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"THE SWEETEST FLOWERS WOULD NEVER BLOOM AT ALL IF NO LEAST RAIN OF TEARS DID EVER FALL."-MASSEY.

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WE WOULD NOT PRAY THAT SORROW NE'ER MAY SHED-(MASSEY)

THE KINGLIEST KINGS.

297

Now, fair befall our England,

On her proud and perilous road:
And woe and wail to those who make

Her footprints red with blood.
Up with our red-cross banner--roll

A thunder-peal of drums!
Fight on there, every valiant soul,
And, courage! England comes !
Now, fair befall our England,

On her proud and perilous road :
And woe and wail to those who make

Her footprints red with blood!

Now, victory to our England!

And where'er she lifts her hand
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right,

God bless the dear old land!

And when the storm has passed away,
In glory and in calm

May she sit down i' the green o' the day,
And sing her peaceful psalm!

Now, victory to our England!

And where'er she lifts her hand

In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right,

God bless the dear old land!

[This was written at the time of the war with Russia, 1854-55.]

THE KINGLIEST KINGS.

O! ye who in the noble work
Win scorn, as flames draw air,

And in the way where lions lurk,

God's image bravely bear:

HER DEWS ALONG THE PATHWAY WE MUST TREAD."-MASSEY.

"IN JOY THE SOUL IS BEARING HUMAN FRUIT; IN GRIEF IT MAY BE TAKING DIVINE ROOT."-GERALD MASSEY.

"ALTHOUGH THE BEST BE LOST IN LIGHT OF UNIMAGINED BLISS,-(GERALD MASSEY)

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BUT IT SHALL BE FULFILLED ABOVE."-GERALD MASSEY.

WE HAVE SHADOWY REVEALINGS OF THE BETTER WORLD IN THIS."-GERALD MASSEY.

WE FIX OUR EYES ON PHANTOMS, AND PURSUE;

CASA WAPPY.

299

D. M. Moir.

[OF Moir, once well known in the pages of Blackwood under the synonym of Delta (A), Professor Wilson says: "He has produced many original pieces which will possess a permanent place in the poetry of Scotland. Delicacy and grace characterize his happiest compositions; some of them are beautiful in a cheerful spirit that has only to look on nature to be happy, and others breathe the simplest and purest pathos. His scenery, whether sea-coast or inland, is always truly Scottish; and at times his pen drops touches of light on minute objects, that till then had slumbered in the shade, but now 'shine well where they stand' or lie, as component and characteristic parts of our Lowland landscapes."

David Macbeth Moir was born at Musselburgh, near Edinburgh, in 1798. In his native town he practised for many years as a surgeon, and was so highly esteemed by his fellow-townsmen that, on his death in 1851, they erected a monument to his memory. His finest compositions appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, but were collected, with others of his poetical works, in two volumes in 1852. He was also the author of "The Autobiography of Mansie Waugh," a humorous tale of Scottish life, and of "Sketches of the Poetical Literature of the Last Half-Century."]

WE LEAVE, FOR FANCY'S LURES, THE FIXED AND TRUE; DESTROY WHAT

TIME HATH SPARED, YET BUILD AGAIN

YEARS O'ER US PASS, AND AGE, THAT COMES TO FEW, COMES BUT TO TELL THEM THEY HAVE LIVED IN VAIN."-MOIR.

CASA WAPPY.

[Casa Wappy was the pet name of an infant son of the poet, snatched
away suddenly after a very brief illness.]

A

ND hast thou sought thy heavenly home,

Our fond, dear boy

The realms where sorrow dare not come,
Where life is joy?

Pure at thy death as at thy birth,
Thy spirit caught no taint from earth;
Even by its bliss we mete our death,
Casa Wappy!

Despair was in our last farewell,
As closed thine eye;

Tears of our anguish may not tell
When thou didst die;

WE CHASE THE AIRY BUBBLES OF THE BRAIN;

"ALL THINGS AROUND US PREACH OF DEATH, YET MIRTH SWELLS THE VAIN HEART, DARTS FROM THE EVE,

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AS IF WE WERE CREATED NE'ER TO DIE, AND HAD OUR EVERLASTING HOME ON EARTH!"--DAVID M. MOIR.

"WHEN SUMMER'S GLOOMY CLOUDS HAVE RAINED FULL OFT ON MAN'S DEVOTED HEAD,-(MOIR)

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THE TIME-TAUGHT SPIRIT LOVES TO WEND BACK THROUGH THE PAST ITS MAZY WAY."-MOIR.

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