WHAT WILL THEY SAY IN ENGLAND?

J. B. MONSELL.

WHAT will they say in England,
When there the story's told
Of deeds of might, on Alma's height,
Done by the brave and bold?
Of Russia, proud at noontide,
Humbled ere set of sun?-
They'll say 'twas like old England,
They'll say 'twas nobly done!

What will they say in England,

When, hush'd in awe and dread,
Fond hearts through all our happy homes
Think of the mighty dead-
And muse in speechless anguish
On father, brother, son?

They'll say, in dear Old England,
God's holy will be done!

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.
Then forward to the fight!

Who droops or fears, when England cheers,
And God defends the right?

THE CONQUERING HERO.

Music at Z. T. Purday's, Holborn.
SEE! the conquering hero comes!
Sound the trumpet, beat the drums.
Sports prepare, the laurel bring,
Songs of triumph to him sing.

See the god-like youth advance!
Breathe the flutes, and lead the dance.
Myrtles wreathe, and roses twine,
To deck the hero's brow divine.

THE JACKETS OF BLUE.

A. LEE.-Music at Hime and Son's, Liverpool.
THE lads are all singing,

The bells are all ringing,

The lasses are trimming their caps all anew,
The young and the old come,

The great and the small come,

And all for to welcome the jackets of blue.
They come from the war far over the wave,

Oh, who would not fight 'neath the flag of the brave?
The poorest, the proudest the land can afford,

At the war-cry of Freedom will all draw the sword.
Then hurrah! hurrah! for the jackets of blue,
For the brave British tars in their jackets of blue.

Each tar has a story

To tell of his glory,

In battles all gory, his duty to do;
Through climes still a ranger,

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,
Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time;
Soon as the woods on shore grow dim,
We'll sing to St. Ann our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.
Why should we yet our sails unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl;
But when the wind blows off the shore,
Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.
Utawa's tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon.
Saint of the green isle! hear our prayers,
Grant us, kind Heaven, favouring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

THE FISHERMAN'S SONG.

NEALE.

COME, messmates, 'tis time to hoist the sail,
It is fair as fair can be ;

And the eddying tide, and the northerly gale,
Will carry us out to sea.

So down with the boat from the beach so steep,
We must part with the setting sun;

For ere we can spread our nets in the deep
We've a weary way to run.

As through the night watches we drift about,
We'll think of the times that are fled,

And of Him who once call'd other fishermen out,
To be fishers of men instead.

Like us they had hunger and cold to bear;
Rough weather, like us, they knew;
And He, who guarded them by His care,
Full often was with them too.

'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,
And their hearts were sore afraid;

But He cheer'd their spirits, and said, "It is I,"
And then they could fear no harm.
And though we cannot behold Him nigh,

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
On what we shall take to-night.

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-
For His are the winds and the sea,
And if He is with us, we'll fear no ill,
Whatever the danger be.

Or if He see fit that our boat should sink,
By a storm or a leak, like lead,

Yet still of the glorious day we'll think,
When the sea shall yield her dead;

For they who depart in His faith and fear,
Shall find their passage is short,

From the troublesome waves that beset life here,
To the everlasting port.

THE MARINER'S SONG.

CUNNINGHAM.

A WET sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,
Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

'Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!”
I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high!
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free:

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;

The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free;
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage-the sea.