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Chill airs, and wintry winds ! my ear Has grown familiar with
familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year,
I listen, and it cheers me long.
OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM,
AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER,
When the dying flame of day
And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle.
Take thy banner! May it wave
Breaks the sabbath of our vale,
To the hearts of these lone hills,
Take thy banner! and, beneath
Take thy banner! But when night
Take thy banner ! — and if e'er
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful seet,
Martial cloak and shroud for thee.
And the warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud !
SUNRISE ON THE HILLS.
the hills, when heaven's wide arch
many a pinnacle, with shifting glance, Through the gray mist thrust up its shattered lance,