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With those mild arms of Truth and Love,
Made mighty through the living God!
Down let the shrine of Moloch sink,
And leave no traces where it stood;
His daily cup of human blood :
To Truth, and Love, and Mercy given,
Written on reading an account of the meeting of the Boston Female
Anti-Slavery Society, and the mos which followed, on the 21st October 1835.
UNSHRINKING from the storm,
Well have ye born your part,
But more than manhood's heart !
Its name was held accursed-
Unto your holy trust.
Oh! steadfast in the Truth!
Not for yourselves alone,
Your lofty zeal was shown:
For the bondman of all climes
For Freedom's last abodeFor the hope of future times—
For the birthright gift of God
For scorned and broken laws
For honour and the rightFor the staked and periled cause
Of liberty and lightFor the holy eyes above
On a world of evil castFor the CHILDREN of your
loveFor the MOTHERS of the past !
Worthy of them are ye
The Pilgrim wives who dared The waste and unknown sea,
And the hunter's perils shared. Worthy of her whose mind,
Triumphant over all, Ruler nor priest could bind,
Nor banishment appal.
Worthy of her who died,
Martyr of Freedom, where Your Common's verdant pride
Opens to sun and air: Upheld at that dread hour
By strength which could not fail ; Before whose holy power
Bigot and priest turned pale.
God give ye strength to run,
Unawed by Earth or Hell,
The race ye have begun
So gloriously and well,
Of Freedom has gone forth,
The bondmen of the earth!
Until IMMORTAL MIND
Unshackled walks abroad,
The image of our God.
Murmurs on land or wave;
Looks down upon no SLAVE!
THE COVENANTER'S DREAM.
In a dream of the night I was wafted away,
'Twas a dream of the ages of darkness and blood,
It was morning, and summer's bright sun from the east, Lay in lovely repose the green mountain's breast;
On Wardlaw and Cairntable the clear shining dew Glistened sheen’mong the heathbells and mountain flowers
And far up in heaven, in the clear shining cloud,
And Wellwood's sweet valley breathed nothing but glad
ness; The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness; Its daughters were happy to hail the returning, And drink the delights of green July's bright morning.
But, ah! there were hearts cherished far other feelings,
'Twas the few faithful ones, who with Cameron were lying Concealed 'mong the mist where the heath-fowl were
crying, For the horsemen of Earlshall around them were hovering, And their bridle-reins rung through the thin misty covering.
Their faces were pale, and their swords were unsheathed, But the vengeance that darkened their brow was un
breathed : With eyes raised to Heaven, in meek resignation, They sung their last song to the God of Salvation.
The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing,
But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter,
Though in mist, and in darkness, and fire they were
shrouded, Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded; Their dark eyes shot lightning, as, proud and unbending, They stood like the rock which the lightning is rending.
The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming; The heavens were dark, and the thunder was rolling, While in Wellwood's dark moorlands the mighty were
When the righteous were fallen, and the combat had
ended, A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended, Its attendants were angels, and cherubs of whiteness, And its burning wheels turned upon axles of brightness ;
A seraph unfolded the doors bright and shining,
On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding, Through the paths of the thunder the horsemen are
riding; Glide swiftly, bright spirits, the prize is before ye, À crown never fading, a kingdom of glory.