Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub

Then honour to the anchor, though it never shall abide, [neath the tide ; While there's war upon the billow, in its home beFor the ploughers of the ocean their name and fame

must keep,

[deep. As strong, as firm, as faithful, as the diver of the

STRIKE THE IRON WHILE IT'S HOT.

J. E. CARPENTER. -Music at B. Williams's.

WITH the light be up and doing,
For there's danger in delay;
Hope deferr'd but leads to ruin,
Now or never, wins the day.
With the thought the deed begin it,
Act at once upon the spot;
What you'd gain, the way to win it,
Strike the iron while it's hot.

Strike the iron, &c.

Good advice ye nced not spurn it,
But the man who'll soonest rise,
Faces danger, but to turn it,
And upon himself relies.
Never wait another's aiding,
You yourself may be forgot;
Lose no time in vain upbraiding,
Strike the iron while it's hot.
Strike the iron, &c.

Would ye do a kindly action,
Though your aid be vainly lent,
There is still the satisfaction

That the act was kindly meant.
Pause not then to ask another,
If to do the deed or not,
Look on each as on a brother,
Strike the iron while it's hot.
Strike the iron, &c.

THE WATER DRINKER.

EDWARD JOHNSON, in "Metropolitan Magazine."
Он, water for me! bright water for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain,
It maketh the faint one strong again;

It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea,
All freshness, like infant purity.

Oh, water, bright water for me, for me!
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee !
Fill to the brim! again to the brim !
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim !
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,
For I, like the flowers, drink nought but dew.
Oh, water, bright water's a mine of wealth,
And the ores it yieldeth are vigour and health.
So water, pure water, for me, for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee !

Fill again to the brim! again to the brim !
For water strengtheneth life and limb!
To the days of the aged it addeth length,
To the might of the strong it addeth strength.
It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight,
'Tis like quaffing a goblet of morning light.
So, water! I will drink nought but thee,
Thou parent of health and energy!

NO BLESSINGS IN THE BOWL.
JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE

MAN of Toil, wouldst thou be free?
Lend thine ear to Reason's call;
There's folly in the Drunkard's glee-
There's madness in the midnight brawl;

The ribald jest, the vulgar song,
May give a keener sting to care;
The riot of a reckless throng

May lead to ruin and despair;
Let truth unloose thy fetter'd soul—
There is no freedom in the bowl.

- Man of Toil, wouldst thou be wise?
The paths of moral right explore;
Pierce the human heart's disguise,
And track its motives to the core;
Creation's boundless beauties scan,
Observe its wonders-search its laws;
Look on the vast harmonious plan,

And learn to love the Eternal Cause; Let truth illume thy darken'd soulThere is no wisdom in the bowl.

Man of Toil, wouldst thou be blest?
Give to thy purest feelings play;
Bring all that's noble to thy breast,
Let all that's worthless pass away.
Let generous deeds bid sorrow cease,
Let gentlest words thy lips employ;
Scatter the seeds of love and peace,

And reap a harvest full of joy:
Let truth make glad thy harass'd soul-
There are no blessings in the bowl.

MERRY MEN OF ENGLAND.

OH! the merry men of England,
They are valiant, stout, and bold,
They've manly hearts to guard the rights
Their fathers won of old;

They've sturdy frames to forge the arms
That guard our native shore,

And stalwart limbs to wield them, too,
As Britons did of yore;

Though other lands are bright and gay,
The one dear spot on earth
A Briton proudly loves to own,
Is that which gave him birth.
Go 'mid the sturdy peasant band,
And tell me truly then-
What nation boasts the happy homes
Of England's merry men?

Oh! the merry men of England

Are our island's pride and boast,
They fill with stout and gallant hearts
The ships that guard our coast;
And while we praise a Nelson,
As the hero of the seas,

We'll ne'er forget the men who help
To gain the victories.

The standard of our ocean home
The breeze still proudly braves,
For never will a Briton yield
The mastery of the waves.
Oh! shout ye for our sailors bold,
And tell me truly then--
What nation boasts such gallant tars
As England's merry men?

Oh! the merry men of England—
They're loyal to their Queen,
And long to guard the British fair,
Their pride and boast has been;
They never bow nor bend, like slaves,
To those of high degree,

But with the proudest in the land
Claim equal liberty;

Yet Anarchy's destructive band

Is driven from our shore,

The people's equal laws and rights
They ask, and nothing more.

Then look the world around again,
And tell me truly then-

What nation boasts the happy homes
Of England's merry men?

THE LABOURER.

STAND up!-thou art as true a man
As moves the human mass among,
As much a part of the great plan,
That with creation's dawn began,
As any of the throng.

Who is thine enemy? The high
In station, or in wealth the chief?
The great, who coldly pass thee by,
With proud step and averted eye?
Nay! nurse not such belief.

If true unto thyself thou wast,

What were the proud one's scorn to thee? A feather which thou mightest cast Aside, as idly as the blast

The light leaf from the tree.

No!-uncurb'd passions, low desires,
Absence of noble self-respect;
Death in the breast's consuming fires,
To that high nature which aspires
For ever, till thus check'd,-

These are thine enemies-thy worst;
They chain thee to thy lowly lot;
Thy labour and thy life accurst.
Oh, stand erect! and from them burst
And longer suffer not!

« PředchozíPokračovat »