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All is of God! If he but wave his hand,

The mists collect, the rain falls thick and


Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,
Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud.

Angels of Life and Death alike are his;

Without his leave they pass no threshold


Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,

Against his messengers to shut the door?


In broad daylight, and at noon,
Yesterday I saw the moon

Sailing high, but faint and white,
As a school-boy's paper kite.

In broad daylight, yesterday,
I read a Poet's mystic lay;
And it seemed to me at most
As a phantom, or a ghost.

But at length the feverish day
Like a passion died away,
And the night, serene and still,
Fell on village, vale, and hill.

Then the moon, in all her pride,

Like a spirit glorified,

Filled and overflowed the night

With revelations of her light.

And the Poet's song again
Passed like music through my brain;

Night interpreted to me

All its grace and mystery.


How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves,

Close by the street of this fair seaport town, Silent beside the never-silent waves,

At rest in all this moving up and down!

The trees are white with dust, that o'er their


Wave their broad curtains in the south

wind's breath,

While underneath such leafy tents they keep

The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.

And these sepulchral stones, so old and brown,

That pave with level flags their burial-place,

Seem like the tablets of the Law, thrown down And broken by Moses at the mountain's


The very names recorded here are strange, Of foreign accent, and of different climes; Alvares and Rivera interchange

With Abraham and Jacob of old times.

"Blessed be God! for he created Death!" The mourners said, " and Death is rest and


Then added, in the certainty of faith,

"And giveth Life that never more shall cease."

Closed are the portals of their Synagogue,
No Psalms of David now the silence break,

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