Though Varying Wishes, Hopes, And Fears, Fever'd

Spangling The Wave With Lights As Vain As Pleasures In The Vale Of Pain, That Dazzle As They Fade.

Lightly From Fair To Fair He Flew, And Loved To Plead, Lament, And Sue; Suit Lightly Won, And Short-lived Pain, For Monarchs Seldom Sigh In Vain.

We Often Praise The Evening Clouds, And Tints So Gay And Bold, But Seldom Think Upon Our God, Who Tinged These Clouds With Gold.

England Was Merry England, When Old Christmas Brought His Sports Again. 'twas Christmas Broach'd The Mightiest Ale; 'twas Christmas Told The Merriest Tale; A Christmas Gambol Oft Could Cheer The Poor Man's Heart Through Half The Year.

Where, Where Was Roderick Then? One Blast Upon His Bugle Horn Were Worth A Thousand Men.