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ereign, the following variant has been prepared, and is used in ordinary times. But when the shrill clarion sounds the 'larum of war, the original version holds the field :

rod bless our native land !
W May heaven's protecting hand

Still guard our shore;
May Peace her power extend,
Foé be transformed to friend,
And Britain's rights depend

On war no more.
May just and righteous laws
Uphold the public cause

And bless our isle.
Home of the brave and free,
The land of liberty,
We pray that still on thee

Kind heaven may smile.
And not this land alone,
But be Thy mercies known

From shore to shore.
Lord, make the nations see
That men should brothers be,
And form one family,
The wide world o'er.


12— GOD SAVE THE PEOPLE. This democratic anthem of the masses is much in vogue in Labour churches, Pleasant Sunday Afternoon meetings, and Congregational churches of the more advanced type. The tune to which it is set, aptly fitted to the words, has a great hold upon those who sing it. The hymn was the handiwork of Ebenezer

Elliott, the Sheffield Corn Law Rhymer, a sturdy, uncompromising Democrat, with a heart embittered against the landed classes, whose chief aim in making laws in those days seemed to him to be keeping up the price of bread, regardless of the needs of the hungry poor. But the whirligig of time brings about strange revenges, and the Sheffield which in the rough, rude rhymes of Ebenezer Elliott doomed the Protectionist to perdition now returns Col. Howard Vincent to Parliament to champion Protection masked as Fair Trade. W HEN wilt Thou save the people ?

W O God of mercy, when ? Not kings alone, but nations ?

Not thrones and crowns, but men? Flowers of Thy heart, O God, are they: Let them not pass, like weeds, away Their heritage a sunless day.

God save the people ! Shall crime bring crime for ever,

Strength aiding still the strong ? Is it Thy will, O Father,

That man shall toil for wrong? “No,” say Thy mountains; “ No," Thy skies ; Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise, And songs ascend instead of sighs:

God save the people! When wilt Thou save the people ?

O God of mercy, when ? The people, Lord, the people,

Not thrones and crowns, but men? God save the people, Thine they are, Thy children, as Thine angels fair; From vice, oppression, and despair, God save the people !


It is the nearest approach to an English Marseillaise that a sense of social injustice has wrung from the heart of the oppressed.

The Rev. Charles Garrett, of Liverpool, writes: “This hymn rings in my mind like the cry of a nation on its knees.” A Scottish journalist, writing from South Wales, says: “So far as my experience goes, this hymn can rouse great popular audiences as nothing else can. It seems to go right down to the hearts of the people, and it can be sung very effectively.”

13 - AMERICA. In days of peace and prosperity, through the crisis of the Civil War, and on most public occasions since the war, this hymn has gradually won recognition as a national one without the ceremonial of adoption in any historic scene. The author of the words, the Rev. Samuel Francis Smith, D.D., says of their origin : “ The song was written at Andover during my student life there, I think in the winter of 1831–32. It was first used publicly at a Sunday-school celebration of July 4, in the Park Street Church, Boston.” It was, indeed, an attempt to give “God Save the King" the ring of American republican patriotism. Public-school teachers throughout the United States find it most helpful in awakening a love for and a pride in the new country among the heterogeneous mass of child immigrants that must be welded into patriotic American citizens. The well-known missionary hymn, “The Morning Light is breaking," was also written at Andover at about the same date. To the author, his class-mate Oliver Wendell Holmes refers in the lines :

" And there's a nice fellow of excellent pith,
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Śmith."

TY country! 'tis of thee,

1 Sweet land of Liberty, Of thee I sing;

Land where my fathers died;
Land of the Pilgrims' pride;
From ev'ry mountain side,

Let freedom ring.
My native country! thee,
Land of the noble free,

Thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
Thy woods and templed hills,
My heart with rapture thrills

Like that above.
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring among the trees

Sweet freedom's song:
Let mortal tongues awake,
Let all that breathe partake,
Let rocks their silence break,

The sound prolong.
Our fathers' God! to Thee,
Author of Liberty!

To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light,
Protect us by thy might,

Great God, our King !

14 – THE MARSEILLAISE, On the 5th July, 1792, when Revolutionary France was menaced with destruction by internal treason and external war, — the latter taking tangible shape in the person of the Duke of Brunswick and 80,000 Prussians, Hessians, and the royalist émigrés, - the Marseilles municipality mustered 517 men of the rank and file, with captains of fifties and of tens, 600 in all, and bade them “March, strike down the tyrant.” Without an arrangement, or station, or ration, these black-browed Marseillese “who knew how to die ” made their way for 600 miles across France to Paris. “The thought which works voiceless in this black-browed mass, an inspired Tyrtæan Colonel, Rouget de Lille, has translated into grim melody and rhythm, in his Hymn or March of the Marseillese, luckiest musical composition ever promulgated, the sound of which will make the blood tingle in men's veins, and whole armies and assemblages will sing it, with eyes weeping and burning, with hearts defiant of Death, Despot, and Devil.” For which indeed France had not long to wait, for on Nov. 6, 1792, when Dumouriez smote the Austrians at Je. mappes, it was recognised that in the Marseilles a new power had descended from above upon the French armies, and that henceforth and for many years to come they were invincible. Carlyle writes thus of that memorable day. Dumouriez, overrunning the Netherlands, came upon the Austrians at Jemappes, near Mons :

“And fire-hail is whistling far and wide there, the great guns playing and the small; so many green heights getting fringed and maned with red fire. And Dumouriez is swept back on this wing, and swept back on that, and is like to be swept back utterly; when he rushes up in person, the prompt Polymetis, speaks a prompt word or two, and then, with clear tenor-pipe, * uplifts the Hymn of the Marseillaise,' entonna la Mar. seillaise, ten thousand tenor or bass pipes joining; or say, some forty thousand in all, for every heart leaps at the sound; and so, with rhythmic march-melody, waxing ever quicker to double and to treble quick, they rally, they advance, they rush, death-defying, man-devouring ; carry batteries, redoutes, whatsoever is to be carried ; and like the fire-whirlwind, sweep all manner of Austrians from the scene of action. Thus, through the hands of Dumouriez, may Rouget de Lille, in figurative speech, be said to have gained miraculously, like another Orpheus, by his Marseillese fiddle-strings (fidi

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