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Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.
Kneel down by the dying sinner’s side,
And pray for his soul through him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow—
O, what is earth and its pleasures now !
And what shall assuage his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer?
Kneel down at the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is peace in his eye that upwards bends;
There is peace in his calm, confiding air;
For his last thoughts are God’s, his last words prayer.
The voice of prayer at the sable bier:
A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to God who gave;
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave;
It points to the glory where he shall reign,
Who whispered, “Thy brother shall rise again.”
The voice of prayer in the world of bliss!
But gladder, purer, than rose from this.
The ransomed shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;
But a sinless and joyous song they raise;
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.
Awake, awake, and gird up thy strength
To #. that holy band at length.
To him who unceasing love displays,
Whoin the powers of nature unceasingly praise,
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given;
For a life of prayer is the life of heaven.
Æffect of the Ocean and its Scenery on the Mind of the Buccaneer when agitated with Remorse for his Crime.— Ric HARD H. DANA.
WHo's yonder on that long, black ledge,
Which makes so far into the sea 2
See there he sits, and pulls the sedge—
Poor, idle Matthew Lee |
So weak and pale A year and little more,
And thou didst lord it bravely round this shore!
And on the shingles now he sits,
And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach; then stops by fits,
And scores the smooth, wet sands;
Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds
The isle; then home from many weary rounds.
They ask him why he wanders so, From day to day, the uneven strand?— “I wish, I wish that I might go! But I would go by land; And there's no way that I can find—I’ve tried All day and night!”—He looked towards sea, and sighed.
He views the ships that come and go, Looking so like to living things. O! 'tis a proud and gallant show Of bright and broad-spread wings Flinging a glory round them, as they keep Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.
And where the far-off sand-bars lift
Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And send the sparkling brine
Into the air; then rush to mimic strife:–
Glad creatures of the sea! How all seems life —
But not to Lee. He sits alone; No fellowship nor joy for him. Borne down by wo, he makes no moan, Though tears will sometimes dim That asking eye.—O, how his worn thoughts craveNot joy again, but rest within the grave.
The rocks are dripping in the mist
That lies so heavy off the shore.
Scarce seen the running breakers;–list
Their dull and smothered roar !
Lee hearkens to their voice.—“I hear, I hear
You call.—Not yet!—I know my time is near!”
And now the mist seems taking shape,
Forming a dim, gigantic ghost,-
Enormous thing!—There’s no escape;
'Tis close upon the coast.
Lee kneels, but cannot pray.—Why mock him so?
The ship has cleared the fog, Lee, see her go!
A sweet, low voice, in starry nights,
Chants to his ear a plaining song.
Its tones come winding up those heights,
Telling of wo and wrong;
And he must listen, till the stars grow dim,
The song that gentle voice doth sing to him.
O, it is sad that aught so mild Should bind the soul with bands of fear; That strains to soothe a little child The man should dread to hear ! But sin hath broke the world's sweet peace—unstrung The harmonious chords to which the angels sung.
In thick, dark nights, he’d take his seat High up the cliffs, and feel them shake, As swung the sea with heavy beat Below—and hear it break With savage roar, then pause and gather strength. And, then, come tumbling in its swollen length.
But thou no more shalt haunt the beach,
Nor sit upon the tall cliff's crown,
Nor go the round of all that reach,
Nor feebly sit thee down,
Watching the swaying weeds:—another day,
And thou’lt have gone far hence that dreadful way.
The third and last Appearance of the Spectre Horse and the - Burning Ship.–RICHARD H. DANA.
To-NIGHT the charmed number’s told.
“Twice have I come for thee,” it said.
“Once more, and none shall thee behold.
Come! live one, to the dead!”—
So hears his soul, and fears the coming night;
Yet sick and weary of the soft, calm light.
Aff. he sits within that room;
All day he leans at that still board;
None to bring comfort to his gloom,
Or speak a friendly word.
Weakened with fear, lone, haunted by remorse,
Poor, shattered wretch, there waits he that pale horse.
Not long he’ll wait.—Where now are gone
Peak, citadel, and tower, that stood
Beautiful, while the west sun shone
And bathed them in his flood
Of airy glory?—Sudden darkness fell;
And down they sank, peak, tower, and citadel.
The darkness, like a dome of stone,
Ceils up the heavens.—"Tis hush as death—
All but the ocean’s dull, low moan.
How hard Lee draws his breath !
He shudders as he feels the working Power.
Arouse thee, Lee up; man thee for thine hour!—
'Tis close at hand; for there, once more,
The burning ship. Wide sheets of flame
And shafted fire she showed before;
Twice thus she hither came;—
But now she rolls a naked hulk, and throws
A wasting light; then, settling, down she goes.
And where she sank, up slowly came
The Spectre-Horse from out the sea.
And there he stands! His pale sides flame.
He'll meet thee shortly, Lee.
He treads the waters as a solid floor:
He's moving on. Lee waits him at the door.
They’ve met.—“I know thou com’st for me,”
Lee's spirit to the spectre said—
“I know that I must go with thee—
Take me not to the dead.
It was not I alone that did the deed!”
Dreadful the eye of that still, spectral steed .
Lee cannot turn. There is a force
In that fixed eye, which holds him fast.
How still they stand!—that man and horse.
—“Thine hour is almost past.”
“O, spare me,” cries the wretch, “thou fearful one!”—
“My time is full—I must not go alone.”
“I’m weak and faint. O, let me stay !”
—“Nay, murderer, rest nor stay for thee!”
The horse and man are on their way;
He bears him to the sea.
Hark!, how the spectre breathes through this still night t
See from his nostrils streams a deathly light!
It lights the sea around their track—
The curling comb, and dark steel wave:
There, yet, sits Lee the spectre's back—
Gone ! gone! and none to save
They’re seen no more; the night has shut them in.
May Heaven have pity on thee, man of sin!