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To the gods of old we'll hasten, blest."

Who help'd meAgainst the Titans' insolence?Who rescued me from certain death,From slavery?Didst thou not do all this thyself,My sacred glowing heart?And glowedst, young and good,Deceived with grateful thanksTo yonder slumbering one?

WITHIN a town where parityAccording to old form we see,--That is to say, where CatholicAnd Protestant no quarrels pick,And where, as in his father's day,Each worships God in his own way,We Luth'ran children used to dwell,By songs and sermons taught as well.The Catholic clingclang in truthSounded more pleasing to our youth,For all that we encounter'd there,To us seem'd varied, joyous, fair.As children, monkeys, and mankindTo ape each other are inclin'd,We soon, the time to while away,A game at priests resolved to play.Their aprons all our sisters lentFor copes, which gave us great content;And handkerchiefs, embroider'd o'er,Instead of stoles we also wore;Gold paper, whereon beasts were traced,The bishop's brow as mitre graced.