the sound of the coming foe,
There was sent through Britain a bended bow,
And a voice was poured on the free winds far,
As the land rose up at the sign of war.
“ Heard ye not the battle horn ?

Reaper! leave thy golden corn!
Leave it for the birds of heaven,
Swords must flash and shields be riven!
Leave it for the winds to shed-

Arm! ere Britain's turf grow red !”.
And the reaper armed like a foeman's son,
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.

“Hunter ! leave the mountain chase,

Take the falchion from its place
Let the wolf go free to-day,
Leave him for a nobler prey !
Let the deer ungalled sweep by-

Arm thee! Britain's foes are nigh!”
And the hunter armed ere his chase was done,
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.

“Chieftain ! quit the joyous feast,

Stay not till the song hath ceased!
Though the mead be foaming bright,
Though the fires give ruddy light,
Leave the hearth and leave the hall-

Arm thee! Britain's foe must fall.”
And the chieftain armed, and the horn was blown,
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.

“Prince! thy father's deeds are told

In the bower, and in the hold !
Where the goatherd's lay is sung,
Where the minstrel's harp is strung!
Foes are on thy native sea-
Give our bards a tale of thee !”
And the prince came armed like a leader's son,
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.

“ Mother ! stay thou not thy boy!
He must learn the battle's joy;
Sister ! bring the sword and spear,
Give thy brother words of cheer ;
Maiden ! bid thy lover part,

Britain calls the strong in heart !"
And the bended bow and the voice passed on,
And the bards made song for a battle won!


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