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And in that boat were three,—a wild old man,
Nothing they said, and though each cheek was wan,
The mighty river flowing slowly on,
The death-like calm,-the blue and cloudless sky,-
Nor the soft brightness of the maid's blue eye;
For they are followers of Him who bore
For them, for all man's bitter curse and pain;
Must they be drifted onward to the main,
Five days have pass'd, and still the victims live,—
Their thoughts are anchor'd on eternal things,-
The sky is glowing with a crimson hue,
The farewell splendour of departing day;
The tempest bursts! upon the murky deep
That small boat tosses wildly to and fro,-
'Tis early morn,-a flock of rosy light
Is streaming through the portals of the east,
Rousing the skylark in her lowly nest :
Thrown there and left by the retiring tide, –
Bless'd emblem of the faith for which he died, And on his breast is bound a parchment scroll, God's gracious message to man's sin-stain'd soul. And half-clad men and boys are standing by,
Who mourn the stripling's melancholy fate,Their faces beam with holy charity,
Though rude their speech and all uncouth their gait ; But much they fear to touch the sacred Book, Nor dare on its mysterious signs to look. A time-worn seer, whose white and scanty hair,
And hoary beard, as by the west wind stirr'd, Play'd with the soft and fragrance-breathing air,
Their simple talk and exclamations heard ; Smiling,—for he was wiser than the rest,-He took the roll from off the Martyr's breast. He reads, he weeps ! ah, whence that big round tear?
The light is gushing o'er his thoughtful soul; The patriarch bends his knee in childlike
prayer, And knows the truth and yields to its control, -And bids his pagan brothers seek above
Another Deity, who rules by love!
O God, how wondrous are thy ways ! the blood
Of faithful martyrs is thy church's seed;
The savage tribe receive the Christian's creed;
THE DOOMED PROPHET,
By Miss JEWSBURY.
Jeremiah xxviii. 16, 17. 'Tis said-'tis done! the arrowy word
Hath pierced the prophet's soul ; And though, in human accents heard,
Less stern the thunders roll, The Spirit in that human tone Hath changed the rebel-seer to stone,
Hath crush'd him like a scroll ! And he, the God-defier wild, Shrinks to the coward and the child.
The crowd that hung upon him late,
And loved the hopes he built,
A monument of guilt :
And words like water spilt,
His mantle o'er his head, Dreaming his death in every sound,
His doom in every tread! Morn rises vainly red and bright, To him a sun is but a light
To lead him to the dead :
He feels it ebb away ;
A spirit of decay, -
-These bath he night and day! And shrinking from the eyes
men, He ever moanethấ" When, oh when!
"When?-Will th' avenger instant slay?
O earth, and sun, and stream—
Breathes but one answer- Thou shalt die !'
"O for another year! to stand
And wish my heart as soft a thing,
It is in vain I
Alas! alas! from earth and sky
Breathes but one answer-' Thou shalt die!'"
The Prophet passed from human view,
Their God beheld their deeds.
Oh! when, from longer wanderings brought,
No more by idol-seers oppress'd,
Passages for the Memory.
THE VILLAGE CHURCH.
Dear is the ancient village church, which rears
Tall pinnacles and mingled window tiers,
Know they their bliss, who own their dwelling nigh
GOD IN CHRIST RECONCILED.
'Tis said, that God is a consuming fire, But oh! 'tis sure, He now lays by his ire ;
He thunders out,
With trumpet's shout,
Even now a radiant angel goeth forth,
And showeth how to guide its silver course,
Farewell! but never from my heart
Shall time thine image blot-
Thou shalt not be forgot-