"Remember the Holy Sepulchre."
Forget the land which gave ye birth--
Forget the womb that bore ye--
Forget each much-loved spot of earth--
Forget each dream of glory--
Forget the friends that by your side
Stood firm as rocks unbroken--
Forget the late affianced bride,
And every dear love token--
Forget the hope that in each breast
Glow'd like a smould'ring ember--
But still the Holy Sepulchre,
Remember! oh remember!
Remember all the vows ye've sworn
At holy Becket's altar--
Remember all the ills ye've borne,
And scorn'd to shrink or falter--
Remember every laurel'd field,
Which saw the Crescent waving--
Remember when compell'd to yield,
Uncounted numbers braving:
Remember these, remember too
The cause ye strive for, ever;
The Cross! the Holy Sepulchre!
Forget--forget them never!
By Him who in that Sepulchre
Was laid in Death's cold keeping--
By Her who bore, who rear'd him. Her
Who by that Cross sat weeping--
By those, whose blood so oft has cried
Revenge for souls unshriven!--
By those, whose sacred precepts guide
The path to yonder Heaven!
From youth to age, from morn to eve
From Spring-tide to December,
The Holy Sepulchre of Christ
Remember! oh remember!
_Literary Remains of Henry Neele_.
* * * * *
A SERENADE.
Wake, Lady, wake! the midnight Moon
Sails through the cloudless skies of June;
The Stars gaze sweetly on the stream,
Which in the brightness of their beam,
One sheet of glory lies;
The glow-worm lends its little light,
And all that's beautiful and bright
Is shining in our world to-night,
Save thy bright eyes,
Wake, Lady! wake! the nightingale
Tells to the Moon her love-lorn tale;
Now doth the brook that's hush'd by day,
As through the vale she winds her way,
In murmurs sweet rejoice;
The leaves, by the soft night-wind stirr'd,
Are whispering many a gentle word,
And all Earth's sweetest sounds are heard,
Save thy sweet voice.
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