He whom man with scorn refuses,
Whom the favored nation hates,
He it is Jehovah chooses,

Him the highest place awaits;
Kings and princes

Shall do homage at His gates.

He fhall humble all the scorners,
He fhall fill His foes with fhame;
He fhall raise and comfort mourners
By the sweetness of His name;
To the captives

He shall liberty proclaim.

He shall gather those that wandered;
When they hear the trumpet's sound,
They fhall join the sacred standard,
They fhall come and flock around;
He fhall save them,

They fhall be with glory crowned.

Thomas Kelley. 1809.

PRAYER BEFORE BATTLE.

ATHER, I call on thee,

FA

Through the dun smoke and the clangor of battle,

The lightning and dread thunder's rattle;

War's great Dispenser, I call on thee.

Thou, Father, lead me.

Thou, Father, lead me;

Lead me to victory, or lead me to death.
Lord, in thy hand is my breath;

Lord, as thou willeft, so lead me.
God, I would know thee.

God, I would know thee;

When, like the autumn leaves driven together,
Hofts meet in war's thunder-weather,

Source of my faith, I would know thee.
Thou, Father, bless me.

Thou, Father, bless me.

Into thy hands would my freed spirit go;
Recall it, for thou didst bestow.

In life and in death do thou bless me.
Father, I praise thee.

Father, I praise thee.

This is the field for the fight of the Lord;
Guard we our faith with the sword.

In fall or in triumph, I praise thee.
God, I give all to thee.

God, I give all to thee.

When, on the battle-field, death sends me greeting, When my warm life-blood is fleeting,

Take me, for thou haft redeemed me.

Father, I call on thee.

From the German of Körner. 1791-1813.

PSALM.

A

SAFE ftronghold our God is ftill,
A trusty shield and weapon;

He'll help us clear from all the ill
That hath us now o'ertaken.
The ancient prince of Hell
Hath risen with purpose fell;
Strong mail of craft and power
He weareth in this hour :
On earth is not his fellow.

With force of arms we nothing can;
Full soon were we down-ridden,
But for us fights the proper man,
Whom God himself hath bidden.
Afk ye, who is this same?
Christ Jesus is his name,
The Lord Zebaoth's Son :
He, and no other one,
Shall conquer in the battle.

And were this world all devils o'er

And watching to devour us, We lay it not to heart so sore,

Not that they can overpower us.

And let the prince of Hell
Look grim as e'er he will,
He harms us not a whit;

For why? His doom is writ,
A word fhall quickly flay him.

God's word, for all their craft and force,
One moment will not linger,

But, spite of Hell, fhall have its course :
'Tis written by his finger.

And though they take our life,
Goods, honor, children, wife,
Yet is their profit small:
These things fhall vanish all,

The City of God remaineth.

Martin Luther. 1483-1501.

BURIED TOGETHER.

TO COLONEL ROBERT G. SHAW.

FAIR-HAIRED Northern hero,

With thy guard of dusky hue,

Up from the field of battle

Rise to the laft review!

Sweep downwards, holy angels,
In legions dazzling bright,
And bear these souls together
Before Chrift's throne of light.

The Mafter, who remembers
The cross, the thorns, the spear,
Smiles on the risen freedmen,
As their ransomed souls appear.

And thou, young, generous spirit,
What will thy welcome be?
"Thou haft aided the down-trodden,
Thou haft done it unto me!"

Mrs. R. C. Waterfton.

Go

O to the grave in all thy glorious prime,
In full activity of zeal and power;

A Chriftian cannot die before his time;
The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour.

Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease; Reft on thy fheaves; thy harvest-task is done; Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,

Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won.