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When the great water-floods prevail,
Did ever mourner plead with thee,
Fair is the lot that's cast for me;
Poor though I am, despis'd, forgot,
THE LAST DAY.
EVEN thus amid thy pride and luxury,
When that great Husbandman shall wave his fan,
Sweeping, like chaff, thy wealth and pomp away : Still to the noontide of that nightless day,
Shalt thou thy wonted dissolute course maintain. Along the busy mart and crowded street, The buyer and the seller still shall meet,
And marriage feasts begin their jocund strain. Still to the pouring out the cup of woe; Till earth, a drunkard, reeling to and fro, And mountains molten by his burning feet, And heav'n his presence own, all red with furnace heat.
Almighty! trembling like a timid child,
I hear thy awful voice-alarm'd-afraid! see the flashes of thy light'ning wild,
And in the very grave would hide my head. Lord! what is man? up to the sun he fliesOr feebly wanders through earth's vale of dust: There is he lost 'midst heav'n's high mysteries, And here in error and in darkness lost : Beneath the storm-clouds, on life's raging sea, Like a poor sailor-by the tempest tost, Oh! who shall then survive?
Oh! who shall stand and live?
When all that hath been is no more;
In the sky's azure canopy :
When for the breathing earth, and sparkling sea, Is but a fiery deluge without shore,
Heaving along th' abyss profound and dark,
A fiery deluge and without an ark.
Lord of all power, when thou art there alone
That in its high meridian noon
Need not the perish'd sun nor moon : When thou art there in thy presiding state,
Wide scepter'd monarch o'er the realm of doom: When from the sea-depths, from earth's darkest womb,
The dead of all the ages round thee wait;
SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL O'ER EGYPT'S
SOUND the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
His chariots and horsemen, all splendid and brave,
How vain was their boasting!-The Lord hath but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the
und the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; ehovah has triumph'd,-his people are free. raise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord, His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword!
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of
And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
THE EVENING CLOUD.
A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun,
THERE is a calm for those who weep:
The storm that wrecks the wintry sky,
Than summer ev'ning's latest sigh,
I long to lay this painful head,
The grave, that never spake before,
Art thou a mourner? hast thou known
O live! and deeply cherish still
Tho' long of winds and waves the sport,
Seek the true treasure, seldom found,
Whate'er thy lot-where'er thou be-
A bruised reed he will not break;