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I many strange and gentile lands, Micah v. S.
Where Jacob's scattered sons are driven, Jer. xxiii. 8.
With longing eyes and lifted hands, Lam. i. 17.
They wait Messiah's sign from heaven. Matt. xxiv. 30.
Thp cup of fury they have quaffed, Isa. II. 17.
Till fainted like a weary flock: Isa. 11. 20.
draught, Isa. li. 22.
And give them waters from the rock. Exod. xvii. 6.
What though their bodies, as the ground, Isa. li. 23.
TV Assyrian long has trodden o'er 1 Isa. lii. 4.
Zion, a captive daughter bound, Isa. lii. 2.
Shall ris4 to know her wrong no more. Isa liv. 3, 4.
The veil is passing from her eyes, 2 Cor. iii. 16.
The King of Nations she shall see; Zech. xiv. 9.
J odea! from the dust arise! Isa. lii. 2.
Thy ransomed sons return to thee! Jer. xxxi. 17.
How gorgeous shall thy land appear, Isa. liv. 12.
When, like the jewels uf a bride, Isa. xlix. 18.
When on thy mount . as prophets taught, Isa. xxlv. 23.
Shall shine the throne of David's son; Eeek. xxxvii. 22.
The Gospel's latest triumphs brought, Micah lv. 2.
Where first its glorious course begun. Luke xxiv. 47.
Gentiles and kings who thee oppressed, Isa. lx. 14.
Shall to thy gates with praise repair; Isa. Ix. 11.
A fold of flocks shall Sharon rest, Isa, lxv. 10.
And clustered fruits its vineyards bear. Joel ii. 22.
Then shall an Eden morn illume Isa. 1. 3.
Earth's fruitful vales, without a thorn: Isa. lv. 13.
The wilderness rejoice and bloom, Isa. xxxv. 1.
And nations in a day be born. Zech. ii. 11.
The Lord his holy arm makes bare; Isa. lii. 10.
Zion! thy cheerful songs employ! Zeph. iii. 14.
Thy robes of bridal beauty wear, Isa, lii. 1.
And shout, ye ransomed race, for joy 1 Isa. lii. 9.
Hen, like a sullen exile
driven forth, Southward December drags
his icy chain, He graves fair pictures of his
native North On the crisp window-pane.
So some pale captive blurs
with lips unshorn The latticed glass, and shapes
rude outlines there.
The fairy fragments of some Arctic scene
I see to-night; blank wastes of polar snow, Ice-laden boughs, and feathery pines that lean Over ravines below.
Black frozen lakes, and icy peaks blown bare,
Break the white surface of the crusted pane; And spear-like leaves, long ferns, and blossoms fair, Linked in a silvery chain.
The she-bear rears her young, and cliffs so 1 lark-winged bird Melt through the pale t
ung, and cliffs so high emulate their rise ti blue sky.
There, all night long, with far-diverging rays, And stalking shades, the red Auroras glow; From the keen heaven, mock suns with pallid Light up the Arctic snow.
Guide me, I pray, along those waves remote, That deep unstartled from its primal rest; Some errant sail, the fisher's lone light boat, Borne waif-like on its breast I
'Lead mo, I pray, where never shallop's keel
Brake the dull ripples throbbing to their caves; Where the mailed glacier with his armed heel Sport the resisting waves I
Paint me, I pray, tho phantom hosts that hold Celestial tourneys when the midnight calls; On airy steeds, with lances bright and bold, Storming her ancient halls I
Yet, while I look the magic picture fades;
Melts the bright tracery from the frosted pane;
Trees, vales, and cliffs, in sparkling snows arrayed, Dissolve in silvery rain.
Without, the day's pale glories sink and swell
Over the black rise of yon wooded height; The moon's thin crescent, like a stranded shell, Left on the shores of night.
Hark! how the north wind, with a hasty hand
Rattling my casement, frames his mystio rhyme. House thee, rude minstrel, chanting through the land Runes of the olden time!
THE POET OF TO-DAY.
BY GBACB GREENWOOD.
