Hark — how the church-bells thundering harmony Stuns the glad ear! tidings of joy have come, Good tidings of great joy! two gallant ships Met on the element,— they met, they fought
A desperate fight!— good tidings of great joy! Old England triumphed! yet another day Of glory for the ruler of the waves! For those who fell,‘ twas in their country's cause,
They have their passing paragraphs of praise And are forgotten. There was one who died In that day's glory, whose obscurer name
No proud historian's page will chronicle. Peace to his honest soul! I read his name, ‘ Twas in the list of slaughter, and blest God The sound was not familiar to mine ear.
But it was told me after that this man Was one whom lawful violencehad forced From his own home and wife and little ones, Who by his labour lived; that he was one
Whose uncorrupted heart could keenly feel A husband's love, a father's anxiousness, That from the wages of his toil he fed The distant dear ones, and would talk of them
At midnight when he trod the silent deck With him he valued, talk of them, of joys That he had known — oh God! and of the hour When they should meet again, till his full heart
His manly heart at last would overflow Even like a child's with very tenderness. Peace to his honest spirit! suddenly It came, and merciful the ball of death,
For it came suddenly and shattered him, And left no moment's agonizing thought On those he loved so well. He ocean deep
Now lies at rest. Be Thou her comforter Who art the widow's friend! Man does not know What a cold sickness made her blood run back When first she heard the tidings of the fight;
Man does not know with what a dreadful hope She listened to the names of those who died, Man does not know, or knowing will not heed, With what an agony of tenderness
She gazed upon her children, and beheld His image who was gone. Oh God! be thou Her comforter who art the widow's friend!
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