O away! my thoughts are earthward!
Not asleep, my love! art thou,
Dwelling in the land of glory
With the saints and angels now.
Brighter, fairer far than living,
With no trace of woe or pain,
Robed in everlasting beauty,
Shall I see thee once again,
By the light that never fadeth,
Underneath eternal skies,
When the dawn of resurrection
Breaks o'er deathless Paradise.
W. E. A.
HUZZA FOR THE RULE OF THE WHIGS!
Air—"Old Rosin the Beau."
All ye who are true to the altar and throne,
Come join in this ditty with me;
And you who don't like it may let it alone,
Or listen a little and see.
How quietly now we may sleep in our beds,
And waken as merry as grigs;
Though fears of rebellion hang over our heads,
We're safe while we're ruled by the Whigs.
In the 'nineties we saw (I remember the day)
Revolution disguised as Reform;
But the country was saved in a different way,
By the Pilot that weather'd the storm.
Our vessel was steer'd by the bravest and best,
And, except a few quality sprigs,
The whole English nation had thought it a jest
To propose being ruled by the Whigs.
But as matters now stand in this ill-fated realm,
When old comrades will give us the slip,
We are strangely compell'd to put men at the helm.
To prevent them from scuttling the ship.
Only think, for a moment, if Russell were out,
How wild he'd be running his rigs!
About popular rights he would make such a rout—
'Tis lucky we're ruled by the Whigs.