And, God be thank'd! He saves the Queen,

He blesses her in love;
HIS Providence is ever seen

To guard her from above!

O dastard! thus to strike that brow
Anointed, and so fair;

O brave young Queen! that bruise is now

The brightest jewel there!

In gentlest majesty sublime,
Courageous and serene,-

How nobly does so mean a crime
Add glories to the Queen!

Yes: evil men and evil deeds

Are like some monster chain'd,-
That, when its wickedness succeeds,
Works only good constrain'd:
O Queen! the deed a traitor dares
Is but a kindled spark

To set ablaze thy people's prayers
For Thee, the nation's Ark!

The Queen's Birthdaq,

1848.

Another year, O Queen of many realms,

Dawns in fair promise on my Sovereign's throne; And, while the hurrying tempest overwhelms All climes and crowns beside,-Thou, Thou alone Sittest in majesty, God's favour'd one:

Yea, blessed of the LORD,-how blest art Thou!
Blest in the King of kings' own secret love,
Blest in Thy people never more than now,

Blest in the earth beneath and heaven above;
And, be Thou blest for ever! this glad day
That gave to us the mercy of Thy birth,
Be full of good to Thee in GOD's own way,

As His chief child and servant upon earth
For whom a thousand thousands hourly pray!

Oh, shielded by such panoply of saints

Forged in high heaven! thus, most gracious Queen,

If ever here Thy royal spirit faints

Amid the perils of a changeful scene

These prayers shall pour upon Thy brow serene,
Unruffled radiance; shedding holy balm,
Like moonlight silvering a lake at calm,

Over Thy many cares and many fears

So lull'd to rest: and thus, on history's page, Mercies to come for many happy years

Shall be Thy birthright: though the nations rage, And the uprooted mountains churn the sea,

The LORD shall bless Thy line from age to age, And Britain thank her GOD for lending Thee!

The Moon and Moonshine.

AN ALLEGORY.

Upon a slumbering lake at night
The moon looks down in love,
And there, in chasten'd beauty bright
A sister sphere of silver light
Seems bathing from above.

Anon, an evil man comes near,
And a rude stone he flings,
Half in hate and half in fear,
To crush the calm accusing sphere
That looks such lovely things.

He flung, and struck; and in swift race Round ran the startled waves;

He triumph'd for a little space;

But see! how soon that same calm face Again her beauty laves.

So, friend, if envy hits thy name,

Be still, it passes soon;

Thy lamp is burning all the same,
And, even for that moonshine Fame,
It must reflect its Moon.

Lobody Feels or Cares!"

A LAMENTATION.

The world is dying, its heart is cold,
And well-nigh frozen dead,—
A sorrowful thing it is to grow old,
With all the feelings fled,-

Dull are its eyes, and dismal its voice,
And a mourner's cloak it wears,

For all have forgotten to love or rejoice,-
Nobody feels or cares!

Time was, when zeal and honour and joy,
And charities cheering life,

Mix'd grains of gold with the mass of alloy,
And starr'd this night of strife;
But now, it is all for a man's own self,
And not how his neighbour fares;
Except for pleasure, and pride, and pelf,
Nobody feels or cares!

Be wise, or a fool,—be good or be bad,
To others it's much the same;

They heed not a whit if you're merry or sad,
Or worthy of praise or blame :

The world is reaping its broadcast seed

Of briars and thorns and tares,

And the only word in which all are agreed Is-Nobody feels or cares!

Lom Spirits.

It is not Time,-I joy to see
My children growing up;
It is not Sin,-remorse for me
Holds out no bitter cup;
Nor doth Mammon's dreary din
Add its gloom to Time or Sin.

It is not that the Past was sweet,-
Many griefs were there;
It is not that the Future's feet

Are shrouded up in care;
Providence is wise and kind,

And I am strong for heart and mind.

Why then be sad? why thus, my heart,

Disquieted within ?

Great is the mercy that thou art

Unsear'd by care and sin;

That Time to thee has small alloy,

And memory's thoughts are thoughts of joy.

Why then so sad P-My friends of old

Are dead and gone, or changed; The poor dear nest of home is cold, And each old haunt estranged; So that I walk a stranger there, With none to feel for how I fare!