It soften'd men of iron mould, It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold, That felt not, fired not to the tone, Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne! It told the triumphs of our king, It wafted glory to our God; The cedars bow, the mountains nod; Its sound aspired to Heaven, and there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more, Devotion and her daughter Love Still bid the bursting spirit soar To sounds that seem as from above, In dreams that day's broad light can not remove. IF THAT HIGH WORLD. Ir that high world, which lies beyond It must be so: 't is not for self That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf, Yet cling to being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink, And soul in soul grow deathless theirs! More blest each palm that shades those plains Than Israel's scatter'd race; For, taking root, it there remains In solitary grace : It cannot quit its place of birth, It will not live in other earth. But we must wander witheringly, And where our fathers' ashes be, Our temple hath not left a stone, Он! OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream : Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell; Mourn where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell! And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, ON JORDAN'S BANKS. ON Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray, Yet there even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep: There where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone! Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear! JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. SINCE Our country, our God-Oh, my sire! Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow- And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And of this, oh, my father! be sure— And the last thought that soothes me below. Though the virgins of Salem lament, When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM. On! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom, Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall sorrow lean her drooping head, Away! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less? And thou-who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. MY SOUL IS DARK, My soul is dark.-Oh! quickly string And let thy gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear, That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 'T will flow, and cease to burn my Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst, brain: And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 't is doom'd to know the worst, And break at once-or yield to song. Though thou art fall'n, while we are free Thou shalt not taste of death! The generous blood that flow'd from thee Within our veins its currents be, Thy name, our charging hosts along, Shall be the battle-word! Thy fall, the theme of choral song |