OLD ENGLAND-MY COUNTRY!

OLD ENGLAND-my country!

The home of the brave,

The birth-place of Freedom,

Of fetters-the grave

The hearts of thy sons,

Like the waves of the sea,

Encircle thee round

With the love of the free.

Old England-my country!

The sound of thy name
Wakes the chord of my bosom
That thrills to thy fame;

While the echoes of heaven

Are waiting to tell The praises of millions,

Who love thee as well.

Oh! who can be silent,

When honour should speak,

Or who but with praises

The silence would break?—

He's a slave, who refuses

To echo the song,

Or a knave, who abuses

The use of his tongue.

But the heart of the true man

The patriot-glows,

And the lips it uncloses

Unwilling to close,

Till the tale of her glory

Is told to a world,

And the flag of her story
As widely unfurled!

And such be the spirit,

That ever inspires

The souls of her children,

The hearts of her sires ; And England-my country,

For ever shall be

The pride of the mighty,
The boast of the free!

Then resound the "hurrah”

From the hill to the plain,

Till the valley re-echo

The chorus again

"Hurrah for Old England!”— The cry, as it rolls,

Is the shout of our bosoms,

The song of our souls!

THE TRUTH.

THE TRUTH-the Truth!-The glorious Truth!
For which our martyr'd fathers died;
The guide and guard of headlong youth,
Of tott'ring age the staff and pride.

The Truth, that thrilled our infant ears,
By mother's fondness whispered there,
With power applied by Him, who hears
The fervour of a mother's prayer.

The Truth, that led our childhood's feet
In pure Religion's upward road:

The message

from a Mercy seat

The manual of the love of God.

The Truth, that cheers our manhood's prime With hopes of joy, and views of bliss; Revealing destinies sublime,

To beckon from a world like this.

And when the setting sun of life
Sheds out his horizontal ray,
Athwart the scene of storm and strife,
That wearies out our mortal day,

That Truth shall light us through the gloom Succeeding time's expiring even,

Discov'ring footprints in the tomb,

Of Him who trod that way to heaven,