THE LITTLE SWEEP.

WRITTEN FOR JAMES MONTGOMERY'S CHIMNEY-SWEEPER'S ALb.u.m.

1 They sing of the poor sailor-boy, who wanders o'er the deep, But few there are who think upon the friendless little sweep!

In darkness to his dreary toil, through winter's frost and snows, When the keen north wind is piping shrill, the shivering urchin goes.

2 He has no father; and from grief, his mother's eyes are dim, And none beside, in all the world, awakes to pray for him; For him no summer Sundays smile, no health is in the breeze; His mind is dark as his face, a prey to dire disease.[192]

3 O English gentlemen! your hearts have bled for the black slave,-- You heard his melancholy moan from the Atlantic wave; He thought upon his father's land, and cried, A long farewell, But blessed you, gazing at the sun, when first his fetters fell.

4 And if ye plead for creatures dumb, and deem their fate severe, Shall _human_ wrongs, in _your own_ land, call forth no generous tear?

Humanity implores; awake from apathy's cold sleep, And when you plead for others' wrongs, forget not the poor sweep.

5 When summer comes, the bells shall ring, and flowers and hawthorns blow, The village la.s.ses and the lads shall all a-Maying go: Kind-hearted lady, may thy soul in heaven a blessing reap, Whose bounty at that season flows, to cheer the little sweep.[193]

6 'Tis yours, ye English gentlemen, such comforts to prolong; 'Tis yours the friendless to protect, and all who suffer wrong; But _one_ day in the toiling year the friendless sweep is gay, Protect, and smiling industry shall make his long year May.

THE BLACKSMITH.

1 How cheerful in the winter's night, As down the lane I stray; The blacksmith's forge shoots out its light, And shines across the way!

2 The smith his labouring bellows blows, And now his stroke repeats; Beats the red iron, as it glows, And shapes it as he beats.

3 While, flash! the frequent sparkles fly, And tongs are hissing red; Content and cheerful industry Sweeten his daily bread.

HYMN FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE.

1 Lo! where youth and beauty lie, Cold within the tomb!

As the spring's first violets die, Withered in their bloom.

O'er the young and buried bride, Let the cypress wave: A kingdom's hope, a kingdom's pride, Recline in yonder grave.

2 Place the vain expected child, Gently, near her breast!

It never wept, it never smiled, But seeks its mother's rest.

Hark! we hear the general cry!

Hark! the pa.s.sing bell!

A thousand, thousand bosoms sigh, A long and last farewell!

THE CHILDREN'S HYMN FOR THEIR PATRONESS.

1 On G.o.d, whose eyes are over all, Who shows to all a father's care, First, with each voice, we children call, And humbly raise our daily prayer.

2 And next, to her, who placed us here, The path of knowledge to pursue, (Oh! witness all we have--a tear!) Our heartfelt grat.i.tude is due.

3 Our parents, when they draw their breath, In pain, and to the grave descend, Shall smile upon the bed of death, To think their children have a friend.

4 As slow our infant thoughts expand, And life unfolds its opening road, We still shall bless the bounteous hand That kind protection first bestowed.

5 And still, with fervour we shall pray, When she to distant scenes shall go; That G.o.d, in blessing, might repay The blessings which to her we owe!

EASTER DAY.

1 Who comes (my soul no longer doubt), Rising from earth's wormy sod, And whilst ten thousand angels sing, Ascends--ascends to heaven, a G.o.d?

2 Saviour, Lord, I know thee now!

Mighty to redeem and save, Such glory blazes on thy brow, Which lights the darkness of the grave.

3 Saviour, Lord, the human soul, Forgotten every sorrow here, Shall thus, aspiring to its goal, Triumph in its native sphere.

CHRISTMAS HYMN.

1 Hark! angel voices from the sky Proclaim a Saviour's birth; Glory, they sing, to G.o.d on high, Peace and goodwill on earth!

2 Catch the glad strain, ye seraphs bright!

The glorious tidings spread; Wake, wake to wonder and to light, The dark sleep of the dead!

3 Let the wide earth, from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, One loud hosannah raise, Glory to G.o.d, whom we adore, Glory and hymns of praise!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 192: The terrible soot cancer to which climbing boys are subject.]

[Footnote 193: The late Mrs Montague, whose bounty, distributed on May-day, to climbing boys, is so well known.]

SONG OF THE CID.[194]

1 The Cid is sitting, in martial state, Within Valencia's wall; And chiefs of high renown attend The knightly festival.