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Who is it? He whose hand hath made
The Heavens, too bright for mortal eye,
And flowers of every varied dye !
Who is it? He who meekly laid
His pomp of heavenly glory by,
To atone for sins of deepest dye.
Almanac in Mr. Hodgshon's collection of curiosities, which was constructed by the converted Africans, to mark the Sabbath]
What means this simple implement ;
Ages had past, yet o'er that land
Ah no! poor Africa! for thee
Far in the regions of the west
And in their own bright sunny climes,
But hark! the word of God hath been, In those wide deserts spoken
The spell of many thousand years,
the word of God will bring,
The Fall of Jerusalem.
MIRIAM. Alas! we listen to our fond hopes, Even till they seem no more our fancy's children. We put them on a prophet's robes, endow them With prophets' voices, and then Heaven speaks in
them, And that which we would have be, surely shall be.
SALONE. What, mock'st thou still ? still enviously doubtest The mark'd and favour'd of the Everlasting ?
Oh gracious Lord ! thou know'st she has not eaten
Ha! still unbelieving ! Then, 'tis true, what I have doubted long. False traitress to our city, to the race, The chosen race of Abraham ! loose apostate From Israel's faith! Believer in the Crucified ! I know thee, I abjure thee. Thou’rt no child Of Simon's house, no sister of Salone : I blot thee from my heart, I wipe away All memory of our youthful pleasant hours, Our blended sports and tasks, and joys and sorrows; Yea, I'll proclaim thee.
Sister ! dearest sister ! Thou seest that I cannot speak for tears.
Away! thou wilt not speak, thou dar’st not—Hark!
MIRIAM, SALONE, SIMON.
Daughters, I have been With Eleazar, and with John of Galilee, The son of Sadoc. We have search'd the city, If any rebel to our ordinance Do traitorously withhold his private hoard Of stolen provision from the public store.
And found ye any guilty of a fraud
Yes, my children ! There sate a woman in a lowly house, And she had moulded meal into a cake; And she sate weeping even in wild delight Over her sleeping infants, at the thought Of how their eyes would glisten to behold The unaccustom'd food. She had not tasted Herself the strange repast : but she had raised The covering under which the children lay Crouching and clinging fondly to each other, As though the warmth that breath'd from out their
bodies Had some refreshment for their wither'd lips. We bared our swords to slay: but subtle John