THE SWAN.
1 Look at the swan! how still he goes!
His neck and breast like silver gleam;
He seems majestic as he rows;
The glory of the lonely stream.
2 There is a glory in the war,
A glory when the warrior wears
(His visage marked with many a scar)
The laurel wet with human tears.
3 Such scenes no glory can impart,
With trumps, and drums, and noises rude,
Like that which fills his silent heart
Who walks with God in quietude.