Rome is thund'ring at thy gates

Burst them wide upon the foe! Christendom the charge awaits, Ready to repeat the blow.

Who is on the Lord's side ?—Who?
Let him come and sally forth,
Shew that saints are soldiers too,
Men of war as well as worth.

"Rome shall perish !-write that word In the blood, that she has spilt;

Perish hopeless, as abhorred,
Deep in ruin, as in guilt!"

So the Christian bard has sung;
So the Christian warrior sings;
As the harp the bow is strung,
Shafts as songs desert the strings.

Who is on the Lord's side ?-Who?

Let him take the Poet's word, Take the warrior's weapon too,

In the battle of the Lord.

Soon the vict❜ry shall be won;
Soon the crown for soldiers true;

When shall speak the Monarch's Son, "Who is on the Lord's side?-Who?

"Well done good and faithful heart!" From the voice of welcome tone, "Take thy portion and thy part,

In my kingdom-on my throne!"

THE BILL OF TWENTY-NINE.

A WORD TO THE PRIME MINISTER OF ENGLAND.

REPEAL the Bill of Twenty-nine!

Disgrace of British lawsImpound again the Popish kine,

For "is there not a cause?"

They've had their freedom-but to shew
How well it can agree

With Romish hands to strike the blow
At those, who made them free.

The fatal Bill of Twenty-nine
Beheld the tiger caged,

And wept to see a brute so fine

By bolt and bar engaged;

"It will not prowl-it will not prey,

Its nature is subdued;

Take bar and bolt, and all away,

And see its gratitude!"

The idiot Bill of Twenty-nine !

It took them all away,

And found the brute, so sleek and fine,
Yet eager for the prey:

No sooner from the cage released,
Than nature gave its sign;

'Twas but a signal for the beast—
The Bill of Twenty-nine!

The deadly Bill of Twenty-nine !—
Ah, well-a-day, the deed!—

My Christian brother! yours and mine

May be the hearts to bleed.

The Popish tiger hunts her food,
And seeks her foes the first;

For draughts of anti-Papal blood

Are welcome to her thirst.

But shall the Bill of Twenty-nine

Remain a British law ?

Or shall our senators combine
To gag the tiger's maw?—

Aye, by our faith! we'll have our turn;
We'll raise the martyrs' shrine

Where Smithfield blazed, and there we'll burn

The Bill of Twenty-nine.