And there, within his desert cave
Of grief and gloom, a living grave,
The prophet heaved his lonely sigh,
And prayed, with fervent heart, to die.
The Lord passed by-a strong wind blew,
The mountains shook like drops of dew;
And, like the hoar-frost on the ground,
The shattered rocks lay strewed around.
The wind was stilled-an earthquake came,
Like ague through creation's frame;
And even the firm established earth
Trembled like child of human birth.
The earthquake passed-a fire of dread
The glowing firmament o'erspread,
As when the Lord to guilty souls
Speaks, and the rattling thunder rolls.
But in the wind that rent the rock,
Or in the earthquake's fearful shock,
Or in the radiant fire that shot
Athwart the sky, the Lord was not.
And then there came a still small voice,
That made the prophet's heart rejoice;
A still small voice, with soothing words
Of hope and peace-it was the Lord's.
Elijah left his lone abode,
Confiding in his guardian-God,
And journeyed on to Syria's land,
To execute the Lord's command.
THE sun is up-from Carmel's woody brow
His orient radiance rushes like a flood-
A generous stream, by whose fresh influence grow
The flowers that blossom and the trees that bud;
The moon, that rose at eve, as if the blood
Of life was in her veins, turns pale as clay
From which the soul hath fled; the stars, that stud The midnight sky by thousands, glide away
Like foam-blown bells that burst within the ocean's bay.
The night-even like a fierce despotic king,
That wraps the nation in a fearful shade,
Dark as the darkness which the death-glooms fling
Around the sepulchre where bones are laid;
The night departs-as when, with power arrayed,
Some generous monarch from his throne has hurled
The gloomy tyrant humbled and dismayed;
For now the gates of morning are unfurled,
And light, and loveliness, and joy, possess the world.
The dew-bent lilies, by the breezes kissed,
Awake in beauty on their grassy beds,
Like lovely infants from the mother's breast,
That joys to pillow their protected heads;
On Zion's holy hill the green grape sheds
Its sweet perfume, the fig-tree is in blow;
On fertile Lebanon the corn-field spreads
Its store, and to the winds that o'er it go
Heaves, as the billows heave, with undulating flow.
On Gilead's pastures green the bleating flocks
Disport, in Jordan's stream the fishes play;
The snow-white goats are gambolling on the rocks,
The insects dancing in the sunny ray;
The humming bees, upon their early way,
Are wandering happily from flower to flower;
And all unseen, where twilight-shadows gray
Are lingering still, the wild birds, in the bower,
Pour out their choral song unto the matin hour.
And man comes from his dwelling forth-afar
He casts his eyes o'er all the happy sight,
And lifts his heart to him whose mercies are
Each morning new, whose faithfulness each night;
To him who sends the sun in all his might
To bid the forests bud, the flowerets bloom;
Who fills the lower creatures with delight,
Who sweeps the shadows from the heart of gloom,
And feeds the aspiring soul with hopes beyond the tomb.
(PROVERBS, XXXi. 10-31.)
O BLEST is he whose arms infold
A consort virtuous as fair!
Her price is far above the gold
That worldly spirits love to share.
On her, as on a beauteous isle,
Amid life's dark and stormy sea,
In all his trouble, all his toil,
He rests with deep security.
Even in the night-watch dark and lone
The distaff fills her busy hand;
Her husband in the gates is known
Among the elders of the land;
Her household all delight to share ;
The food and raiment she bestows-
Even she who with a parent's care
Regards their weakness and their woes.
Her pitying hand supplies the poor,
The widowed one, the orphan child,
Like birds assembled round her door,
When sweeps the winter-tempest wild.
Her lips with love and wisdom fraught,
Drop, like the honey-comb, their sweets;
The young are by her dictates taught,
The mourner her condolence meets.
Her lovely babes around her rise—
Fair scions of a holy stem!-
And deeply shall her bosom prize
The blessings she receives from them.
Beauty is vain-the summer bloom
To which a transient fate is given ; But her's awaits a lasting doom
In the eternal bowers of heaven.
(ISAIAH, XXIX. 8. First two clauses.)
IN the watches of night, when the blessings of slumber
On the eyes of the weary have fallen like dew,
My spirit, relieved from its care and its cumber,
Returns to the joys that its infancy knew :
I hear the sweet words of my father and mother,
I sport on the plain with my sister and brother,
I feel that the love which we bear for each other
Is an union of bliss that will ever be true.
I joy in my hopes, like the sun of the morning,
That over the vale throws his cherishing beam;
I joy in my pleasures, like wild flowers adorning
The sweet-breathing bankof the palm-shaded stream. I feel that each trouble, each toil, and each sorrow, Shall pass like the night-dew, the cloud of the morrow, I feel that I wander a pilgrimage thorough
That will prove all delight like a young lover's dream.
O blest are the visions in which we recover
The joy to our youth and our infancy given, When the sunshine no shadow of darkness comes over, No arrow of pain to the bosom is driven !
But at morning I wake from the dreams I had cherished, And, alas! from the land of existence have perished Thebrethren that loved me, the parents that nourished— And I weep, and I long to be with them in heaven.
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