He lives!-In all the past Of seeing him again will I despair; And, on his angel brow, I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!" Yes, we all live to God! FATHER, thy chastening rod So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, Meeting at thy right hand, "Twill be our heaven to find that-he is there! HER CHOSEN SPOT. WHILE yet she lived, she walked alone Among these shades. A voice divine Whispered, "This spot shall be thine own; Here shall thy wasting form recline, "Thy will be done!" the sufferer said. And, in her eyes, the evening's shade And morning's dew this green spot made By the pale moon-herself more pale And spirit-like-these walks she trod; Was heard, she knelt upon this sod That spirit, with an angel's wings, Went up from the young mother's bed: She sleepeth!" Yea, she sleepeth here, The babe that lay on her cold breast A rosebud dropped on drifted snowIts young hand in its father's pressed, Shall learn that she, who first caressed Its infant check, now sleeps below. And often shall he come alone, When not a sound but evening's sigh Shall say, "This was my mother's choice JERUSALEM. JERUSALEM, Jerusalem, How glad should I have been, Could I, in my lone wanderings, Thine aged walls have seen!— Could I have gazed upon the dome Above thy towers that swells, And heard, as evening's sun went down, Thy parting camels' bells: Could I have stood on Olivet, Where once the Saviour trod, And, from its height, looked down upon For is it not, Almighty God, Thy holy city still, Though there thy prophets walk no more,That crowns Moriah's hill? Thy prophets walk no more, indeed, The streets of Salem now, Nor are their voices lifted up On Zion's saddened brow; Where once the same Jerusalem, But still the seed of Abraham That Kedron's feeble brook Still washes, as its waters creep And Israel's God is worshipped 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, I know, when at that solemn call That Omar's mosque hears not the name But Abraham's God is worshipped there Alike by age and youth, And worshipped,-hopeth charity,— "In spirit and in truth." Yea, from that day when Salem knelt To him who was, at once, her priest To this, when Egypt's Abraham' Jerusalem, I would have seen The trees of palm that overhang I would have mused, while night hung out Her silver lamp so pale, Beneath those ancient olive-trees That grow in Kedron's vale, Whose foliage from the pilgrim hides. The city's wall sublime, Whose twisted arms and gnarled trunks The garden of Gethsemane Those aged olive-trees Are shading yet, and in their shade 'This name is now generally written Ibrahim. I would have gone to Calvary, As near him as they could, I would have stood, till night o'er earth And thought upon my Saviour's cross, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Thy cross thou bearest now! 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 murdered seers, And voices that went up from it Are ringing in my ears, 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 touched Thy feet, gave up their dead :Jerusalem, thy prayer is heard, His blood is on thy head! |