I'm proud of the land where I was born, I'm proud of the Parent Isle, Whose banners float at the gates of morn, And the gates of eve the while.

And my pulses leap with a joyous thrill, Wherever they take the lead, And join their hands with a hearty will In doing a n.o.ble deed.

There's another land that's dear to me, For it speaks the English tongue; Like a shoot that springs from an old oak tree, From the English race it sprung.

It has gained a mighty place on earth, And a mighty name has won; It has given to sage and hero birth, And it boasts of Was.h.i.+ngton.

But a blot, a dark and loathsome blot, Polluted that fair young land; G.o.d waited till his wrath was hot, And he took his sword in hand!

He had heard the bitter wail of woe, He had heard the clanking chain-- He rescued a nation years ago, He will rescue one again!

There's a gathering darkness in the sky, There's a tramp of hurrying feet; There's a clang of arms, and a battle cry, And two hostile armies meet.

They meet! they charge! 'tis a dreadful sight!

They wade through a gory sea; It is life or death, it is wrong or right, It is freedom or slavery!

The nations stand with a wondering look, And list to the roar and din; While History bends o'er an open book And steadily writes therein.

And what will she say of my native land?

And what of the Parent Isle?

To the North, or South, did they give their hand, To which did they grant a smile?

G.o.d speaks in the wind and earthquake now, And those who have ears may hear: To the King of kings let monarchs bow, And let all the earth draw near.

Let the nations mark his holy laws, For though he keeps silence long, With fire and sword He will plead the cause Of the weak against the strong.

Take heed and beware, my native land,-- To thy ways and words take heed!

On the side of right and freedom stand, And say to the truth, "G.o.d speed!"

Let England herself a lesson learn, And let her take warning too; Let her judge as she would be judged in turn, Let her n.o.bly speak and do.

THE WORLD TO COME.

[Dear as Canada was to our auth.o.r.ess, dearer still to her heart was the true Father-Land, "the heavenly country" for which the children of faith in the olden time looked. Being born again she bore such a relations.h.i.+p to the world to come that we may say of her, as she does of "the bride of Christ": "The Cross was infinitely dearer to her than ten thousand worlds. It was twined around her heart with ties that nothing could ever loose. She wept, but they were mingled tears of joy and sorrow: sorrow, for she mourned that her sins had cost the life of the Son of G.o.d; joy, for she knew that that sacrifice had made a perfect atonement for her. She knew that the Father had forgiven her iniquities, and that he would no longer remember her sins. As she clung to the Cross, a bright beam of glory shone around her; she raised her tearful eyes, and a crown of everlasting beauty met her admiring gaze: she knew that crown was reserved for her, and that on her bridal day her Lord would place it on her own brow." With such an experience and such a hope, we are not surprised that she should thus discourse:]

The earth renewed presents a glorious scene: Mountains and valleys of perpetual green; Delicious plains, and odoriferous bowers, Unfading forests, never-dying flowers; Fruits that on fragrant trees immortal grow, Rivers that murmur sweetly as they flow, And gardens decked with everlasting spring, And s.h.i.+ning warblers on the tireless wing.

No howling tempest breaks the sweet repose, No piercing thorn surrounds the blus.h.i.+ng rose, No sultry heat parches those blooming plains, No night is known where day forever reigns; No thunder's roar, no lightning's vivid glare, No darkened sky, disturbs the beauty there.

The royal city, the divine abode Of ransomed men and their eternal G.o.d, Rises 'mid blooming bowers and lofty trees, And waves its banners to the gentle breeze.

Upon its pearly gates and s.h.i.+ning walls A flood of everlasting glory falls, And tinges with its own delightful glow The lovely river murmuring below.

That river from the living fountain springs, And, guided by the mighty King of kings, It wanders through the saints' celestial home, Where, robed in white, the ransomed nations roam Through golden streets, and gardens fair and free; And on its banks stands life's unfading tree.

All, all is bliss, and love, and glory there; No pain, no sickness, no corroding care, No grief, no aching hearts, no tearful eyes, No broken bands, and there no severed ties; For, o'er those broad and beautiful domains The Prince of peace, the great Immanuel reigns.

The good have met, of every age and land, Around the throne a glorious throng they stand; The crown of life, the blood-washed robes they wear, The conqueror's palms of victory they bear; They bend the knee, they raise the joyful eye; And hark! Oh, hark! that vast a.s.sembly cry: "Worthy the Lamb to be exalted thus, Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!"

And angels with the ransomed millions sing, "Glory and honor to our G.o.d and King!"

TEMPERANCE

A WELCOME TO A TEMPERANCE PICNIC.

Old and young are welcome here To the banquet we have spread: It will cause no bitter tear When the festal hour is fled; It will break no mother's heart, For the deadly bowl we shun!

Welcome then--and when we part Blessings go with every one.

[The following lines were also written by Miss JOHNSON for a temperance picnic, held in a grove near her father's house. They were read by her brother Edwin, now a lawyer in Stanstead, P. Q.]

From north and south, from east and west They come with banners gay; Hope lights each eye and fills each breast, And all are friends to-day.

The fairest of the sister band-- With greeting most sincere,-- Magog extends an eager hand, And bids you welcome here!

Hail, brothers in a n.o.ble cause, 'Tis well we thus should meet: For every meeting closer draws The bonds of union sweet.

And we who battle for the right, And breathe the solemn vow To win or perish in the fight, Should be united now.

Up, brothers, up! to arms! to arms!

The sword must needs be drawn: These are indeed no vain alarms, The foe is marching on!

And shall he blight our happy land With his polluting breath?

And scatter woe on every hand, _And infamy and death?_

By yonder mountain and by lake Which their approval show,-- For each beloved Towns.h.i.+p's sake, We boldly answer--No!

Then let our banners be unfurled, 'Mid scorn or 'mid applause; We dare proclaim to all the world _We love the temperance cause!_

A LIFE-SCENE--THE LETTER.

"I'm at work upon the railroad"-- So the brother's letter ran,-- "I'm at work upon the railroad, With the wages of a man.

"I am up at peep of morning, And I only stop to eat; But I bear it all extremely well Except the noon-day heat.

"I do not feel much homesick, Though I think of other scenes, And what you have for dinner When I eat my pork and beans!

"'Tis the time for pies and dumplings, Currant jelly and all that, For an hour in mother's pantry I'd give my bran-new hat.

"You wrote about the chickens, About the crops and hay; But not a word about the colts-- The black one or the gray.

"Tell father not to worry About that note at all: I shall have a hundred dollars I can send him in the fall.

"You cannot think how proudly It makes my bosom swell, To think that I am toiling For those I love so well.

"Tell mother I remember Her parting words to me; And all that she has prayed for I hope I yet may be.

"The workmen bring the bottle, They say, 'Just take a sip;'

But, mother, _not a single drop Shall ever touch my lip._