But, thanks to Heaven! those days of blood are o'er;
The trumpet's clangor, the loud cannon's roar.
* * * * *
No more this hand, since happier days succeed,
Waves the bright blade, or reins the fiery steed.
No more for martial fame this bosom burns;
Now white-robed Peace to bless a world returns;
Now fostering Freedom all her bliss bestows,
Unnumbered blessings for unnumbered woes.
* * * * *
=_Samuel J. Smith,[77] 1771-1835._=
=_320._= PEACE, BE STILL.
When, on his mission from his home in heaven,
In the frail bark the Saviour deigned to sleep,
The tempest rose--with headlong fury driven,
The wave-tossed vessel whirled along the deep:
Wild shrieked the storm amid the parting shrouds,
And the vexed billows dashed the darkening clouds.
Ah! then how futile human skill and power,--
"Save us! we perish in the o'erwhelming wave!"
They cried, and found in that tremendous hour,
"An eye to pity, and an arm to save."
He spoke, and lo! obedient to His will,
The raging waters, and the winds were still.
And thou, poor trembler on life's stormy sea,
Where dark the waves of sin and sorrow roll,
To Him for refuge from the tempest flee,--
To Him, confiding, trust the sinking soul;
For O, He came to calm the tempest-tossed,
To seek the wandering, and to save the lost.
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