Ode, Written by Paul Jackson, a. M

Smiling Pleasure's festive band Swift descends to bless our land, Sweet Content, and Joy, and Love, Happy offsprings from above! No more fell discord calls aloud to war, Her crimson banners flaming from afar.

Blest aera, hail! with thee shall cease Of war the wasting train; On thee attendant, white rob'd peace In triumph comes again.

Where the grim savage devastation spread, And drench'd in gore his execrable hand; Where prowling wolves late wander'd o'er the dead, And repossess'd the desolated land; There beauteous villages and cheerful farms Now variegate the far extended plain; And there the swain, secure from future harms, Delighted, views his fields and waving grain.

Blest aera, hail! with thee shall cease Of war the wasting train; On thee attendant, white-rob'd peace In triumph comes again.

Haste ye muses, and explore The tawny chief on Erie's shore; Or among the forests wide, That imbrown Ontario's side; Bid him quick his bow unbend, Hateful war is at an end; And bid the sire of rivers, as he runs, The joy proclaim to all his swarthy sons.

Blest aera, hail! with thee shall cease Of war the wasting train; On thee attendant, white-rob'd peace In triumph comes again.

May Britain's glory still increase, Her fame immortal be, Whose sons make war to purchase peace, And conquer to set free. Such pow'r is like the star of day, That cheers the realms of night, Before whose beam each beast of prey, To darkness speeds his flight; And may it grow, till round the earthly ball, Science and liberty illumine all!

Blest aera, come! when war shall cease, With all her wasting train; And justice, innocence, and peace Thro' endless years remain.