 | Lyrics: By Martin F. Tupper |  |
145
For the Madeira Famine-fund.
Madeira! fair haven of plenty and health,
Where luxury smiles on the vintage of wealth,
Where mountain and glen in the midst of the seas
Breathe Eden's own balm on the cheek of Disease,
Where nature's most beautiful pastoral scene,
With rock-built sublimity toppling between,
And rural contentment, and music, and mirth,
Make thee the bright gem, the oasis of Earth,—
Alas, for the change! that a bane and a blight
Hath wither'd thy beauty, and darken'd thy light,—
Alas! for the tropical breezes that waft
The moans of despair from thy death-stricken raft,—
Alas! for the sunsets of glory that glow
On famishing vineyards and hovels of woe,—
Alas! for the vial of judgment outpour'd
Madeira, on thee, from the hand of the Lord!
Where luxury smiles on the vintage of wealth,
Where mountain and glen in the midst of the seas
Breathe Eden's own balm on the cheek of Disease,
Where nature's most beautiful pastoral scene,
With rock-built sublimity toppling between,
And rural contentment, and music, and mirth,
Make thee the bright gem, the oasis of Earth,—
Alas, for the change! that a bane and a blight
Hath wither'd thy beauty, and darken'd thy light,—
Alas! for the tropical breezes that waft
The moans of despair from thy death-stricken raft,—
Alas! for the sunsets of glory that glow
On famishing vineyards and hovels of woe,—
Alas! for the vial of judgment outpour'd
Madeira, on thee, from the hand of the Lord!
146
Of judgment,—and mercy!—Our Father and God
Not lightly nor gladly afflicts with His rod:
And well is He pleased, if His children make speed
To comfort the hearts whom He chastens with need;
And well is He glorified still in His gifts
When affluent bounty the fallen uplifts!
Then hasten, ye Rich,—whom Madeira lang syne
Hath often made glad with her generous wine,—
And chiefly ye fathers and lovers, sore tried
By the fast fading forms of some daughter or bride
Whom genial Madeira, by delicate stealth,
Hath gently suffused with the roses of health,—
O hasten to help her!—O speed ye to bless
With liberal mercy the sons of distress;
For the Land where your memory lingers in pray'r,
Is stricken with famine, and death, and despair!
Not lightly nor gladly afflicts with His rod:
And well is He pleased, if His children make speed
To comfort the hearts whom He chastens with need;
And well is He glorified still in His gifts
When affluent bounty the fallen uplifts!
Then hasten, ye Rich,—whom Madeira lang syne
Hath often made glad with her generous wine,—
And chiefly ye fathers and lovers, sore tried
By the fast fading forms of some daughter or bride
Whom genial Madeira, by delicate stealth,
Hath gently suffused with the roses of health,—
O hasten to help her!—O speed ye to bless
With liberal mercy the sons of distress;
For the Land where your memory lingers in pray'r,
Is stricken with famine, and death, and despair!
| Lyrics: By Martin F. Tupper | |