Billeder på siden

“ It is I, it is I, who have risen at length
In the day of my wrath, with the sword of my strength;
It is I, who have spoken, nor spoken in vain,
For I have returned from the field of the slain !"

And why, 0 thou Victor, and why thus imbue
Thy garments of snow with the deep crimson hue?
And why, Mighty Victor, thy raiment thus red,
As though thou hadst trodden where thousands had bled s

“ I have trodden the wine-press of Edom alone;
Yet their armies are scattered-their banners are strown;
And still will I tread, o'er the hosts of their pride,
Till in crimson yet deeper my raiment is dyed.

There was not a helper in Israel that day,
No arm that could save from the hostile array,--
I looked-bnt alas ! there was no one to save,
No hand that could snatch from the grasp of the grave !

But I have arisen-arisen at length,
In the day of my wrath, with the sword of my strength-
With the seal on my arm, and the stain on my vest,
And where I have fought shall my people be blest!"

[blocks in formation]

Thou art our Father, Lord, our Lord,

And thou wilt every want fulfil

Though mute within thy walls we stand,

Nor harp, por tabret's sound is there;
Nor bended knee, nor lifted hand,
Nor solemn vow, nor voice of prayer:-

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]




We turn to it, from those more painful | Thy dwellings all lie desolate; themes,

Thy children weep in chains. Iscariot's treachery, and Peter's fear, Where are the dews that fed thee The priest's hypocrisy, the soldier's cruel On Etham's barren shore ?

That fire from Heaven which led thee,

Now lights thy path no more !
From such we turn to it,-as to a thing
Gentle, compassionate, pure, holy, good! Lord, thou didst love Jerusalem!
And the heart's better feelings as they cling Once she was all thine own;
Unto its memory, lead us as they should, Her love thy fairest heritage,
To genuine virtue's most congenial mood; Her power thy glory's throne.
Not taught by speculative creeds, which draw Till evil came and blighted
The mind's attention from its heavenly food; Thy long-loved olive tree,
We feel this truth impressed with holy awe, And Salem's shrines were lighted
That Love is in itself, fulfilmentof God's law. For other gods than Thee.

Then sank the star of Solyma;
Then pass’d her glory's day;

Like heath that in the wilderness

The wild wind whirls away.
Acts ix. 1-9.

Silent and waste her bowers

Where once the mighty trod,

And sunk those guilty towers, Whose is tbat sword-that voice and eye of

Where Baal reigned as God. flame That heart of anextinguishable ire ?

“Go," saith the Lord, “ye conquerors! Who bears the dangeon-keys, and bonds, Steep in their blood your swords; and fire ?

And raze to earth her battlements,
Along his dark and withering path he came- For they are not the Lord's:
Death in his looks, and terror in his name, Till Zion's moarnful daughter,
Tempting the might of heaven's Eternal Sire.

0'er kindred bones shall tread; Lo! THE LIGHT shone! the sun's veiled

And Hinnom's hall of slaughter beams expire

Shall hide but half her dead." A Saviour's self a Saviour's lips proclaim ! Whose is yon form, stretched on the earth's “ But soon shall other pictur'd scenes, cold bed,

In brighter visions rise, With smitten soul and tears of agony

When Zion's sun shall seven-fold shine Mourning the pastBowed is the lofty O'er all her mourner's eyes; head

And on her beauteous mountain stand Rayless the orbs that flashed with victory. The messenger of peace : Over the raging waves of human will “Salvation by the Lord's right hand !" The Saviour's spirit walked—and all was They shout and never cease!

still !

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

King of the dead, how long shall sweep THE DESTRUCTION OF BABYLON. Thy wrath ? how long thy outcasts weep ?--Reo. xiv. 8. xviii. 2--23.

Two thousand agonizing years

Has Israel steep'd her bread in tears :

The vial on her head been pour'd,-She is fall’n! she is fall'n! from the height Flight, famine, shame, the scourge, the of her glory!

sword! And lowly in ruin she lies :No more shall her greatness be sounded in 'Tis done! Has breath'd thy trumpet blast, story

The Tribes at length have wept their last ! No more shall her praises arise.

On rolls the host! from land and wave

The earth sends up the unransomed slave : One moment beheld her in brightness and There rides no glittering chivalry, beauty

No banner purples in the sky; Erecting her head undefied;

The world within their hearts hath died ; 'Tis past—and the storm, in the zeal of its Two thousand years have slain their pride! daty,

The look of pale remorse is there, Has blasted the bloom of her pride. The lip-involuntary prayer;

« ForrigeFortsæt »