His life to all the earth
Proud record bore,
Man yet might spring to birth,
With angel power!
His death, that as the "grass," to-day
Robes him in glory—and decay!
Oh! well, with spirit bow'd,
Above his bier
May a broad empire crowd,
With prayer and tear!
—His be its requiem—deep and far—
A nation's heart his sepulchre!
THE BOY'S MOUNTAIN SONG.
FROM THE GERMAN.
By I. McLellan, Jr.
I am the mountain boy!
Forth o'er an hundred halls I gaze.
Here morn his earliest light displays,
Here linger his declining rays,—
I am the mountain boy!
Here is the mountain-source,
Of the cold water-course—
And at sultry noon I dip,
In its wave my glowing lip.
I am the mountain boy!
When the awful lightnings glare,
Flashes on the midnight air,
On the rocking cliff I kneel,
Answering back each thunder-peal.
I am the mountain boy!
When the quickly-pealing bell,
Calls to arms in every dell,
In the mustered ranks I stand,
Swinging wide my mountain-brand
And sing my mountain-song!