=_319._= RECOLLECTIONS OF THE WAR.

  I too, perhaps, should Heaven prolong my date,
  The oft-repeated tale shall oft relate;
  Shall tell the feelings in the first alarms,
  Of some bold enterprise the unequalled charms;
  Shall tell from whom I learnt the martial art,
  With what high chiefs I played my early part—­
  With Parsons first—­

       * * * * *
  Death-daring Putnam—­then immortal Greene—­
  Then how great Washington my youth approved,
  In rank preferred, and as a parent loved. 
  With him what hours on warlike plains I spent,
  Beneath the shadow of th’ imperial tent;
  With him how oft I went the nightly round
  Through moving hosts, or slept on tented ground;
  From him how oft—­(nor far below the first,
  In high behests and confidential trust)—­
  From him how oft I bore the dread commands,
  Which destined for the fight the eager bands;
  With him how oft I passed the eventful day,
  Bode by his side, as down the long array
  His awful voice the columns taught to form,
  To point the thunders and direct the storm. 
  But, thanks to Heaven! those days of blood are o’er;
  The trumpet’s clangor, the loud cannon’s roar.

* * * * *

  No more this hand, since happier days succeed,
  Waves the bright blade, or reins the fiery steed. 
  No more for martial fame this bosom burns;
  Now white-robed Peace to bless a world returns;
  Now fostering Freedom all her bliss bestows,
  Unnumbered blessings for unnumbered woes.

* * * * *

=_Samuel J. Smith,[77] 1771-1835._=

=_320._= PEACE, BE STILL.

  When, on his mission from his home in heaven,
    In the frail bark the Saviour deigned to sleep,
  The tempest rose—­with headlong fury driven,
    The wave-tossed vessel whirled along the deep: 
  Wild shrieked the storm amid the parting shrouds,
  And the vexed billows dashed the darkening clouds.

  Ah! then how futile human skill and power,—­
    “Save us! we perish in the o’erwhelming wave!”
  They cried, and found in that tremendous hour,
    “An eye to pity, and an arm to save.” 
  He spoke, and lo! obedient to His will,
  The raging waters, and the winds were still.

  And thou, poor trembler on life’s stormy sea,
    Where dark the waves of sin and sorrow roll,
  To Him for refuge from the tempest flee,—­
    To Him, confiding, trust the sinking soul;
  For O, He came to calm the tempest-tossed,
  To seek the wandering, and to save the lost.

  For thee, and such as thee, impelled by love,
    He left the mansions of the blessed on high;
  Mid sin, and pain, and grief, and fear, to move,
    With lingering anguish, and with shame to die. 
  The debt to Justice, boundless Mercy paid,
  For hopeless guilt, complete atonement made.