What siren-joys from thy high trust hath won thee,
Oh Poet of to-day 7—thou still unheard,
And the roused world is waiting for thy word I
Why lingerest thou amid the summer places,
'Hid verdurous shadows, lit by fairy faces,
There have thy fiery thoughts and hopes betaken
Thy life to quiet gliding, lest it waken
The rudest wind which comes where thou art lying,
May scarcely set tho mournful pines a-sighing,
Arouse I look up, to where above thee tower
Regions of being grander, freer, higher, Where God reveals His presence and His power
E'en as of old, in thunders and in fire.
Then stray no longer in the valleys vernal—
Sunshine and tempest—scale the heights eternal,
From those far summits shall thy thought's clear voicing
Thy lays speed forth, exultant and rejoicing,
Ah, when the soul of ancient song was blending
Twas like the wine drank on Olympus, sending
H brought strange, charmed words and magic singing,
Young loves their flight through airs ambrosial winging, And dark-browed heroes arming for the fight—
The trumpet's " golden cry,"—the shield's quick flashing— The dance of banners and the rush of war—
Death-showers of arrows and the spear's sharp clashing— The homeward rolling of the victor's car I
But ah I in all that song's heroic story
Had sad Humanity one briefest part? Sounds through the clang of words, the storm, the glory,
One sharp, strong cry from out her bleeding heart?
But unto thee the soul of song is given
Oh Poet of today! a grander dower
In holier beauty and in larger power.
To thee Humanity her woes revealing,
Would make thy song the voice of her appealing,
While in her season of great darkness sharing,
Which climbs the midnight of her long despairing,
Wherever Truth her holy warfare wages,
Sound like a prophet-warning down the ages,
But bring not thou the battle's stormy chorus,
Not war's hot smoke to taint the sweet morn o'er us,
Oh! let thy lays prolong that angel-singing,
Girdling with music the Redeemer's star, And breathe God's peace, to earth M glad tidings" bringing
From the near heavens, of old so dim and far.
BY JOHN 8. DU SOLLE.
"Le poete eat homme par les sans,
Homme par la douleur!
L'argile perissable oQ tant d'ame palplte,
Thou dark-eyed, pensive, passionate Child of Song 1
By the world's crowd unnoticed, 'mid the throng
Of the rude tempest are not half so strong
So venturing sunward, that the flashing eye
Kindle to Madness and to Idiocy I
To hideous blindness fall, and tenfold night I
Stop I whilst the ruby fount of Life Goes bubbling onward, hurtless, through thy vein?;
While yet the glorious, but capricious strife Of Being is uncertain: while the stains
That Sin and Sorrow rust into the soul
Stop! whilst to Memory earth is still so dear—
Whilst Hope still smiles at thy so-frequent call,
Beckon thy spirit to their sunny homes I
Stop! if thou'dbt live.
Or, hath Life left for thee
No charms, that thou its last, terrific scene
Can It be
That the world nothing hath thou'dst care to win?
Its peopling millions? its gigantic chain
Where the big-orbed Sun? the blue-veiled sky, With its magnificent, diamond-glistening train Of ever-burning stars?
It may not be,
(Thou fond Idolater at every fane
Where beauty lingers), may not be that thou Hast treasured up Earth's precious things, till now Thou deem'st it vain to turn,
Some unfamiliar object to discern;
Her loveliest features unregarded go I
Stop!—I conjure thee—
Bid the Muse away!
Her fatal gift cast from thee or resign,—
And her proud mandate heed not nor obey 1 E'en now thy brow hath Sorrow's pallid sign—
Thine eye, though bright, is like the flickering ray Of " a stray sunbeam o'er some ruined shrine"— Lighting up vestiges, almost divine,
In sad, yet dimly-beautiful decay.
Thy cheek is sunken, and the fickle play Of the faint smile that curls thy parted lip,
Hath something fearful in it, though so gay— A something treacherously calm and deepSuch as on sunny waters seems to sleep
When, hid beneath some passing shadow's gray,
The subtle Storm-Fiend watches for bis prey!
Stop! melancholy youth:
Wooing the while
Stop! ifthou'dst live then-