Still commune with the holy dead In each lone hour! The holy dead!-oh! bless'd we are, That we may call them so, And to their image look afar, Through all our woe! Bless'd, that the things they loved on earth, That wake sweet thoughts of parted worth, Bless'd, that a deep and chastening power Thus o'er our souls is given, If but to bird, or song, or flower, HE WALK'D WITH GOD.1 (Genesis v. 24.) He walk'd with God, in holy joy, To love and reverence grew. 1 "These two little pieces," (He walk'd with God,' and 'The Rod of Aaron,') says the author in one of her letters, “are part of a collection I think of forming, to be called Sacred Lyrics. They are all to be on Scriptural subjects, and to go through the most striking events of the Old Testament, to those far more deeply affecting ones of the New." The two following are subjoined, as having been (probably) intended to form a part of the same series. 1 HE WALK'D WITH GOD. Whether, each nightly star to count, The ancient hills he trode, Or sought the flowers by stream and fount- The graver noon of manhood came, One voice was in his heart-the same A shepherd king on eastern plains— And calmly, brightly, that pure life No cloud it knew, no parting strife, He bow'd him not, like all beside, So let us walk!—the night must come We through the darkness must go home, Closed is the path for evermore, Which without death he trod; Not so that way, wherein of yore His footsteps walk'd with God! 191 THE ROD OF AARON. (Numbers xvii. 8.) Was it the sigh of the southern gale Was it the sunshine that woke its flowers Oh, far and deep, and through hidden bowers, No! from the breeze and the living light But it felt in the stillness a secret might, E'en so may that breath, like the vernal air, And all such things as are good and fair, THE VOICE OF GOD. "I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid.”— Gen. iii. 10. AMIDST the thrilling leaves, thy voice At evening's fall drew near; Father! and did not man rejoice That blessed sound to hear? THE FOUNTAIN OF MARAH. Did not his heart within him burn, Therefore, 'midst holy stream and bower, To veil his conscious head. Oh! in each wind, each fountain flow, Grant me, my God, thy voice to know, 193 THE FOUNTAIN OF MARAH. "And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter. "And the people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall we drink? "And he cried unto the Lord, and the Lord showed him a tree, which when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made sweet." Exodus, xv. 23-25. WHERE is the tree the prophet threw Into the bitter wave? Left it no scion where it grew, The thirsting soul to save? Hath nature lost the hidden power Is there no distant eastern bower With such sweet leaves o'erspread? Nay, wherefore ask?-since gifts are ours Earth's many troubled founts with showers Oh! mingled with the cup of grief And every prayer shall win a leaf THE PENITENT'S OFFERING. (St. Luke, vii. 37, 38.) THOU that with pallid cheek, And faded locks that humbly swept the ground, Before the all-healing Son, Didst bow thee to the earth, oh, lost and found! When thou would'st bathe his feet With odours richly sweet, And many a shower of woman's burning tear, And dry them with that hair, Brought low the dust to wear, From the crown'd beauty of its festal year. Did he reject thee then, While the sharp scorn of men On thy once bright and stately head was cast? |