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RECOMPENSE.

THE Temple of the Lord stood open wide,

And worshippers went up from many lands,

Who, kneeling at the altar, side by side,

Made votive offerings with uplifted hands.

Their gifts were gold, and frankincense, and myrrh.

Then, with a lustrous gleam and rapturous stir,

While all the people trembled and turned pale.

There flew an angel to the altar-rail, Who, with anointed eyes, keen to discern,

Gazed, noting all the kneelers, who they were,

And what was each one's tribute to the Lord,

And, gift for gift, with sudden, swift return,

Bestowed on every suppliant his reward.

O mocking recompense! To one, a spear!

To many, each a thorn! To some a nail!

To all, a cross! But unto none a crown!

At last, they saw the angel disappear. Then, as their timid hearts shook off their fear,

Some rose in anger, flung their treasures down,

And cried, "Such gifts from Heaven as these, we spurn! They are too cruel, and too keen to bear!

They are too grievous for a human breast!

Heaven sends us heartache, misery, and despair!

We knelt for blessing, but we rise unblest!

If Heaven so mock us, we will cease to pray!"

They left the altar, and they went

their way;

But their blaspheming hearts were then self-torn

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Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear;

We kneel how weak, we rise how full

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Or others- that we are not always That we are ever overborne with strong;

care;

That we should ever weak or heartless be,

Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer,

And joy, and strength, and courage,

are with Thee?

A GARDEN so well watered before

morn

Is hotly up, that not the swart sun's blaze,

Down beating with unmitigated rays, Why, therefore, should we do our- Nor arid winds from scorching places

of power!

selves this wrong,

borne,

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Upon one point which you shall now | BE patient! oh, be patient! Put your

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But as sure as there's a power that makes the grass appear,

Our land shall be green with liberty,

the blade-time shall be here.

Be patient! oh, be patient-go and watch the wheat ears grow So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change nor throeDay after day, day after day, till the ear is fully grown, And then again day after day, till the ripened field is brown.

Be patient! oh, be patient! - though yet our hopes are green, The harvest-fields of freedom shall be crowned with sunny sheen. Be ripening! be ripening!- mature your silent way,

Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire on freedom's harvest day!

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THE NIGHTINGALE.

LEANING my bosom on a pointed thorn,

I bleed, and bleeding sing my sweetest strain:

For sweetest songs of saddest hearts are born,

And who may here dissever love and pain?

THE SNAKE.

MYSELF I force some narrowest passage through,

Leaving my old and wrinkled skin behind,

And issuing forth in splendor of my

new:

Hard entrance into life all creatures find.

THE TIGER.

HEARING sweet music, as in fell despite,

Himself the tiger doth in pieces

tear:

The melody of other men's delight There are, alas! who can as little bear.

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