Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place—
O to abide in the desert with thee!

ADDRESS TO JEHOVAH.

BLESSED be thy name forever,

Thou of life the guard and giver;

Thou canst guard thy creatures sleeping;

Heal the heart long broke with weeping. God of stillness and of motion,

Of the desert and the ocean,

Of the mountain, rock, and river,
Blessed be thy name forever!

Thou who slumberest not, nor sleepest, Blest are they thou kindly keepest:

God of evening's parting ray,

Of midnight's gloom, and dawning day,

That rises from the azure sea,

Like breathings of eternity;

God of life! that fade shall never,

Blessed be thy name forever!

CULLODEN, on thy swarthy brow

Spring no wild flowers or verdure fair: Thou feel'st not summer's genial glow More than the freezing wintry air;

For once thou drank'st the hero's blood, And War's unhallowed footsteps bore,

The deeds unholy nature view'd,

Then fled and curs'd thee evermore.

From Beauty's wild and woodland glen
How proudly Lovat's banners soar!
How fierce the plaided Highland clan

Rush onward with the broad claymore; How hearts that high with honor heaves, The volleying thunder there laid low, Or scattered like the forest leaves

When wintry winds begin to blow.

Where now thy banners, brave Lochiel? The braided plumes torn from thy brow, What must thy haughty spirit feel

When skulking like the mountain roe? What wild birds chant from Lochy's bowers On April's eve their loves and joys? The Lord of Lochy's loftiest towers To foreign lands an exile flies.

To his blue hills that rose in view,
As o'er the deep his galley bore,
He often look'd and cried "Adieu,"
I ne'er shall see Lochaber more!
Though now thy wounds I cannot heal,
My dear, my injur'd native land!

In other climes, thy foe shall feel

The weight of Cameron's deadly brand.

Land of proud hearts and mountains gray, Where Fingal fought and Ossian sung,

Mourn dark Culloden's fateful day,

That from thy chiefs the laurel wrung,
Where once they rul'd and roamed at will,
Free as their own dark mountain game,
Their sons are slaves, yet keenly feel
A longing for their fathers' fame.

Shades of the mighty and the brave,
Who, faithful to your Stuart, fell—
No trophies mark your common grave,
No dirges to your mem'ry swell;
But generous hearts will weep your fate,
When far has roll'd the tide of time,
And lands unborn shall renovate

Your fading fame in loftiest rhyme.

THE COVENANTER'S SCAFFOLD SOLE.

SING with me! sing with me!
Weeping brethren, sing with me!
For now an open heaven I see,
And a crown of glory laid for me.
How my soul this earth despises!
How my heart and spirit rises!

Bounding from the flesh I sever! World of sin, adieu forever!

Sing with me! sing with me!
Friends in Jesus, sing with me!
All my sufferings, all my woe,
All my griefs, I here forego.
Farewell terrors, sighing, grieving,
Praying, hearing, and believing,
Earthly trust and all its wrongings,
Earthly love and all its longings.

Sing with me! sing with me!
Blessed spirits, sing with me!
To the Lamb our songs shall be,
Through a glad eternity!

Farewell earthly morn and even,

Sun and moon and stars of heaven;

Heavenly portals ope before me,

Welcome, Christ, in all his glory!