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A PSALM OF THE HEART.

What are these that crash the trees far in the waving rear?

Fight on, thou young hero! there's help upon the way!

The light horse are coming, the great guns are coming,

The Highlanders are coming;-good God give us the day!

Hurrah for the brave and the leal! Hurrah for the strong and the true!

Hurrah for the helmets of steel! Hurrah for the bonnets o' blue!

A run and a cheer, the Highlanders are here! a gallop and a cheer, the light horse are here!

A rattle and a cheer, the great guns are here! With a cheer they wheel round and face the foe!

As the troopers wheel about, their long swords are out,

With a trumpet and a shout, in they go! Like a yawning ocean green, the huge host gulfs them in,

But high o'er the rolling of the flood, Their sabres you may see like lights upon the

sea

When the red sun is going down in blood. Again, again, again! And the lights are on the wane!

Ah, Christ! I see them sink, light by light, As the gleams go one by one when the great sun is down,

And the sea rocks in foam beneath the night. Ay, the great sun is low, and the waves of battle flow

O'er his honored head; but, oh, we mourn not he is down,

For to-morrow he shall rise to fill his country's eyes,

As he sails up the skies of renown!
Ye may yell, but ye shall groan!
Ye shall buy them bone for bone!

Now, tyrant, hold thine own! blare the trumpet, peal the drum !

From yonder hillside dark, the storm is on you! Hark!

Swift as lightning, loud as thunder, down they come!

As on some Scottish shore, with mountains frowning o'er,

The sudden tempests roar from the glen, And roll the tumbling sea in billows to the lee, Came the charge of the gallant Highlandmen! And as one beholds the sea though the wind he cannot see,

But by the waves that flee knows its might, So I tracked the Highland blast by the sudden tide that passed

O'er the wild and rolling vast of the fight. Yes, glory be to God! they have stemmed the foremost flood!

I lay me on the sod and breathe again! In the precious moments won, the bugle-call has gone

To the tents where it never rang in vain, And lo, the landscape wide is red from side to side,

And all the might of England loads the plain! Like a hot and bloody dawn, across the horizon drawn,

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While the host of darkness holds the misty vale,

As glowing and as grand our bannered legions stand,

And England's flag unfolds upon the gale! At that great sign unfurled, as morn moves o'er the world

When God lifts his standard of light,

With a tumult and a voice, and a rushing mighty noise,

Our long line moves forward to the fight. Clarion and clarion defying, Sounding, resounding, replying, Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing, Near and far

The to-and-fro storm of the never-done hurrahing,

Through the bright weather banner and feather rising and falling, bugle and fife

Calling, recalling-for death or for life-
Our host moved on to the war,
While England, England, England, England, Eng-
land!

Was blown from line to line near and far,
And like the morning sea, our bayonets you
might see,

Come beaming, gleaming, streaming,
Streaming, gleaming, beaming,

Beaming, gleaming, streaming, to the war!
Clarion and clarion defying,
Sounding, resounding, replying,

Trumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing,

Near and far

The to-and-fro storm of the never-done hurrahing,

Through the bright weather, banner and feather
rising and falling, bugle and fife
Calling, recalling-for death or for life-
Our long line moved forward to the war.

A PSALM OF THE HEART.

SCOURGE us as Thou wilt, O Lord God of Hosts;
Deal with us, Lord, according to our transgres-
sions;
But give us victory!

Victory, victory! O Lord, victory!
O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory!

Lift Thy wrath up from the day of battle,
And set it on the weight of other days,
Draw Thy strength from us for many days,
So Thou be with us on the day of battle,
And give us victory.

Victory, victory! O Lord, victory!
O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory!

Let the strong arm be as the flag o' the river, The withered flag that flappeth o'er the river, When all the flood is dried out of the river!

Let the brave heart be as a drunkard's bosom, When the thick fume is frozen in the bosom, And the bare sin lies shivering in the bosom!

Let the bold eye be sick and crazed with midnight,

Strained and cracked with aching days of midnight,

Swarmed and foul with creeping shapes of midnight!

So Thou return upon the day of battle,
So we be strong upon the day of battle,
Be drunk with Thee upon the day of battle,
So Thou shine o'er us in the day of battle,
Shine in the faces of our enemies,
Hot in the faces of our enemies,
Hot o'er the battle and the victory.
Victory, victory! O Lord, victory!
O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory!

