OLD ENGLAND.

"Come the three corners of the world in arms,
And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,
If England to itself do rest but true."-Shakespeare.

LD England! thou mother of nations, Renowned in the annals of fame, What proud and ennobling sensations Awake to the sound of thy name ! How dear to thy sons and thy daughters That one little isle of the sea,

Begirt by a bulwark of waters,

The birthplace and grave of the free!

How oft to the exile, when driven
Afar from his country to roam,
Thy shores, ever open, have given
A bountiful refuge and home!
How often the helpless and tearful

Thy strength have exulted to see,

And the hearts of the fainting and fearful Have gathered fresh courage from thee!

How oft in thy heart-stirring story

Thy sons in the thick of the fight,

By deeds of unparalleled glory,

Have rendered their memory bright!

But when, ever willing and speedy,
Their world-rousing voice they uprear
In the cause of the wretched and needy,
How nobler by far they appear!

Yet 'tis not the battle-field only

Their fairest renown has obtained;
But conflicts unheeded and lonely

For them deathless honour have gained:
For, when duty's summons demanded
Themselves to her service to yield,
They entered the fight single-handed,
And fell ere they quitted the field.

It is this that has ever surrounded
Thy course with a halo of light;
'Tis on this that thy greatness is grounded-
Devotion to duty and right:

For the cause that such heroes can waken
Can never by might be repelled,
By adversity's hand may be shaken,
But never by tyranny quelled.

Oh! long may old England thus flourish,
O'er the cause of the truth to preside,
The growth of real freedom to nourish,
And scatter its seed far and wide!
Long, long may she gather around her

The wisest and best of the world;

And, though age with high honour has crowned her,

Yet still be her banner unfurled !

May all that is noble flock thither;
May all that is good there increase;
And the strength of our sov'reignty wither
Ere the life of our liberty cease!
May England, the first of the nations,
The truth's mighty treasure maintain,
Handing down to her last generations
Her freedom untouched by a stain !

OIL ON THE TROUBLED WATERS.

(Written on the eve of the General Election of 1868.)

HE wind may sway the forest,

ΤΗ

Or over the mountain sweep,

Driving the clouds before it,
Lashing the mighty deep :
But it's under the hill-side shelter
That the warmest sunbeams glow,
And it's down in the peaceful valley
That the fairest flowers blow.

Deeply may run the river,

And brightly its waters gleam ;
And the waves may leap upon it,
While swiftly flows its stream :
But it's under the hanging willows,
With scarce a ripple nigh,
Far from the struggling current,
That the lovely lilies lie.

So 'tis not in the times of tumult
That the wisest works are wrought,

Nor in the troubled spirit

That we find the purest thought :
But 'tis from our humbler duties
That the brightest joys are won,
And in our quiet moments

That the greatest good is done.

Not that we should not differ,
When duty calls us to,

Or strive the wrong to vanquish,
Or strive the right to do:
But that we should be trying
To compass peaceful ends,
And tighten those bonds together
That make us firmer friends.

And as o'er the face of heaven
Conflicting winds may blow,
And, over the meadows scattered,
Different plants may grow;

Yet not one of all the number

But a common source has found, And there's one blue sky above us, And one green earth around :—

So, although in life's wide struggle
In ranks opposed we stand,
And though diverse companions
Are found on either hand;

Yet will we all endeavour

As friends to meet and part, And, however our thoughts may differ, We'll yet be one in heart.