POWER had won a throne of glory, Where is now his fame? GENIUS said, "I live in story," Who hath heard his name? LOVE, beneath a myrtle bough, Whispered, "Why so fast?" And the roses on his brow Withered as I passed. I have heard the heifer lowing O'er the wild wave's bed, I have seen the billows flowing Where began my wanderings? MEMORY will not say! Where will rest my weary wings? SCIENCE turns away! MRS. HEMANS. THE INFANT BAPTIST. And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, and was in the deserts until the day of his showing unto Israel. LUĶE I., 80. CHILD, amid the honied flowers Passing life's bright morning hours,; Playing in the silver rills, Where they bathe Judea's hills; Looking with an earnest eye At the wild bird flitting by; Infant of the joyous heart, Canst thou tell me who thou art? Thou, whose little hand in play Hurls the clustered grapes away; While thou lov'st to watch the bee, Or to win a lamb to thee, And to see the fleecy flock Resting by the shadowy rock; Know'st thou, tender, beauteous boy, What's thine errand, whence thy joy? 'Twas thy name that Gabriel spoke, By the altar, while the smoke From thy father's incense rolled, When thy being was foretold! Thou art come, the promised one, As the dayspring to the sun, Soon to usher in new light Through the realms of Death and Night! Heavenly innocence is now Marked upon thy peaceful brow: God's own Spirit filleth thee, In the blood he comes to shed! Though, from nature wild and rude Come thy raiment, rest, and food, Nightly o'er thy desert sleep, Angels shall their vigils keep; Through the wilderness by day, They will guard and lead the way; Till to Israel thou appear, Showing Heaven's mild kingdom near. High and glorious, then, the part For thine eye, and hand, and heart! When thy feet, on Jordan's side, Feel the waters, as they glide, Thou the Son of God shalt see, Come to be baptized of thee, Hear him named, and see the Dove Resting on him from above! H. F. GOULD. A VOICE FROM THE WINE-PRESS. "TWAS for this, they reared the vine, Fostered every leaf and shoot, Loved to see its tendrils twine, Cherished it from branch to root! 'Twas for this, that from the blast It was screened, and taught to run, That its fruit might ripen fast, O'er the trellis, to the sun! And, for this, they rudely tore Every cluster from the stem; Thus to crush us, till we pour Out our very blood for them! Well, though we are tortured thus, Still our essence shall endure; Vengeance, they shall find, with us May be slow, but will be sure! |