OUR GOD IS GOOD. BENJAMIN STOTT, BORN AT MANCHESTER, NOVEMBER 24, 1813, AND DIED THERE, JULY 26, 1850. OUR God is good, His works are fair, O'er land and sea, Proclaims that all should equal share Sweet liberty. The air with sounds of Freedom rings, And joyful twittering insect things That sound is heard. 'Tis first of Nature's wise decrees, Without control It rolls o'er waves of mighty seas, Wherever mortal man hath been, On hills, or plains, He hath in Nature's kingdom seen That freedom reigns. Dear liberty! foul slavery's ban, He breathed into the soul of man, Pure love for thee. That love inspired great Bruce and Tell, Of coward knaves, Whose powerful villanies compel Men to be slaves. And yet that love shall millions bless, The rights of all; Then woe to him that dare oppress With chains and thrall. For God is good, His works are fair, O'er land and sea, Proclaims that all should equal share Sweet liberty. KENILWORTH. WILLIAM HARPER. FROM THE GENIUS, AND OTHER POEMS," 1840. PROUD Kenilworth a ruin stands, That is of old renown; 'Mid smiling streams, and pleasant lands, He bows his glory down. My spirit dreams of other days, While yet I gaze on thee; Of mailed knights, and minstrel lays, And queenly revelrie! And then, methinks, how sad the things Which such mutation know! The pomps of nobles, and of kings, Are but a passing show. And where are they who in thy halls Have suit and service known? Who piled thy ivy-tangled walls, All silent now! in mist and gloom, Their mansion is the barren tomb, Be mine a portion better far Whose glory is a falling star, OLD FROST. JOHN SCHOLES. 'Tis such a night, when herdsmen first begin The winter's task, to house and fodder up Their cattle. When white frost hangs thick Upon the brookside hedge, and meads, close cropp'd, The kine with argent frost come, silver'd o'er, All night Old Frost works wond'rous alchemy-- Of wrought-enchased silver shows at morn. Round glittering sloes, that peep'd thro' leafy shades, Like elfin eyes in the dusk twilight hour, A misty bloom, as on Damascus blade, At dawn enwraps. The brook its wonted song BABYLON. WILLIAM ROWLINSON; DROWNED IN THE THAMES, WHILST BATHING, JUNE 22, 1829; BURIED IN BISHAM CHURCHYARD, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE. WHERE great Euphrates' giant flood Roll'd joyously along, Chaldean's noblest city stood, In grandeur seeming strong, |