English

Harried we were, and spent,
Broken and falling,
Ere as the cranes we went,
Crying and calling.

Summer shall see the bird
Backward returning;
Never shall there be heard
Those, who went yearning.

Emptied of us the land,
Ghostly our going,
Fallen, like spears the hand
Dropped in the throwing.

We are the lost who went
Like the cranes, crying;
Hunted, lonely, and spent,
Broken and dying.

Harp of wild and dream-like strain,
When I touch thy strings,
Why dost thou repeat again
Long-forgotten things?

Harp, in other, earlier days,
I could sing to thee;
And not one of all my lays
Vexed my memory.

But now, if I awake a note
That gave me joy before,
Sounds of sorrow from thee float,
Changing evermore.

Yet, still steeped in memory's dyes,
They come sailing on,
Darkening all my summer skies,
Shutting out my sun.

POWER

H AROUN , the Caliph, through the sunlit street
Walked slowly with bent head and weary breath,
And cried, " Alas, I cannot stay my feet,
That move unceasing toward the gate of Death. "

Harlackenden, among these men of note Christ hath thee seated:
In warlike way Christ thee aray, with zeal, and love well heated.
As generall belov'd of all, Christ Souldiers honour thee:
In thy young yeares, courage appeares, and kinde benignity.
Short are thy days, spent to his praise, whose Church work thou must aid,
His work shall bide, silver tride, but thine by death is staid.

Hark! 't is the voice of the mountain,
And it speaks to our heart in its pride,
As it tells of the bearing of heroes
Who compassed its summits and died!
How they gathered to strife as the eagles,
When the foeman had clambered the height!
How, with scent keen and eager as beagles,
They hunted him down for the fight.

Hark! through the gorge of the valley,
'T is the bugle that tells of the foe;
Our own quickly sounds for the rally,
And we snatch down the rifle and go.
As the hunter who hears of the panther,

1. Hark! 'Tis the Saviour of mankind Speaks to his chosen few;
3. " Yes, should deception still prevail, And blind the people's eyes,
'Tis he who leads the wandering blind In ways they could not know.
In my great day I'll rend the veil From all beneath the skies.
2. 'Tis he who says, " Go forth my friends, Proclaim my truth and grace;
4. " Then every eye shall see the grace You now in faith declare.
Inform each soul my love extends To all of Adam's race.
And I myself, from every face, Will wipe off every tear. "

Hark! 't is Freedom that calls, come, patriots, awake!
To arms, my brave boys, and away:
'T is Honor, 't is Virtue, 't is Liberty calls,
And upbraids the too tedious delay.
What pleasure we find in pursuing our foes,
Thro' blood and thro' carnage we 'll fly;
Then follow, we'll soon overtake them, huzza!
The tyrants are seized on, they die!

Triumphant returning with Freedom secur'd,
Like men, we'll be joyful and gay —
With our wives and our friends, we'll sport, love, and drink,
And lose the fatigues of the day.

Hark the sound of holy voices,
Chanting at the crystal sea,
Alleluya, alleluya,
Alleluya, Lord, to thee!
Multitude, which none can number,
Like the stars in glory stands,
Clothed in white apparel, holding
Palms of victory in their hands.

Patriarch, and holy prophet,
Who prepared the way of Christ,
King, apostle, saint, confessor,
Martyr, and evangelist,
Saintly maiden, godly matron,
Widows who have watched to prayer,
Joined in holy concert, singing
To the Lord of all, are there.

Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands,
And of armed men the hum;
Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered
Round the quick alarming drum,--
Saying, "Come,
Freemen, come!
Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum.

"Let me of my heart take counsel;
War is not of life the sum.
Who shall stay and reap the harvest
When the autumn days shall come?"
But the drum
Echoed, "Come!
Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn-sounding drum.

"But when won the coming battle,

Hark how the lyrick choristers o' th' wood
Warble their cheerful notes! which understood
Would make us think they woo'd and spake
In pure Tibullus phrase, when he did take
His Lesbia to him! how they sing
And chirp it merrily
To welcome in that verdant spring
Which makes our blood run high!

Arise then heavy Muse! now winter's done