 | The poetical works of Samuel Rogers |  |
WRITTEN AT STRATHFIELD SAYE.
These are the groves a grateful people gave
For noblest service; and, from age to age,
May they, to such as come with listening ear,
Relate the story! Sacred is their shade;
Sacred the calm they breathe—oh, how unlike
What in the field 'twas His so long to know;
Where many a mournful, many an anxious thought,
Troubling, perplexing, on his weary mind
Preyed, ere to arms the morning-trumpet called;
Where, till the work was done and darkness fell,
Blood ran like water, and, go where thou wouldst
Death in thy path-way met thee, face to face.
For noblest service; and, from age to age,
May they, to such as come with listening ear,
Relate the story! Sacred is their shade;
Sacred the calm they breathe—oh, how unlike
What in the field 'twas His so long to know;
Where many a mournful, many an anxious thought,
Troubling, perplexing, on his weary mind
Preyed, ere to arms the morning-trumpet called;
Where, till the work was done and darkness fell,
Blood ran like water, and, go where thou wouldst
Death in thy path-way met thee, face to face.
For on, regardless of himself, He went;
And, by no change elated or depressed,
Fought, till he won th' imperishable wreath,
Leading the conquerors captive; on he went,
Bating nor heart nor hope, whoe'er opposed;
The greatest warriors, in their turn, appearing;
The last that came, the greatest of them all—
One scattering hosts as born but to subdue,
And even in bondage withering hearts with fear.
And, by no change elated or depressed,
Fought, till he won th' imperishable wreath,
Leading the conquerors captive; on he went,
Bating nor heart nor hope, whoe'er opposed;
The greatest warriors, in their turn, appearing;
The last that came, the greatest of them all—
One scattering hosts as born but to subdue,
And even in bondage withering hearts with fear.
184
When such the service, what the recompense?
Yet, and I err not, a renown as fair,
And fairer still, awaited him at home;
Where to the last, day after day, he stood,
The party-zeal, that round him raged, restraining;
—His not to rest, while his the strength to serve.
Yet, and I err not, a renown as fair,
And fairer still, awaited him at home;
Where to the last, day after day, he stood,
The party-zeal, that round him raged, restraining;
—His not to rest, while his the strength to serve.
| The poetical works of Samuel Rogers | |