Manchurian Books

Not for ourselves (though sore dismay'd
Like hunted doves) we pray alone;
A bleeding people asks thy aid,
A ruin'd church, a prostrate throne,
A land become by woes and crimes,
A beacon to surrounding climes.
Oh, by the sacred ransom paid
For rebel man, rebellion hide;
Where evil spirits now have made
Their den, let thine own Spirit 'bide.
And change our contests and our wrongs
To holy lauds and peaceful songs.
The echoing rocks prolonged the solemn melody, and every heart was
filled with sympathetic submission, devout patience, and humble hope,
when their attention was recalled to the present scene by a loud Amen,
which discovered a till-then-unobserved participator in their devotions.
A lame bare-headed beggar stood leaning on his crutch, while the wind
blew his hair and tattered garments in every direction. "Heaven bless
you, worthy Christians!" said he; "you have prayed for the King, help a
wounded soldier who has fought for his Royal Father.


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