THUS ENGLISHED. Come, children of our fatherland, For Peace, belov'd on every hand, Raises her glorious standard high. Open your arms, ye people all, And to our brave battalions call, No more 'to arms !' be heard the cry, From each, From all, Why these accoutrements of War? Why should our loud artillery roar ? And the fierce death-song hurl afar Defiance to some hostile shore? Defiance to some hostile shore. Let ours the greater glory be, While the wide world our name recites, To shew humanity has rights More sacred far than victory! No more, &c. What! shall war's many-featured wo, Tears, mourning, death, and all their train, The joyous earth again o'erflow, Nor we our long-sought haven gain ? Nor we our long-sought haven gain. Let not our hands in blood be dyed, We are thy children, Lord ! do Thou, Since all thy fatherhood avow, Withhold us from such fratricide ! No more, &c. Close, close your ranks, ye noble bands, From city and from country-ye Who seek by labor of your hands, The glorious fruits of liberty The glorious fruits of liberty. What though the sword this earth should mar, Goodwill and progress wait on you The blessings that from peace accrue, Out-rival all the wealth of war! No more, &c. Swift as the lightning's bolts descend, Ye truly wise, ye truly great Philosophers and poets, send Your thoughts the world to subjugate, -Your thoughts the world to subjugate, This—this shall be your heritage, -An earnest this of your success, The vanquished shall the victor bless, And peaceful conquests grace our age ! No more, &c. Let love of country fire our frame, And wake our generous ardours now, For Freedom that deserves the name, While we in deep devotion bow At Friendship’s shrine-the great—the good! Thus shall France teach the world to raise The chorus of unmingled praise No more ' to arms !' be heard the cry, your useless soldiery; From each, From all, Let one glad song arise, • May lasting Peace our furrows fertilize." THE FIELD IS THE WORLD, (MARK xvi. 15.) Go where the Master bids thee, And think on Him who trod The path of scorn and sorrow, To bring thee nigh to God. Go where the Master bids thee, To Israel's scattered race Proclaim redeeming grace. Go call His wanderers home From the dread thrall of Rome. Go where the Master bids thee, To erring Moslem lands; Where now the crescent stands. Go where the Master bids thee, To tribes of tongue unknown, Whose children sit in darkness, And bow to wood and stone. Go where the Master bids thee, To pain or toil or scorn, Say, art thou left forlorn ? And through the Spirit's might Wake to celestial light. Rejoicing in His love, C.B.C. MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST; AND WHERE IS HE? O Time! on rapid pinions For ever onward bound, Who once on earth were found ? Have spared to slow decay The workers—where are they? The ancient hills abide, And quits his pomp and pride. Still frowns the barren rock, Our life's brief dreams to mock. Still booms the unfathomed sea, But man, where is he? Their motions unforgot, But man abideth not. The ruler and the slave, Gone to the silent grave. When rock and hill shall flee, And “there be no more sea. Be one lone sleeper's bed, “O Earth! restore thy dead!” And O! when Earth and Heaven Before thy Throne shall flee, Jesus ! remember me ! C. B. C. REST. And care, a raging sea, No rest, O Lord, but Thee. O'er the crisp Alpine snows, The earnest of repose. By care's cold chills oppressed, Securely there to rest. The woes that rack the soul, And point the wished-for goal. S. X. BANISHMENT OF CHRYSOSTOM. A staff-bent sage- age; From the embrace -Byzantium's populace. |