Shame us not, O Lord, before the wicked!
In our hidden places let Thy wrath
Afflict us; in the secret of our sin
Convince us; be the bones within our flesh
Marrowed with fire, and all the strings of
life

Strung to the twang of torture; let the stench
Of our own strength torment us; the desire
Of our own glorious image in the sea
Consume us; shake the darkness like a tree,
And fill the night with mischiefs-blights and
dwales,

Weevils, and rots, and cankers! But, O Lord,
Humble us not upon the day of battle,
Hide not Thy face upon the day of battle,
Let it shine o'er us on the day of battle,
Shine in the faces of our enemies,
Hot in the faces of our enemies,
Hot o'er the battle and the victory!
Victory, victory! O Lord, victory!
O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory!

Though Thou shouldst glorify us above measure,
Yet will we not forget that Thou art God!
Honor our land, O Lord! honor our land!

Be Thou her armor in the day of battle,
Whereon the sword of man shall strike in vain!
For Thou canst find the place and leave no scar,
Sting of bee, nor fairy-spot nor mole,
Yet kill the germ within the core of life.

Oh, lead her in the glory of her beauty,
So that the nations wonder at her beauty!
For Thou canst take her beauty by the heart
And throw the spout of sorrow from the foun-
tain,

The flood of sorrow through the veins of joy.

Let her soul look out of her eyes of glory,
Lighten, O Lord, from awful eyes of glory!
For Thou canst touch the soul upon its throne,
The fortressed soul upon its guarded throne,
Nor scorch the sweet air of the populous splen-
dor

That comes and goes about a leprous king.
Therefore fear not to bless us, O Lord God!
And give us victory!

Victory, victory! O Lord, victory!
O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory!

Sight of home, if Thou wilt; kiss of love,
If Thou wilt; children at the knees of peace,

If Thou wilt; parents weeping in the door
Of welcome, if Thou wilt; but victory,
Victory, victory! O Lord, victory!
O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory!

Pangs if Thou wilt, O Lord! Death if Thou wilt!

Labor and famine, frost and fire and storm,
Silent plague, and hurricane of battle,
The field-grave, and the wolf-grave, and the sea!
But victory, victory! O Lord, victory!
O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory!

Consider, Lord, the oppressions of the oppressor,
And give us victory!

The tyrant sitteth on his golden throne
In palaces of silver, to his gates

The meeting winds blow good from all the world.

Who hath undone the mountain where he locks
His treasure? In the armory of hell
Which engine is not his? His name infects
The air of every zone, and to each tongue
From Hecla to the Ganges adds a word
That kills all terms of pride. His servants sit
In empires round his empire; and outspread
As land beneath the water, O my God,
His kingdoms bear the half of all Thy stars!
Who hath out-told his princes? Who hath
summed

His captains? From the number of his hosts
He should forget a nation and not lack!
Therefore, O Lord God, give us victory!

The serf is in his hut; the unsacred sire
Who can beget no honor. Lo his mate
Dim through the reeking garlic-she whose

womb

Doth shape his ignorant shame, and whose young slave

In some far field thickens a knouted hide
For baser generations. Their dull eyes
Are choked with feudal welfare; their rank
limbs

Steam in the stye of plenty; their rude tongues,
That fill the belly from the common trough,
Discharge in gobbets of as gross a speech
That other maw the heart. Nor doth the boor
Refuse his owner's chattel though she breed
The rich man's increase, nor doth she disdain
The joyless usage of such limbs as toil
Yoked with the nobler ox, and take as mute
A beast's infliction; at her stolid side
The girl that shall be such a thing as she,
Suckles the babe she would not, with the milk
A bondmaid owes her master. Lord, Thou seest!
Therefore, O Lord God, give us victory!

The captive straineth at the dungeon-grate.
Behold, O Lord, the secret of the rock,
The dungeon and the captive, and the chain!
Though it be hidden under forest-leaves,
Though it be on the mountains among clouds,
Though they point to it as a crag o' the hill,
And say concerning it that the wind waileth,
Thou knowest the inner secret and the sin!
I see his white face at the dungeon-bars,
As snow between the bars of winter trees.
He sinketh down upon the dungeon-stones,
His white face making light within the dungeon,

AFLOAT AND ASHORE.

The clasped whiteness of his praying hands
Flickering a little light within the dungeon.
And through the darkness, through the cavern
darkness,

Like to a runnel in a savage wood,

Sweet through the horror of the hollow dark He sings the song of home in the strange land. How long, O Lord of thunder? Victory! Lord God of vengeance, give us victory! Victory, victory! O Lord, victory!

O Lord, victory! Lord, Lord, victory!

AFLOAT AND ASHORE.

TUMBLE and rumble, and grumble and snort, Like a whale to starboard, a whale to port; Tumble and rumble, and grumble and snort, And the steamer steams through the sea, love!

