图书图片
PDF
ePub

Chill airs, and wintry winds! my ear Has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year,

I listen, and it cheers me long.

HYMN

OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM,

AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER.

WHEN the dying flame of day
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowled head;
And the censer burning swung,

Where, before the altar, hung
The blood-red banner, that with prayer

Had been consecrated there.

And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle.

Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave;
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the sabbath of our vale,
When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.

Take thy banner! and, beneath
The war-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it! - till our homes are free!

Guard it! God will prosper thee!

In the dark and trying hour,

In the breaking forth of power,

In the rush of steeds and men,

His right hand will shield thee then.

Take thy banner! But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him!—by our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,

Spare him! he our love hath shared!

Spare him

as thou wouldst be spared!

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Take thy banner! — and if e'er

Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee.

And the warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud!

SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.

I

STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march,

And woods were brightened, and soft gales

Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.

The clouds were far beneath me;-bathed in light, They gathered mid-way round the wooded height, And, in their fading glory, shone

Like hosts in battle overthrown,

As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance,

Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,

« 上一页继续 »