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The Christian's Triumph.

LAY down the shield, and quit the sword,
For now thy work is done:

And swiftly toward the glowing East
Ascends the rising sun.

Angelic guards wait with the day,
Thy crown of light to bring,
"O Grave, where is thy victory?
O Death, where is thy sting?'

Bravely hast thou upheld thy shield,
The path of conquest trod,
And follow'd in yon dreadful field
The banner of thy God.
The hour of rest approaches nigh,
And waiting heralds sing,
"O Grave, where is thy victory?
O Death, where is thy sting?"

They come, they come-and high in air
Is borne the Victor's wreath,
Who overthrew, in glorious war,

The World, the Grave, and Death. There, there they wait to welcome thee, And high their triumphs ring:

"O Grave, where is thy victory?

O Death, where is thy sting?"

THE CHRISTIAN'S TRIUMPH.

Thus swiftly pass'd the heavenly band
And soon the city gain'd;

The soldier, from his Sovereign's hand,

A soldier's crown obtain'd;

But still, as heavenly gales went by,
I heard each joyful string,
"O Grave, where is thy victory?
O Death, where is thy sting?"

And thus, when all our toils are o'er,
Shall we the conquest share,
And with the conquerors above,
The palms of triumph bear.
Again shall yonder hosts of light,
Abroad their banners fling,

"O Grave, where is thy victory?
O Death, where is thy sting?"

And we shall on the mount of God,
Girt with the Victor's sword,
Receive the honours which, with blood,

Were purchased by our Lord.
And ever through the echoing sky,
This song of joy shall ring,

"O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?"

183

J. G. B. PEGG.

To my Child at Play.

PLAY on, my little one! fair is thine hour;

How jocund thy spirit, how cloudless and bright! While Care haunts the court, and the camp, and the bower,

Thy heart only feels the warm thrill of delight.

Play on! for thy gambols, so blithesome and free, It were pleasure to share, as 'tis joy to behold; Thou art merry and wild as the revelling bee; Thou art blithe as a lamb just escaped from the fold.

O could'st thou through life be as happy as now, With thy heart as unclouded, thy bosom as pure; Could the joy of that smile which enlightens thy brow,

And the rapturous glow of thy spirits, endure!

But I would not with dread of the future

thee;

oppress

Play on! and remember that nothing can tear From thy innocent bosom the hopes that now bless thee,

Save the vice of the world:-all thy danger lies there.

TO MY CHILD AT PLAY.

185

And when its temptations beset thee my child, O think of the truth which my verse would impart,

Be ne'er by its folly, its madness beguiled,

But in purity keep all the thoughts of thy heart.

More joy will it give me in life, if thy name
Be a word to awaken the feelings of worth,
More joy than to see thee exalted by fame,
And rich in the wealth and the grandeur of earth.

Yes! goodness will yield to thy soul a delight Which the splendour of greatness can never bestow;

And while virtue directs thee, her heavenly light Will reveal the sweet flowers in thy pathway

below.

Thus favour'd and happy, thus blessing and blest, Thou wilt pass through the world unallured by

its crime;

Thus living, be honour'd; thus dying, thy rest Will be endless in glory-in rapture sublime!

ANON.

The Dial of Flowers.

"Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours
As they floated in light away,

By the opening and the folding flowers
That laugh to the summer's day.

Thus each moment had its own rich hue,
And its graceful cup or bell,

In whose colour'd vase might sleep the dew,
Like a pearl in an ocean-shell.

To such sweet signs might the time have flow'd
In a golden current on,

Ere from the garden, man's first abode,
The glorious guests were gone.

So might the days have been brightly told-
Those days of song and dreams-
When shepherds gather'd their flocks of old,
By the blue Arcadian streams.

So in those isles of delight, that rest
Far off in a breezeless main,

Which many a bark, with a weary quest,
Hath sought but still in vain.

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