Bert Alward
The brawling voices babble as before
Though one is hushed : the noblest and the best
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The angry sun slow sinking in the west,
Casts one last lingering glance upon the earth
Which he has parched and withered all the day ;
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HAPPY soul, whoe'er thou be,
Who dwell'st with Christ in unity;
Happiest thou of human race,
Who know'st the sweets of sov'reign grace.
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LET Faith and holy Hope be there,
And all my soul for God prepare:
Let ev'ry Christian grace attend,
To bear me to my God and Friend;
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How shall we honour the unburied dead ?
Shall we go forth with loud acclaim, and rake
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SAY, wretched wanderer, whom the world insnares,
Do all thy joys compensate half thy cares?
Where is the balm to ease the aching breast,
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I KNOW not, in this dark and fateful hour,
What England is to others, but to me
She is a noble heritage, a sea
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VAIN are those joys that erring man provides,
Vain the pursuit of sublunary things!
Wisdom the sandy edifice derides,
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AH hapless maid! whose virtues, once thy own,
The lustre of thy brilliants far outshone;
Couldst thou awhile thy waken'd self attend,
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Yea peoples of the earth, put not your trust
In princes, nor in any child of man
Set over you in lordship, their desires
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