The language of endurance from the brave;

of peace from such as know not fear,

The song

Shall War prevail for ever? Must we be

For ever and for ever bound to wage, Like the devouring creatures of the sea,

Unceasing battle for our heritage?

Are we to sleep in armor ? To lie down
With lighted thunderbolts, year


year, Lest they who saw their monarch vail his crown

At our approach of old, may venture near ?

What though a fourth of thy brave empire now

Is put upon the casting of a die?
The land our fathers bled for--that which Thou

Regardest as a portion of the sky

And justly too. What though thy outstretch'd hands

Are vast and powerful ? Thy rocky earth, Rough though it be, more precious than the lands

That burn with gold and gems? Of greater worth To thy stout people, Country of the free!

Than if thy waters rang o'er beds of pearls, Flashing and sounding with the great high sea,

Or when their wrath was up-in drifts and whirla

Threw diamonds—rubies-lumps of light ashore;

The wealth of India, or the glorious coil
Of shipwreck'd empires freighted with the store

Of gone-by ages-founder'd with their spoil.
From the four quarters of our strength, are we

To keep for ever thundering, night and day? Will nothing do but warfare? Must we be

Arm’d to the teeth for ever? arm’d to slay?
Are the proud creatures of our soil-our youth,

Our fruitage and our hope—are they to go
Not reasoning as they ought with words of truth,

Along the way of life, but arm'd as though

The brave and beauteous earth whereon they tread,

Were fashion'd by the Builder of the Skies,

Not for his living Image, but the dead

A place for slaughter and for sacrifice;

The Golgotha of nations. Must they be

Bred up to butchery from their earliest breath ? Made to believe that they are serving thee,

Our Father! when they sweep a storm of death,

O'er portions of thy goodliest heritage,

Tearing a path to empire-laying bare The Vineyards of the world, age after age,

Or clamoring with ten thousand trumpets where

The shadowy monsters of the Great Deep dwell,

With star-drift-fire--and shapes magnificent, Creatures that watch thy roaring citadel

The broad black sea—the sun-dropp'd firmament.

Father of men! Jehovah! What are they,

The rulers of the earth, that they should dare, To set aside thy law—to bid man slay

Where thou, their God, hașt told him to forbear?

New England, rouse thee from thy heavy sleep!

Storehouse of nations-Lighted of the sky Great northern hive-Long cherish'd of the deep,

Mother of States ! To thee we turn our eye!

Up with thy heart in prayer,

and cry.

aloud Peace to the Nations ; to our Borders peace! Why roll your banners like a thunder-cloud,

O’er sky and earth for ever? Let war cease!
Let our brave Country lift her arms and swear

By Him that dwelleth in eternity,
That henceforth and for ever she will wear

About her warrior brow, the flowering olive-tree!


Or New York, wrote a volume of poems, published in 1814.


Now far advanced had pass'd the second day,
And fainter shone the sun's declining ray,
When Austin's walk approach'd a gloomy pile.
Large was the structure and of antique style
Two oaks before the white impalement grew,
Which far around a circling umbrage threw
Poultry at nightly lodging here would stay,
And work was done beneath their bouglis by day.
Beneath one's shade a draw-knife's horse was stood,
And many a tool was made of useful wood;
Here many a youngster whistled in his cheer,
For oft was rake, hoe, scythe, new-handled here
Its fellow oak unto the sight display'd
Full many a piece of season'd wood uplaid,
For cart, helve, sled, reserved in squared style,
And future use, arose the goodly pile.
An oval pond spread near the white impale,
Its muddled surface to the curling gale ;
'Twas here the gander march'd in noisy pride,
And led his mate and young ones to the tide,
The clamorous geese oft saild the troubled pool,
And tribes of goslings here repair’d to cool-
Here duck and drake with all their numerous throng,
Quack'd in right gleeful cheer, and swam along.

To the large edifice young Lovegrace drew,
Which he some wealthy farmer's mansion knew.
An arch'd large porch projecting rose before,
Secured by outer and with inner door,
Above two rows of light in order show,
Which round the entrance feeble day-light throw;
On either side led up the front of stone,
Two wild grape vines long since transplanted grown.


The town Arcadia situate near the waves, Whose yellow sands a stream of commerce laves,

Presented to the pleased spectator's view,
United, rural scene and city too.
On a large square its architecture stood,
While down each side rolld a broad silver flood;
Ships of all sizes here safe in harbor lay,
And parti-color'd pendants deck the bay.
The streets were broad and even length’ning drawn,
And in its centre smiled a spacious lawn.
Chinese precinct'ring work enclosed its ground,
And trees of pride of India bloom'd around,
Two outward rows at equal distance grew,
Form'd shade and walk of use and beauty too.
Their flowers a native extra worth assume,
And pride themselves in long continued bloom ;
These too again in inner walks are seen
With balm of Gilead interplaced between.
Through the whole lawn now pride of India shows,
And here an aromatic balm of Gilead grows.
The fence was lined throughout its ample square,
And different shrubbery different colors wear.
Here stands the laurel crown'd in generous bloom,
Here breathes the honeysuckle's sweet perfume.
The pale white rose attracts the passing eye,
And here the damask scented richer dye,
The inner walks with tints continued glow,
As some decline new opening beauties flow.

Around the lawn are seen,
Four summer houses which adorn the green,
Whose opening diamond work invites the air,
And vine of grapes and jessamines livery wear,
Luxuriant branches o'er their archings run,
And loveliest verdure shades the unwelcome sun.


Was formerly one of the professors at Dartmouth College, and is now the editor of the New York Statesman. He is extensively known as the author of two volumes of Travels in Europe, published in 1827. His poetry consists of short pieces, chiefly occasional.

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In hymns of praise, eternal God !

When thy creating hand
Stretch'd the blue arch of heaven abroad,
And meted sea and land,

The morning stars together sung,
And shouts of joy from angels rung.

Than Earth's prime hour, more joyous far

Was the eventful morn,
When the bright beam of Bethlehem's star
Announced a Saviour born!

Then sweeter strains from heaven began-
“Glory to God-good will to man.”

Babe of the manger! can it be?

Art thou the Son of God?
Shall subject nations bow the knee,
And kings obey thy nod ?

Shall thrones and monarchs prostrate fall
Before the tenant of a stall ?

'Tis He! the hymning seraphs cry,

While hovering, drawn to earth;
'T is he! the shepherds' songs reply,
Hail! hail Emmanuel's birth !

The rod of peace those hands shall bear,
That brow a crown of glory wear!

'Tis He! the eastern sages sing,

And spread their golden hoard; 'Tis He! the hills of Sion ring, Hosanna to the Lord !

The Prince of long prophetic years
To day in Bethlehem appears !

He comes! the Conqueror's march begins,

No blood his banner stains;
He comes to save the world from sins,
And break the captive's chains !

The poor, the sick and blind shall bless
The Prince of Peace and Righteousness.

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