The red sword in th' oppressor's hand Fallen are the faithful and the pure, No shrine is spared, no hearth secure. Yet, by the deep voice from the past, Save in thy breast, when storms grow dark We trust thee!-As the sailor knows That in its place of bright repose His pole-star burns, though mist and cloud May veil it with a midnight shroud. We know thou reign'st!-All Holy One, All Just! And bless thee still with love's own boundless trust. We feel no more that aid is nigh, Yet, by the anguish of thy Son By his dread cry, the air which rent And by his parting word, which rose Through faith victorious o'er all woes We know that Thou mayst wound, mayst break Sad suppliants whom our brethren spurn, In our deep need to Thee we turn! To whom but Thee?-All Merciful, All Just! In life, in death, we yield thee boundless trust! HYMN OF THE VAUDOIS MOUNTAINEERS IN TIMES OF PERSECUTION. "Thanks be to God for the mountains !" HOWITT's Book of the Seasons. FOR the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God! Thou hast made thy children mighty, By the touch of the mountain sod. Thou hast fix'd our ark of refuge Where the spoiler's foot ne'er trod; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God! We are watchers of a beacon Whose light must never die; We are guardians of an altar Midst the silence of the sky: The rocks yield founts of courage, For the strength of the hills we bless thee, For the dark resounding caverns, Where thy still, small voice is heard ; For the strong pines of the forests, That by thy breath are stirr'd; For the storms, on whose free pinions Thy spirit walks abroad; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God! The royal eagle darteth On his quarry from the heights, And the stag that knows no master, Seeks there his wild delights; But we, for thy communion, Have sought the mountain sod; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God! The banner of the chieftain, Far, far below us waves; The war-horse of the spearman Cannot reach our lofty caves: Thy dark clouds wrap the threshold Of freedom's last abode ; For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers' God! |