STANZAS ON THE PEACEFUL STRUGGLE IN EUROPE.
APRIL, 1854.
England's real strength is in the Lord of Hosts
Slumbereth now the British Lion,
In his sweet green Island lair?
No! He rushes forth to die on
Europe's plains, or crush the Bear.
Now he may well hope for glory,
Warring in defense of Right.
Will he soon be faint and gory
From the Czar's most lawless fight?
Oh, forbid it, God of Battles—
In whom we would place our trust!
Ere is heard his cannon's rattles
Quench the Bear's most savage lust!
Turn him back to his own regions,
Though a wild and bitter clime;
Wide disperse his barbarous legions
In Thy own good way and time.
If in Wisdom thou ordainest
This dread war shall still proceed—
Let us feel thou ever reignest
Through the saddest hours of need;
That thou still as Sovereign rulest
O'er the Nations of this world;
That thou yet mad Despots schoolest,
Ere they to the dust are hurled.
O preserve our generous Lion,
And his partners in the War;
Bid their hosts thy arm rely on;
Guard each soldier, shield each tar.
Let we see them soon returning
To their now deserted domes;
Let pure joy instead of mourning
Fill their fondly cherished homes.
May we profit by the lesson
Which events like this should teach—
Seek to put away transgression,
Act as healers of each breach.
Then we long may share God's favor—
From the Queen upon her throne
To the lowly son of labor
Toiling his poor crust to own.
LINES WRITTEN ON THE MORNING OF THE DREADFUL FIRE WHICH
CONSUMED THE B. B. & G. R. R. DEPOT BUILDINGS.
Oh! there has come on us a dreadful calamity,
Our fine Depot Buildings in ruin lie low.
And works which for months were in earnest activity,
To Fire's fearful ravage have been made to bow.
If the watchmen were both in the right path of duty,
How came it we every one heard with amaze,
That they saw not the fire till it fiercely was bursting
Right through the gable in one perfect blaze.
I would not indulge in ungrounded suspicion,
But truly the matter looks dark to my mind.
And I trust before long a most strict inquisition
Will be instituted, the faulty to find.
But should this be done would it rear up the buildings
That now form a rubbish heap blackened and hot?
Ah, no! and the Muse peering into the Future
Fears never such structures shall rise on that spot!
Then mourn, Brantford, mourn! for thy sad, sad misfortune
May well make thy sons to remember this day;
And all may well sigh and feel strongest emotion,
For troubles now thicken in blackest array.
And oh, it would tend to thy weal in the future,
If thou such events as a warning would take
To cleanse from thy dwellings Sin's dreadful pollution,
Lest God's greater judgments against thee awake.