Oft' shall the grateful lip thy history tell,
Thy zeal, thy love, thy deeds remembered well;
And when the sabbath chimes to rocks around,
Waft their rich music-and the joyful sound,
Calls the lone peasant to the house of prayer,
The vow to pay, the soul to prostrate there :
Sires to their sons shall tell of thee, who trod
These hills these vales-the messenger of God,
Who, with an ardent soul, from day to day,
Pointed to heaven, and smiling led the way.
In love and zeal, his course he trod,
The hallowed messenger of God;
Sought not to dazzle, but to win,
The soul from error and from sin;
While words of love and mercy hung,
Harmonious on his gifted tongue,
His daily walk exemplified
The faith in which he lived and died.
Pious, but unaffected-kind-sincere
Who can record thy name, without a tear?—
O sad remembrance!-shall we then repine
When honored age, and lettered fame were thine ?
No!-but thy lonely widow may deplore
Years of affection, she can know no more;
And say as hearing still thy funeral knell,
Friend of my life, farewell—a long farewell.
A soldier lies beneath the sod,
Who many fields of battle trod;
And many dangers did he brave,
In hope his native land to save :—
We'll plant a laurel on his tomb,
Whilst we lament his early doom,
And hope he's found that peaceful rest,
Where soldier's of the cross are blest.
Was it an honourable thing,
To give my life to serve my king?
Amazing grace beyond degree!
The "King of kings" he died for me!
Here rests in peace a soldier brave,
Who soon shall overcome the grave;
For those who do in Christ believe,
Shall victory from their faith receive.
Soldier! rest, thy warfare is o'er ;-
The drum shall beat for thee no more;
None shall e'er rouse thee from thy bed,'
Till the last trump awake the dead,
And Jesus on his glorious throne,
His faithful soldiers then shall own.
In youth I boasted, "that I shed my blood,
To serve my King, and for my country's good;"
But in my age, it was my boast to be,
"Soldier to him, who shed his blood for me."
His gloves were laid upon the bier,
The helmet and the sword;
The drooping war horse followed near,
As though he mourned his Lord.
Each soldier bore his mournful part,
And sorrow pierced him to the heart :
For 'twas a comrade young, and brave,
They slowly followed to his grave.
No more, the trumpet shall he hear,
Till, Christ, our Captain shall appear,
Who calls his soldiers to be blest,
In realms of peace, and perfect rest.
"Soldier return," He said, "now from thy warfare
Here rest upon thine arms, the fight of faith is done, Come from the heat of battle-now return in peace, Soldier go home discharged, rejoice, the field is won."
And the sea shall give up the dead which were in it. Rev. xx. 13.
His body was committed to the deep,
He sleeps not here, where all his fathers sleep;
This marble, but records his deathless name,
Dear to his kindred, nor less dear to fame.
Bold as a Lion, gentle as a Child,
His was the Christians spirit, meek and mild.
And now to him, the great reward is given,
To sleep in Jesus-and awake in heaven.
"Britannia rules the waves !"-
Oh vain, and impious boast;
Here-mark presumptuous slaves,
'Tis God-who sinks, or saves.
He never saw his home again,
The deep voice of the gun,
The lowering of the battle flag,
Told when his life was done.
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