And filled with immortality. Receive

Thanks, blessings, love, for these, thy lavish boons,

And, most of all, their heavenward influences,

O Thou that gav'st us flowers!

Return, my boy,

With all thy chaplets and bright bands, return!
See, with how deep a crimson eve hath touched
And glorified the ruin! glow-worm light

Will twinkle on the dew-drops, e'er we reach

Our home again. Come, with thy last sweet prayer At thy bless'd mother's knee, to-night shall thanks

Unto our Father in his Heaven arise,

For all the gladness, all the beauty shed

O'er one rich day of flowers!

HYMN OF THE TRAVELLER'S HOUSEHOLD

ON HIS RETURN.

IN THE OLDEN TIME.

Joy! the lost one is restored!

Sunshine comes to hearth and board.

From the far-off countries old

Of the diamond and red gold;

From the dusky archer bands,
Roamers of the fiery sands;

From the desert winds, whose breath

Smites with sudden silent death;

He hath reached his home again,

Where we sing

In thy praise a fervent strain,

God our King!

Mightiest! unto Thee he turned, When the noon-day fiercest burned; When the fountain springs were far,

And the sounds of Arab war

Swelled upon the sultry blast,

And the sandy columns past,

Unto Thee he cried! and Thou,

Merciful! didst hear his vow!

Therefore unto Thee again

Joy shall sing,

Many a sweet and thankful strain,

God our King!

Thou wert with him on the main,

And the snowy mountain chain,

And the rivers, dark and wide,

Which through Indian forests glide,

Thou didst guard him from the wrath

Of the lion in his path,

And the arrows on the breeze,

And the dropping poison-trees:

Therefore from our household train

Oft shall spring

Unto Thee a blessing strain,

God our King!

Thou to his lone watching wife
Hast brought back the light of life!

Thou hast spared his loving child
Home to greet him from the wild.
Though the suns of eastern skies
On his cheek have set their dyes,
Though long toils and sleepless cares
On his brow have blanched the hairs,
Yet the night of fear is flown,
He is living, and our own!—
Brethren! spread his festal board,
Hang his mantle and his sword
With the armour on the wall-
While this long, long silent hall

Joyfully doth hear again

Voice and string

Swell to Thee the exulting strain,

God our King!