WHAT WILL THEY SAY IN ENGLAND? J. B. MONSELL. WHAT will they say in England, What will they say in England, When, hush'd in awe and dread, They'll say, in dear Old England, What will they say in England, The matron and the maid, Whose widow'd, wither'd hearts have found The price that each has paid The gladness that their homes have lost, For all the glory won?— They'll say, in Christian England, God's holy will be done! What will they say in England? Our names, both night and day, Are in their hearts, and on their lips, When they laugh, or weep, or pray; They watch on earth-they plead with heaven. Who droops or fears, when England cheers, THE CONQUERING HERO. Music at Z. T. Purday's, Holborn. See the god-like youth advance! THE JACKETS OF BLUE. A. LEE.-Music at Hime and Son's, Liverpool. The bells are all ringing, The lasses are trimming their caps all anew, The great and the small come, And all for to welcome the jackets of blue. Oh, who would not fight 'neath the flag of the brave? At the war-cry of Freedom will all draw the sword. Each tar has a story To tell of his glory, In battles all gory, his duty to do; He braves every danger, For fear is a stranger to jackets of blue. His ship, trimm'd so gaily, now gallantly rides, With broad pennant waving-the queen of the tides. The lasses all vow that none love so true, As the brave British tars in their jackets of blue! THE CANADIAN BOAT SONG. T. MOORE.-Music at Addison's. FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, THE FISHERMAN'S SONG. NEALE. COME, messmates, 'tis time to hoist the sail, And the eddying tide, and the northerly gale, So down with the boat from the beach so steep, For ere we can spread our nets in the deep As through the night watches we drift about, And of Him who once call'd other fishermen out, Like us they had hunger and cold to bear; 'Twas the fourth long watch of a stormy night, And but little way they had made, When He came o'er the waters and stood in their sight, But He cheer'd their spirits, and said, "It is I," He is guarding us still with His arm. They had toil'd all the night, and had taken naught; He commanded the stormy sea, They let down their nets, and of fishes caught An hundred and fifty-three. And good success to our boats He will send, If we trust in His mercy aright; For He pitieth those who at home depend And if ever in danger and fear we are toss'd About on the stormy deep, We'll tell how they once thought that all was lost, When their Lord "was fast asleep.' He saved them then-He can save us still- Or if He see fit that our boat should sink, Yet still of the glorious day we'll think, For they who depart in His faith and fear, From the troublesome waves that beset life here, THE MARINER'S SONG. CUNNINGHAM. A WET sheet and a flowing sea, 'Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!” But give to me the snoring breeze, The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon hornèd moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And, hark! the music, mariners, The wind is piping loud, my boys, |