THE AMERICAN FLAG.

HEN Freedom, from her mountain height,

Unfurled her standard to the air,

She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there!

Flag of the brave! Thy folds shall fly
The sign of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet-tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on.

Flag of the free hearts' hope and home,
By angel hands to valor given!
Thy stars have lit the welcome dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.

Forever float that standard sheet!

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us?
Joseph Rodman Drake.

IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY

TO DIE.

IT is great for our country to die, where ranks are contending:

Bright is the wreath of our fame; glory awaits us for aye

Glory, that never is dim, shining on with light never ending ·

Glory, that never shall fade, never, O,

never away.

O, it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes

Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love,

Wet by a mother's warm tears. They crown him with garlands of roses :

Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above.

O, then, how great for our country to die, in the front rank to perish,

Firm with our breast to the foe, Victory's

shout in our ear!

Long they our statues shall crown; in songs our memory cherish;

We shall look forth from our heaven,

pleas d the sweet music to hear.

James Gates Percival.

HAME, HAME, HAME!

AME, hame, hame! O, hame I fain would be;

O, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree,

The lark shall sing me hame to my ain

countrie.

Hame, hame, hame! O, hame I fain would

be!

O, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The green leaf o' loyaltie 's beginning now to fa';

The bonnie white rose, it is withering an' a'; But we'll water it wi' the bluid of usurping tyrannie,

And it shall fresh blow in my ain countrie!

O, there's nocht now frae ruin my countrie

can save,

But the keys o' kind heaven to open the

grave,

That a' the noble martyrs who died for loyaltie,

May rise again, and fight for their ain coun

trie.

"I'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie." Hame, hame, hame! O, hame I fain would be; O, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! Allan Cunningham.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS.

HE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of Exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear,

They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea, And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!