64
An hour of moral contest is before thee,
Not the old combat of the shield and spear,
But to the azure heaven arching o'er thee
Rises a nobler hope, a loftier fear.
Low in decay lies many an aged error;
From dust of mouldering falsehood springeth truth;
The past is to the present as a mirror,
And hope to mankind has eternal youth.
Vast is the charge entrusted by high Heaven—
Heavy the weight upon that delicate hand;
Into thy keeping is the balance given,
Wherein is weighed the future of our land.
*****
*****
From glowing Ind to Huron's waters spreading
Extends the empire that our sword hath won;
There have our sails been, peace and knowledge spreading;
Upon thy sceptre never sets the sun.
A nobler temple still awaits thy winning,
‘The mind's ethereal war' is in its birth;
The cross of Christ is on its way beginning
Its glorious triumph o'er the darkened earth.
God's blessing be upon thee, Royal Maiden!
And be thy throne heaven's altar here below,
With sweet thanksgivings and with honours laden,
Of moral victories o'er want and woe."
With one short miscellaneous poem we must close. If it be a mournful one, yet how accordant with the sentiments and feelings of many a mind and heart, which will earnestly respond to its deep tones of regret.
We might have been.
We might have been,—these are but common words,
And yet they make the sum of life's bewailing;
They are the echo of those finer chords
Whose music life deplores when unavailing:
We might have been!
