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THE BATTLE OF SADOWA.

July 3, 1866.

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.

[graphic]

THE BATTLE OF SADOWA.

July 3, 1866.

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,

[graphic]

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,

nd wounded lie;

at ghastly plain,—
bleeding slain,-

low's sigh.

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Thy great throne of light.

EMMA MOODY.

SADDENED MEMORIES.

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.

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