YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. While the battle rages loud and long, The spirit of your fathers Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow; And the stormy tempests blow. The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors, Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; K 131 132 A TUFT OF GREEN MOSS IN THE AFRICAN DESERT. ON MUNGO PARK'S FINDING A TUFT OF GREEN MOSS IN THE AFRICAN DESERT.-Edinburgh Christian Herald. THE sun had reached its midday height, No cloudy veil obscured the sky, No mighty rock upreared its head Dauntless and daring was the mind And, ah! shall we less daring show, Who seek to lead the savage mind Whence flows salvation's stream? Let peril, nakedness, and sword, A TUFT OF GREEN MOSS IN THE AFRICAN DESERT. 133 Yet, martyr-like, we 'll lift the voice, And blossom as the rose. Sad, faint, and weary, on the sand Above, beneath, behind, around, No resting for the eye he found; All nature seemed as dead. One tiny tuft of moss alone, Mantling with freshest green a stone, Through bursting tears of joy he smiled, O, shall not He who keeps thee green, He who commands the dew to feed The heaven-sent plant new hope inspired, And bore him safe along,- He slept within the verdant glade, Lulled by the negro's song. Thus we, in this world's wilderness, distress, Seem undisturbed to reign, 134 LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. May faint because we feel alone, Yet often, in the bleakest wild Of this dark world, some heaven-born child, Amid the low and vicious crowd, From gazing on the tender flower, Who in this atmosphere of death Our drooping faith, revived by sight, New hope distends the breast; With joy we mount on eagle wing, LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. – THE breaking waves dashed high LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 135 And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark Not as the conqueror comes, They shook the depths of the desert's gloom Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding aisles of the dim wood rang To the anthems of the free! The ocean-eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared, – This was their welcome home! There were men with hoary hair There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. |