Sword of a thousand victories! thy splendours led the way,
When our warriors trod the battle-field in terrible array;
Thou wert seen amid the carnage, like an angel in thy wrath,
The vanquish'd and the vanquisher bestrew'd thy gory path;
The life-blood of the haughty foe made red the slippery sod,
Where thy crimson blade descended like the lightning glance of God;
They pour'd their ranks like autumn leaves, their life-blood as the sea,
But they battled for a tyrant—we battled to be free!

Sword of a thousand heroes! how holy is thy blade,

So often drawn by Valour's arm, by gentle Pity's stay'd.
The warrior breathes his vow by thee, and seals it with a kiss,
He never gives a holier pledge, he asks no more than this;
And, when he girds thee to his side, with battle in his face,
He feels within his single arm the strength of all his race;
He shrines thee in his noble breast, with all things bright and free ;
And may God desert his standard when he surrenders thee!
Sword of our country's battles! forever mayst thou prove,
Amid Columbia's freemen, the thunderbolt of Jove;
Where, like a youthful victress, with her holy flag unfurled,
She sits amid the nations, the empress of the world.
Behold the heaven-born goddess, in her glory and increase,
Extending in her lovely hands the olive-branch of peace,
The glittering steel is girded on, the safe-guard of the free:
And may God desert her standard when she surrenders thee!

OUR BANNER.

Go, bring out our banner and proudly uprear it,
So perfect, so faultless, and bright;

The frown of the foeman, oh! say who shall fear it,
'Neath the banner of Liberty's light.

And then, as ye see its stripes waving proudly,

With the stars, bright emblems so true,

Let your heart catch the spirit and swell the cry loudly-
Excelsior, Red, White, and Blue.

The Red-once this fair earth hath watered
With streams all darkling and gory;

Fame points to the graves of the slaughtered,
The theme of both song and story:

So the Red we will twine around Liberty's altar,
And stripe with our banneret too,

Like the brave souls of those who never would falter-
Excelsior, Red, White, and Blue!

The White proudly beaming, a presage of love,
A tie that nought e'er shall sever-
A bond stronger far than tyrants e'er wove,
Entwines round our Union for ever.

The prayers of the freemen fall over the nation,
As drops of heaven's rich dew;

Then up with our banner, and shout with elation——
Excelsior, Red, White, and Blue.

When the worn soldier, with knapsack for pillow,
Lays down of his country to dream;
The music that lulls him to sleep is the billow,
His watcher the star's silent gleam.

Above him they stand, arrayed in bright splendour,
Singing hymns of a victory true;

And never with life will he that flag surrenderExcelsior, Red, White, and Blue.

Then up with our banner, and this be our boastOur country shall ever be free;

The land which our forefather's life-blood has cost,
Shall be guarded by us sacredly.

Go, bring out our banner, and proudly unfurled
Let it swell with the breezes anew;

Up, up, with our banner, and shout to the world-
Excelsior, Red, White, and Blue.

THE SCAR OF

LEXINGTON.

H. F. GOULD. Born 1792.

WITH cherub smile, the prattling boy
Who on the veteran's breast reclines,
Has thrown aside his favourite toy,

And round his tender finger twines
Those scatter'd locks, that, with the flight.
Of fourscore years, are snowy white;
And, as a scar arrests his view,

He cries, "Grandpa, what wounded you?" "My child, 'tis five-and-fifty years

This very day, this very hour,

Since, from a scene of blood and tears,
Where valour fell by hostile

power,

I saw retire the setting sun
Behind the hills of Lexington;
While pale and lifeless on the plain
My brothers lay, for freedom slain!

THE SCAR OF LEXINGTON.

"And ere that fight, the first that spoke
In thunder to our land, was o'er,
Amid the clouds of fire and smoke,

I felt my garments wet with gore!
"Tis since that dread and wild affray,
That trying, dark, eventful day,
From this calm April eve so far,
I wear upon my cheek the scar.

"When thou to manhood shalt be grown,
And I am gone in dust to sleep,
May freedom's rights be still thine own,
And thou and thine in quiet reap
The unblighted product of the toil,
In which my blood bedew'd the soil!
And while those fruits thou shalt enjoy,
Bethink thee of this scar, my boy.

"But should thy country's voice be heard
To bid her children fly to arms,
Gird on thy grandsire's trusty sword;
And, undismay'd by war's alarms,
Remember on the battle-field,

I made the hand of GoD my shield:
And be thou spared, like me, to tell
What bore thee up, while others fell."

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80

SEA SONGS.

"HOW CHEERY ARE THE MARINERS."

PARK BENJAMIN.

How cheery are the mariners

Those lovers of the sea!

Their hearts are like its yeasty waves,
As bounding and as free,

[Music by Dempster.

They whistle when the storm-bird wheels
In circles round the mast;
And sing when deep in foam the ship
Ploughs onward to the blast.

What care the mariners for gales?
There's music in their roar,
When wide the berth along the lee,
And leagues of room before.
Let billows toss to mountain heights,
Or sink to chasms low,
The vessel stout will ride it out,
Nor reel beneath the blow.

With streamers down and canvas furl'd,

The gallant hull will float
Securely, as on an inland lake
A silken-tassell'd boat;

And sound asleep some mariners,
And some with watchful eyes,
Will fearless be of dangers dark
That roll along the skies.

GOD keep those cheery mariners!
That temper all the gales
That sweep against the rocky coast
To their storm-shatter'd sails;
And men on shore will bless the ship
That could so guided be,

Safe in the hollow of His hand,
To brave the mighty sea!

THE SEAMAN'S BETHEL.

THE SEAMAN'S BETHEL.*
JOHN PIERPONT.

THOU, who on the whirlwind ridest,
At whose word the thunder roars,
Who, in majesty, presidest

O'er the oceans and their shores;
From those shores and from the oceans,
We, the children of the sea,
Come to pay thee our devotions,
And to give this house to thee.
When, for business on great waters,
We go down to sea in ships,
And our weeping wives and daughters
Hang, at parting, on our lips,
This, our Bethel, shall remind us,

That there's one who heareth prayer,
And that those we leave behind us
Are a faithful pastor's care.
Visions of our native highlands

In our wave-rock'd dreams embalm'd,
Winds that come from spicy islands
When we long have lain becalm'd,
Are not to our souls so pleasant
As the offerings we shall bring
Hither, to the Omnipresent,

For the shadow of his wing.

When in port, each day that's holy,
To this House we'll press in throngs ;
When at sea, with spirit lowly,

We'll repeat its sacred songs.

Outward bound, shall we, in sadness,

Lose its flag behind the seas;

Homeward bound, we'll greet with gladness
Its first floating on the breeze.
Homeward bound!-with deep emotion,
We remember, Lord, that life
Is a voyage upon an ocean,

Heaved by many a tempest's strife.

Be thy statutes so engraven

On our hearts and minds, that we,

Anchoring in Death's quiet haven,

All may make our home with thee.

81

*Written for the dedication of the Seaman's Bethel, under the direction of the Boston Port Society, 1833.

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