THE sun arose in glorious might,
And shed his beams of beauteous light Upon Sadowa's plain;
There Prussia's gathered soldiers stand A faithful, loyal, valiant band The army doth contain,
Hark! hark! and hear the cannon's roar, The battle now is raging sore
And deadly is the strife;
Bloody and desperate is the fight, The Austrian arms are put to flight, And many a one yields life.
And now upon the crimson ground, Where desolation reigns around, The dead and wounded lie; Go,-and behold that ghastly plain,- Go,-and look on the bleeding slain,- And hear the widow's sigh.
The warrior no more shall wield His sword upon the battle field, The hero's course is run; He lies now weltering in his gore, Life's struggles all for him are o'er, The soldier's crown is won.
Upon the sultry, fetid air Echo the shrieks of dark despair, The orphan's plaintive moan; In searching o'er that ghastly place She recognised her father's face And heard his parting groan.
Listen the widow's heart is rent- Behold that head in anguish bent,
And hear her stricken tone; 'Speak once again, Friend of my heart, And then! oh then! thou mayst depart, Speak but once more my own!"
Oh! desolate is the peasant's cot, And sad and mournful is the spot That used to ring with glee;
Oh war! how terrible thou art, How dire and dreadful is thy dart, Wherever it may flee.
Great God of peace, do Thou be nigh, And bend o'er earth Thy pitying eye; Behold the widow's woe;
Look on her lonely, sacred grief, Do Thou in mercy send relief, And ease her weary blow.
Restrain this war; give peace, we pray, All human strife take Thou away; Let all once more unite
In friendship's sacred fold to dwell, Together let their praises swell
To Thy great throne of light.
WHO that a watcher doth remain Beside a couch of mortal pain, Deems he can ever smile again!
Or who that weeps beside a bier Counts he has any more to fear From the world's flatteries, false and leer?
And yet anon and he must start
At the light toys in which his heart Can now already claim its part.
O hearts of ours so weak and poor, That nothing there can long endure ; And so their hurts find shameful cure.
While every sadder, wiser thought, Each holier aim which sorrow brought, Fades quite away and comes to nought.
O Thou who dost our weakness know, Watch for us, that the strong hours so Not wean us from our wholesome woe.
Grant Thou that we may long retain The wholesome memories of pain, Nor wish to loose them soon again.
ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.
LOST! lost! lost!
A gem of countless price, Cut from the living rock, And graved in paradise : Set round with three times eight Large diamonds clear and bright, And each with sixty smaller ones, All changeful as the light.
Lost where the thoughtless throng In fashion's mazes wind, Where trilleth folly's song, Leaving a sting behind. Yet to my hand 'twas given, A golden harp to buy,
Such as the white-robed choir attune To deathless minstrelsy.
For till these heart-strings sever, I know that heaven's entrusted gift Is reft away for ever.
But when the sea and land,
Like burning scroll have fled,
I'll see it in His hand
Who judgeth quick and dead ;
And when of scathe and loss That man can ne'er repair, The dread enquiry meets my soul, What shall it answer there?
FIGHT on! fight on! 'tis morning time, Your arms are strong-your nerves are strung; Quit you like men in life's young prime; For loftier cause than verse has sung Demands your steadfast, best endeavour- God's and your soul's—fight on—fight ever ! Fight on fight on! temptation's glare Pours hotly down from mid-life's sky, In triple force of scoff, sneer, snare; Yet faint not, he who yields must die. God's strength that triple force can sever. Your cause is His-fight on-fight ever! Fight on! the shadows from the west Fall lengthening ;-shrink not from the strife; Still onward lies the promised rest,
And yours is conflict bound for life; Only to cease beyond the river,
The war-cry still-" Fight on! fight ever!" Fight on fight on! tis nearly dark,- The foe's choice hour your strength to prove; Hold out and you shall reach that mark, Nor death, nor demon's power can move; For victor's crown that fadeth never,
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