The first ten lines of this hymn, says Palmer, were left a fragment by KIRKE WHITE, written on the back of one of his mathematical papers. They came after his death into the hands of Dr. Collyer, who published them, with six lines of his own added, in his Hymn-Book of 1812. The task of finishing it was more happily accomplished by MISS MAITLAND, in the form in which it is here given, and which first appeared in a volume published in 1827. MUCH in sorrow, oft in woe, Onward, Christians, onward go; Join the war, and face the foe; Shrink not, Christians! will ye yield? Let your drooping hearts be glad; Let not sorrow dim your eye, Onward then to battle move; Fragment by HENRY KIRKE WHITE, 1806 GOOD TIDINGS TO ZION. ON the mountain's top appearing, Mourning captive, God himself will loose thy bands. Has thy night been long and mournful? Have thy friends unfaithful proved? Have thy foes been proud and scornful, By thy sighs and tears unmoved? Cease thy mourning; Zion still is well beloved. God, thy God, will now restore thee; Zion's King vouchsafes to send. All thy wrongs shall be redressed; For thy shame thou shalt have double, In thy Maker's favor blest; 1806. All thy conflicts End in everlasting rest. THOMAS KELLY. "FAINT, YET PURSUING." A SONG OF THE CHURCH MILITANT. ALL day among the cornfields of the plain, again, Shout for the garners stored! THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. All day among the vineyards of the field A yet more purple wine! All day against the spoilers of our land Our arms made bare the keen and glittering sword; None turned back, none stayed the lifted hand, Sing! sing unto the Lord! All day beset by spies, begirt with foes, DORA GREENWELL. THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. Occasioned by the sudden death of the Rev. Thomas Taylor, after having declared, in his last sermon, on a preceding evening, that he hoped to die as an old soldier of Jesus Christ, with his sword in his hand. By omitting large portions, this poem has been made appropriate for use in hymnbooks. "SERVANT of God, well done! A mortal arrow pierced his frame; Tranquil amidst alarms, A veteran slumbering on his arms, It was a two-edged blade, And double were the wounds it made, Oft with its fiery force His arm had quelled the foe, And laid, resistless in its course, The alien armies low: 379 and caught his Captain's eye; The pains of death are past; And life's long warfare closed at last, Soldier of Christ, well done! 1825. JAMES MONTGOMERY. HOLY FORTITUDE. AM I a soldier of the cross, A follower of the Lamb? Must I be carried to the skies Are there no foes for me to face? Sure I must fight if I would reign; Thy saints, in all this glorious war, And seize it with their eye. THE SECRET OF VICTORY. MISS CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES, a native of New York City, has spent most of her life in Cambridge, Mass., where she has been engaged in teaching. The poems by her in this volume are from the only collection of her works, entitled Risk, and other Poems," published in 1879. She is a frequent contributor to the press. SUCH was the might of Terra's giant son, He never fought but that he vanquished too; Thousands and thousands had his power undone, Yet still the secret of that power none knew. In this it lay, his mother's potent touch. Yet one is strong, and awful Hercules Now hotly struggles with the wrestler's might; And throws him, too, but finds by swift degrees That falls but nerve Antæus for the fight. Then with strained strength that made his veins stand out More than all labors he had done before, And muscles tense as iron through his doubt, Antæus' clinging feet from earth he tore. Who strangled serpents in his infant hold, Strangled this lifted monster in the air; Although it stands not with the Twelve enrolled, Which of those Toils can with this one compare? O Truth! thou art the struggling Hercules Coping with error of Antæan strength : Once wrenched from earth upon thy grappling knees, In heaven's pure air it shall be slain at length. CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES. THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. A SOLDIER'S course, from battles won A pilgrim's, restless as the sun; Prepared the trumpet's call to greet, Soldier of Jesus, stand! Pilgrim of Christ, with ready feet NORMAN MACLEOD, a prominent Scottish writer and clergyman, was born in Argyleshire, June 3, 1812, and was one of Her Majesty's chaplains. His writings are well known, and his life has been published. He was editor of "Good Words" from its beginning, in 1860. He died June 16, 1872 BROTHER! up to the breach, For Christ's freedom and truth, With the wisdom of age and the vigor of youth. Ask not who stands or falls, Of the Lord, And forward! Brother! strong in the faith That "the right will come right,” Never tremble at death, Never think of thyself mid the roar of the fight. O CHRISTIAN soldier! shouldst thou rue Wear a sad frown from day to day, With the strong faith of age and the bright Unquelled by sin, unawed by hate, hope of youth. If we perish, then o'er us Will ring the loud chorus, Grasp the sword Of the Lord, And follow! NORMAN MACLEOD, D. D. Thy lofty-statured spirit dress As that, ah! warrior heart, of thine, Yea! what hast thou to do with gloom, Whose footsteps spurn the conquered tomb? "SOLDIERS OF THE CROSS, ARISE." Thou, that through dreariest dark canst see A smiling immortality? Throughout my bones I feel A shivering cold On me lay hold, And run from head to heel. It is not loss of limbs or breath Which hath me so dismayed, Nor mortal wounds, nor groans of death Have made me thus arrayed: When cannons roar, I start no more Than mountains from their place; Though swords and spears Are darted at my face. A soldier it would ill become Such common things to fear; The shouts of war, the thundering drum, His courage up doth cheer: Though dust and smoke His passage choke, He boldly marcheth on, And thinketh scorn His back to turn, Till all be lost or won. The flashing fires, the whizzing shot, Distemper not his wits; The barbed steed he dreadeth not, But through the field, He cutteth forth his way, That whereupon the dread begins. Which thus appalleth me, Is that huge troop of crying sins Into the field they go, More terror hath Than all the wrath Defend me, Lord, from those misdeeds Which my profession shame, And from the vengeance that succeeds When we are so to blame : Preserve me far From acts of war, When thou dost peace command; And in my breast Let mercy rest, Though justice use my hand. Be thou my leader to the field, My head in battle arm; Be thou a breastplate and a shield, To keep my soul from harm; For, live or die, I will rely On thee, O Lord, alone; And in this trust, Though fall I must, I cannot be undone. GEORGE WITHER. ATHANASIUS CONTRA MUNDUM. ATHANASIUS was one of the Greek Fathers, and Bishop of Alexandria. He was the champion of orthodoxy against the Arian heresy, and distinguished for fortitude under persecutions. He was born about 296, and attended the Council of Nicæa, in 325, was several times exiled, and died at Alexandria in 373. WILLIAM R. HUNTINGTON, a clergyman of the Episcopal Church, was born at Lowell, Mass., in 1839, and graduated at Harvard College in the class of 1859. He was the class poet at the time of his graduation, and the Phi Beta Kappa poet in 1870. He has been rector of a church in Worcester since 1862. "THE world against me, I against the world!” Strange words for him who just now stood On Alexandria's throne, and hurled His thunders as he would. But rock is not less rock, though forced at last Nor may I be the less myself, though cast God's truth I stand on, can I need a throne, His mercy wrap me with a warmth its own, No, let them drive me thrice again from sway, They call me hasty, of opinion proud, What loneliness this outer strength doth hide, But more than sympathy the truth I prize; So let my banner be again unfurled, Again its cheerless motto seen, "The world against me, I against the world!" Judge thou, dear Christ, between ! WILLIAM R. HUNTINGTON. |