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Little chary of thy fame—
J. H. Newman
"SOLOMON IN ALL HIS GLORY WAS
NOT ARRAYED LIKE ONE OF
When the great Hebrew king did almost strain The wondrous treasures of his wealth and brain, His royal southern guest to entertain;
Though she on silver floors did tread, With bright Assyrian carpets on them spread, To hide the metal's poverty; Though she look'd up to roofs of gold, And nought around her could behold But silk and rich embroidery, And Babylonish tapestry, And wealthy Hiram's princely dye; Though Ophir's starry stones met everywhere her
eye; Though she herself, and her gay host were drest With all the shining glories of the East; When lavish art her costly work had done, The honour and the prize of bravery Was by the garden from the palace won; And every rose and lily there did stand Better attired by nature's hand.
Where does the wisdom and the power divine
In a more bright and sweet reflection shine?
Where do we finer strokes and colours see
Of the Creator's real poetry,
But we despise these His inferior ways,
Though no less full of miracle and praise:
The stars of earth no wonder in us raise.
"Who for the like of me will care?"
When in the weary languid air,
So haply mused yon little maid,
From Israel's breezy mountain borne,
No more to rest in Sabbath shade,
A captive now, and sold, and bought,
Forgotten—such her moody thought—
But One who ne'er forgets is here:
O serve Him yet in duteous fear,
So shall the healing Name be known
And Naaman on his chariot throne
By thee desponding lepers know
Then wherefore sink in listless woe?
Christ's poor and needy claim your right.
Your heavenly right to do and bear
To pining doubt; nor ask "What care
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen, Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath
blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed on the fase of the foe as he pass'd, And the eyes of the sleeper waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
O, happy is the man who hears
And who celestial wisdom makes
For she has treasures, greater far
And her reward is more secure
In her right hand, she holds to view
A length of happy years;
And honour bright appears.
She guides the young with innocence,
In pleasure's path to tread;
Upon the hoary head.
According as her labours rise,
So her rewards increase;
And all her paths are peace.
Yet though the fig-tree should no burden bear,
Yet shall my grateful strings
For ever praise Thy name,
For ever Thee proclaim The everlasting God, the mighty King of Kings.