His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights On the warm hearth; then, hopping o'er the floor, 30 And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is; The hare, 35 By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs, And watch them strict: for, from the bellowing east, 40 45 50 RULE, BRITANNIA WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, The nations, not so blest as thee, Must in their turns, to tyrants fall; Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. 'Rule,' etc. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; 'Rule,' etc. The Muses, still with freedom found, Blest isle with matchless beauty crowned, CHARLES WESLEY 1707-1788 JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL 25 JESUS, lover of my soul, 5 Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Other refuge have I none; Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; Wilt Thou not regard my call? Wilt Thou not accept my prayer? ΙΟ 15 THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 35 40 30 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 5 IO 15 20 25 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 30 The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, |