THY DAYS ARE DONE.

I.

THY DAYS ARE DONE, thy fame begun;

Thy country's strains record

The triumphs of her chosen Son,

The slaughters of his sword!

The deeds he did, the fields he won,

The freedom he restored!

II.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free

Thou shalt not taste of death!

The generous blood that flowed from thee

Disdain'd to sink beneath :

Within our veins its currents be,

Thy spirit on our breath!

III.

Thy name, our charging hosts along,

Shall be the battle-word!

Thy fall, the theme of choral song

From virgin voices poured!

To weep would do thy glory wrong;

Thou shalt not be deplored.

IT IS THE HOUR.

IT IS THE HOUR when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard ;

It is the hour when lovers' vows

Seem sweet in every whispered word;

And gentle winds and waters near
Make music to the lonely ear.

Each flower the dews have lightly wet,

And in the sky the stars are met;

And on the wave is deeper blue,

And on the leaf a browner hue;

And in the Heaven that clear obscure,
So softly dark, and darkly pure,

That follows the decline of day

As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST

BATTLE.

I.

WARRIORS and Chiefs! should the shaft or the sword

Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,

Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path:

Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!