I see the ship on the sea, love,

I stand alone

On this rock,

The sea does not shock

The stone;

The waters around it are swirled,

But under my feet

I feel it go down

To where the hemispheres meet

At the adamant heart of the world.

Oh, that the rock would move!

Oh, that the rock would roll

To meet thee over the sea, love!
Surely my mighty love

Should fill it like a soul,

And it should bear me to thee, love;
Like a ship on the sea, love,
Bear me, bear me, to thee, love!

Guns are thundering, seas are sundering, crowds are wondering,

Low on our lee, love.

Over and over the cannon-clouds cover brother and lover, but over and over

The whirl-wheels trundle the sea, love,
And on through the loud pealing pomp of her
cloud

The great ship is going to thee, love;
Blind to her mark, like a world through the dark,
Thundering, sundering, to the crowds wondering,
Thundering ever to thee, love.

I have come down to thee coming to me, love. I stand, I stand

On the solid sand,

I see thee coming to me, love;

The sea runs up to me on the sand,

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I'm through the breakers! I'm on the shore!

I see thee waiting for me, love!

A sudden storm
Of sighs and tears,
A clenching arm,
A look of years.

In my bosom a thousand cries,
A flash like light before my eyes,
And I am lost in thee, love!

"SHE TOUCHES A SAD STRING OF SOFT RECALL."

RETURN, return! all night my lamp is burning, All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn;

Like it, I fade and pale, when day returning
Bears witness that the absent can return,
Return, return.

Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness,
Like it, I burn to waste and waste to burn,
Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness
To feed the sorrowy signal for return,
Return, return.

Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings,
I bend and shake; like it, I quake and yearn,
When Hope's late butterflies, with whispering
wings,

Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn-
Burn in the watchfire of return,
Return, return.

Like it, the very flame whereby I pine
Consumes me to its nature. While I mourn
My soul becomes a better soul than mine,
And from its brightening beacon I discern
My starry love go forth from me, and shine
Across the seas a path for thy return,
Return, return.

I start 't is as if thou hadst stretched thine Return, return! all night I see it burn,

hand

And touched me through the sea, love.

I feel as if I must die,

For there's something longs to fly,

Fly and fly, to thee, love.

As the blood of the flower ere she blows

Is beating up to the sun,

And her roots do hold her down,

And it blushes and breaks undone
In a rose,

So my blood is beating in me, love!

All night it prays like me, and lifts a twin
Of palmèd praying hands that meet and yearn-
Yearn to the impleaded skies for thy return.
Day, like a golden fetter, locks them in,
And wans the light that withers, though it burn
As warmly still for thy return;

Still through the splendid load uplifts the thin
Pale, paler, palest patience that can learn
Naught but that votive sign for thy return-
That single suppliant sign for thy return,
Return, return.

Return, return! lest haply, love, or e'er Thou touch the lamp the light have ceased to burn,

And thou, who through the window didst dis

cern

The wonted flame, shalt reach the topmost stair
To find no wide eyes watching there,
No withered welcome waiting thy return!
A passing ghost, a smoke-wreath in the air,
The flameless ashes, and the soulless urn,
Warm with the famished fire that lived to burn-
Burn out its lingering life for thy return,
Its last of lingering life for thy return,

Its last of lingering life to light thy late return,
Return, return.

AMERICA.

NOR force nor fraud shall sunder us! O ye
Who north or south, on east or western land,
Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth,
Freedom for freedom, love for love, and God
For God; O ye who in eternal youth
Speak with a living and creative flood
This universal English, and do stand
Its breathing book; live worthy of that grand
Heroic utterance-parted, yet a whole,
Far yet unsevered-children brave and free
Of the great Mother-tongue, and ye shall be
Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare's soul,
Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme,
And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spen-
ser's dream.

GOOD-NIGHT IN WAR-TIME.

TO ALEXANDER SMITH.

THE stars we saw arise are high above,
And yet our Even-song seems sung too soon.
Good-night! I lay my hand-with such a love
As thou wert brother of my blood-upon
Thy shoulder, and methinks beneath the moon
Those sisters, Anglia and Caledon,

Lean toward each other. Ay, for Man is one;
We are a host ruled by one trumpet-call,
Where each, armed in his sort, makes as he
may

The general motion. The well-tuned array
We see; yet to what victory in what wars
We see not; but like the revolving stars
Move on ourselves. The total march of all
Or men or stars God knows. Lord, lead us on!

ISABEL.

In the most early morn

I rise from a damp pillow, tempest-tost,

To seek the sun with silent gaze forlorn,
And mourn for thee, my lost
Isabel.

That early hour I meet

The daily vigil of my life to keep,

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