What has our infant country gain'd
By fighting that old nation?
Our liberties we have maintain❜d,
And raised our reputation.
We've gain'd the freedom of the seas;
Our seamen are released :
Our mariners trade where they please;
Impressments, too, have ceased.
Now in ourselves we can confide,
Abroad we are respected:
We've check'd the rage of British pride,
Their haughtiness corrected.
First, to the God of boundless power
Be thanks and adoration:
Next, Madison, the wondrous flower,
And jewel of our nation.
Next, Congress does our thanks demand:
To them our thanks we tender;
Our heroes next, by sea and land,
To them our thanks we render.
Let us be just, in union live,
Then who will dare invade us?
If any should, our God will give
His angels charge to aid us.
126 THE OLD SOLDIER'S PRAYER.
GREAT God, deign to smile on our worthy Monroe,
Who sits in the high chair of state here below:
Reward him thrice double for his friendly deed,
In helping old soldiers in time of their need.
He wept for their sorrows, bore a part in their grief,
And held out his hand, to their joy and relief:
And God bless his name for considering the poor;
For this is the promise the Scriptures insure.
God bless him for granting a pension to me,
A wounded old soldier, in deep poverty;
Whose scenes of hard fortune, from youth to old age,
Have been, perhaps, equall'd by few on the stage.
Lord, smile on the Congress and Senate likewise,
Who sanction'd the plan our Monroe did devise:
May they long in honour resplendently shine,
And meet the applauses of freemen through time.
But now he looks forward in hopes of the day,
When his doctor's doubtful old bills he can pay,
And buy a new Bible to read when he's old,
That book of more value than jewels or gold.
This long-tried soldier, through all this campaign,
Fought hard for his country, rich freedom to gain :
Through hunger and cold he was there call'd to fight,
In combats by day, and patrolling by night.
Long, cold, frosty nights he in ambush did lie,
To rise and take cow-boys as they passed by;
Those stout, sulky fellows, and villains so old,
Who robb'd Whig and Tory of silver and gold.
On the Indian's lines hard fatigue he did bear,
Came nigh being stabb'd by a savage prince there:
Should all his dark scenes through the war now unfold,
"Twould shock human nature the sight to behold.
In Germantown battle this soldier was one
Who march'd in the field when the fray there begun,
And found on that morning that God was his shield, While his fellow-soldiers fell slain on the field.
And he is the same hardy soldier also,
Who in Monmouth battle did meet the proud foe,
And fought that hot day in the ranks on the plain,
Where Britain's tall champions lay piled with the
slain.
May the President give him a listening ear
To facts the old soldier has now stated here;
And his simple story of trials believe,
For he that's a soldier will scorn to deceive.
May kind angels guard the American chief
Safe through this dark world of pale sorrow and grief;
May he follow Christ, his dear Saviour and King,
And learn the old soldier his praises to sing.
And when he is call'd from this busy stage here,
And summon'd by death at Thy bar to appear,
May angels that moment wing him to the skies,
And pleasures immortal unfold to his eyes.
A bright crown of glory, O, then may he wear!
And shine in those courts like seraphim there;
While ransomed millions, on that happy shore,
Assist him in singing thy praise evermore.
THE TEA TAX.
I SNUM I am a Yankee lad,
And I guess I'll sing a ditty;
And if you do not relish it,
The more will be the pity;
That is, I think, I should have been
A plaguy sight more finish'd man,
If I'd been born in Boston town;
But I warn't, 'cause I'm a countryman.
Tol lol de ra.
Ri tol de riddle iddle, ri tol de ra.
And t'other day the Yankee folks
Were mad about the taxes,
And so we went, like Indians dress'd,
To split tea-chests with axes:
I mean, 'twas done in seventy-three,
An' we were real gritty :
The mayor, he would have led the gang,
But Boston warn't a city.
Ye see we Yankees didn't care
A pin for wealth or booty,
And so, in State Street, we agreed,
We'd never pay the duty;
That is, in State Street 'twould have been,
But 'twas King Street they call'd it then;
And the tax on tea, it was so bad,
The women would not scald it then.
Tol lol de ra, &c.
To Charlestown bridge we all went down, To see the thing corrected:
That is, we would have gone there,
But the bridge, it warn't erected;
The tea, perhaps, was very good;
Bohea, Souchong, or Hyson:
But drinking tea, it warn't the rage,
The duty made it poison.
And then we went aboard the ships,
Our vengeance to administer,
And didn't care a tarnal bit
For any king or minister;
We made a plaugy mess of tea
In one of the biggest dishes,
I mean, we steep'd it in the sea,
And treated all the fishes.
Tol lol de ra, &c.
And then, you see, we were all found out,
A thing we hadn't dreaded :
The leaders were to London sent,
And instantly beheaded;
That is, I mean, they would have been,
If ever they'd been taken :
But the leaders, they were never cotch'd,
And so they saved their bacon.
Tol lol de ra, &c.
Now, Heaven bless the president,
And all this goodly nation;
And doubly bless our Boston mayor,
And all the corporation;
And may all those who are our foes,
Or at our praise have falter'd,
Soon have a change-that is, I mean,
May all of them get halter'd.
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