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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 face 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.
Thou canst accomplish all things, Lord of might:
LXIX THE WATERS OF BABYLON But on before me swept the moonlit stream That had entranced me with his memories, A thousand battles, and one burst of Psalms— Rolling his waters to the Indian sea Beyond Balsara, and Elana far, Nigh to two thousand miles from Ararat. And his full music took a finer tone, And sang me something of a gentler stream That rolls for ever to another shore, Whereof our God Himself is the sole sea, And Christ's dear love the pulsing of the tide, And His sweet Spirit is the breathing wind. Something it chanted, too, of exiled men, On the sad bank of that strange river, Life, Hanging the harp of their deep heart-desires
To rest upon the willow of the Cross,
And longing for the everlasting hills,
Mount Sion, and Jerusalem of God.
And then I thought I knelt, and kneeling heard
Nothing—save only the long wash of waves,
And one sweet Psalm that sobb'd for evermore.
THE ANGELS' SONG
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
To touch their harps of gold:
From Heaven's all-gracious King :"
To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven sky they come
With peaceful wings unfurl'd;
O'er all the weary world:
They bend on heavenly wing,
The blessed angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
Beneath the angel strain have rolled