In adamantine chains shall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air,
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects;
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms:
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promised father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er :
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;
But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.
Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son
Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,
And the same hand that sow'd, shall reap the field.
The swain in barren deserts with surprise
Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise;
And starts amidst the thirsty wilds to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods,
Waste sandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn,
The spiry fir and stately box adorn;
To leafless shrubs the flowering palms succeed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed.
The lambs with wolves shall grace the verdant mead,
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead.
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet:
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake;
Pleased, the green lustre of their scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play.
Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem rise!
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes!
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons and daughters, yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings,
And heap'd with products of Sabæan springs!
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day.
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn;
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze,
O'erflow thy courts: the Light Himself shall shine
Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine!
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fix'd his word, his saving power remains;
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns!
By LONGFELLOW, the American poet.
I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial ground God's Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
God's Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed, that they have garner'd in their hearts, Their bread of life; alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again,
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers which never bloom'd on earth.
With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and Acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow!
END OF ALL EARTHLY GREATNESS.
From SHAKSPERE's Tempest.
OUR revels now are ended: these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air.
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve;
And, like the insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind!
VERSES LEFT AT A FRIEND'S HOUSE.
By ROBERT BURNS.
O THOU dread Power, who reign❜st above,
I know thou wilt me hear;
When for this scene of peace and love
I make my prayer sincere.
The hoary sire-the mortal stroke,
Long, long be pleased to spare!
To bless his little filial flock,
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears-
O bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush-
Bless him, thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish!
The beauteous seraph sister-band-
With earnest tears I pray,
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand,
Guide thou their steps alway!
When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost,
A family in Heaven!
TRAJAN AND THE RABBI.
Taken from an old number of Blackwood's Magazine.
"OLD Rabbi! what tales
Wouldest thou pour
What visions of glory,
What phantoms of fear-
Of a God all the gods
Of the Roman above,
Of a mightier than Mars,
A more ancient than Jove?
"Let me look on these splendours:
I then may believe,
'Tis the senses alone
That can never deceive.-
Nay! show me your idol
If on earth be his shrine,
And the Israelite's God
Shall, old Dreamer, be mine!"
'Twas Trajan that spoke,
And the stoical sneer,
Still play'd on his features
Sublime and severe,
And round the proud hall,
As his dark eye was thrown,
He saw but one God,
And himself was that one.
"He is seen when the lightnings
Are shot through the heaven,
And the crests of the mountains
In embers are riven;
He is heard when the torrent
Has sent up its roar,
And the billows in thunder
Are flung to the shore!"
"These are dreams," said the Monarch, "Wild fancies of old.
But what God can I worship
When none I behold?
Can I kneel to the lightning,
The rain, or the wind?
Can I worship a shape
That but lives in the mind?"
"I'll show thee His footstool,
I'll show thee His throne. "
Through the halls of the palace
The Rabbi led on,
Till above them was spread
But the sky's purple dome,
And in surges of splendour
Beneath them lay Rome!
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