මෙම ABRAHAM DISMISSING HAGAR. The stranger's, orphan's God art Thou — Be ours amidst the trackless wild! Do with me as thou wilt-I bow- But save, oh, save my guiltless child !" THOMAS DALE The last Judgment. THAT day of wrath, that dreadful day, Oh! on that day, that wrathful day, WALTER SCOTT. The Reaper and the flowers. THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. "Shall I have nought that is fair," saith he: "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kiss'd their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," Where he was once a child. They shall all bloom in fields of light, And saints, upon their garments white, And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love; She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day; "Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. Thy prophets walk no more, indeed, the streets of Salem now, Nor are their garnish'd sepulchres with pious sorrow kept, Where once the same Jerusalem, that kill'd them, came and wept. But still the seed of Abraham with joy upon it look, And lay their ashes at its feet, that Kedron's feeble brook Still washes, as its waters creep along their rocky bed, And Israel's God is worshipp'd yet where Zion lifts her head. Yes;-every morning, as the day breaks over Olivet, The holy name of Allah comes from every minaret; At every eve the mellow call floats on the quiet air, "Lo, God is God! Before him come, before him come, for prayer' 199 வேல் JERUSALEM. I know, when at that solemn call the city holds her breath, Yea, from that day when Salem knelt and bent her queenly neck Shakes o'er her head, her holy men have bow'd before the Lord. Jerusalem, I would have seen thy precipices steep, The trees of palm that overhang thy gorges dark and deep, Beneath whose shade lie down, alike, thy shepherds and their flocks I would have mused, while Night hung out her silver lamp so pale, The Garden of Gethsemanè those aged olive trees Are shading yet, and in their shade I would have sought the breeze, I would have gone to Calvary, and, where the Marys stood I would have stood, till Night o'er earth her heavy pall had thrown, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thy cross thou bearest now! An iron yoke is on thy neck, and blood is on thy brow; Thy golden crown, the crown of truth, thou didst reject as dross, It was not mine, nor will it be, to see the bloody rod That scourgeth thee, and long hath scourged, thou city of our God! But round thy hill the spirits throng of all thy murder'd seers, And voices that went up from it are ringing in my ears,— JERUSALEM. Went up that day, when darkness fell from all thy firmament, And shrouded thee at noon; and when thy temple's vail was rent, And graves of holy men, that touch'd thy feet, gave up their dead :— Jerusalem, thy prayer is heard, HIS BLOOD IS ON THY HEAD! JOHN PIERPONT The Heart Song. In the silent midnight watches, list-thy bosom door! "Tis thy Saviour knocketh, crieth, "Rise, and let me in." Death comes down, with reckless footstep, to the hall and hut; Then 'tis thine to stand-entreating Christ to let thee in, At the gate of heaven beating, wailing for thy sin. ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE. |