THE RESTORATION OF ISRAEL. [CROLY.] KING of the dead! how long shall sweep Has Israel steeped her bread in tears; Flight, famine, shame, the scourge, the sword! No banner purples in the sky; The world within their hearts has died; The lip, involuntary prayer; The form still mark'd with many a stain- The serf of Afric's fiery ground; The slave by Indian suns embrowned; The weary drudges of the oar, By the swart Arab's poisoned shore; What strength of man can check its speed? Who leads their march? Beneath his wheel Even for this hour thy heart's blood streamed ! What flames upon the distant sky? And now, as nearer speeds their march, Touch'd the pale prophet's harp with soul;— Sits there?-The King of time and fate! Whose sceptre shakes the solid globe, Whom shapes of fire and splendour guard! There sits the Man whose face was marred,' To whom archangels bow the knee- Down in the dust, aye, Israel, kneel, DEATH. [ANONYMOUS.] LEAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death. Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad glidings round the joyous hearth, The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears-but all are thine! Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee!-but thou art not of those That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey! Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death. We know when moons shall wane, When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grainBut who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art where friend meets friend Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death. HARMONY. [BOWRING.] I BADE the Day-break bring to me I asked the Noon for music then: I hastened from the restless throng, The home-bound bee-the vesper bell- Thou Omnipresent Harmony! Shades, streams, and stars are full of thee; On every wing-in every sound, Thine all-pervading power is found; Some chord to touch-some tale to tell- TO THE SOUL. [TOPLADY.] DEATHLESS principle, arise! |