HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM, AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. WHEN the dying flame of day Had been consecrated there. And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle. "Take thy banner! May it wave "Take thy banner! and, beneath The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, His right hand will shield thee then. "Take thy banner! But, when night Spare him!--he our love hath shared! Spare him!—as thou wouldst be spared! "Take thy banner!- and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, And the muffled drum should beat To the tread of mournful feet, Martial cloak and shroud for thee." The warrior took that banner proud, And it was his martial cloak and shroud! SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. I STOOD upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch The clouds were far beneath me;—bathed in light, And, in their fading-glory, shone Like hosts in battle overthrown, As many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance, And rocking on the cliff was left The veil of cloud was lifted, and below Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow Where upward, in the mellow blush of day, I heard the distant waters dash, I saw the current whirl and flash,- The woods were bending with a silent reach. The music of the village bell Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills; And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills, |