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We ask thee not, O God! to bow

Thy heavens, these sighs to hear; Unto those seats of life and song

They fly, and reach thine ear; For thou art condescending still,

When suppliants come to thee; Though thy pavilion is the cloud,

And low and poor are we.

Thou knowost we tabernacle where

Envy and wrong abound;
In bosoms of our dearest trust

Deceit is oft'nest found.
Thou know'st that man to fellow man

Is oft the direst foe;
The streams of kindness in his soul

Are tainted as they flow.

For who hath pillowed all his heart

On seeming honour's breast,
Nor found, in sorrow's bitter doom,

That refuge but a jest ?
Who hath not sought some lofty hope,

And said, here is my stay,
Yet saw how like the summer sun,

It passed in clouds away?

Yea, he, the heritor of ill,

In silence must it bide;

The world that wrings out bitter tears,

Will yet those tears deride-
But thou, O God! art not of clay;

To shield the wretch is thine;
'Tis good to tell our cares to Thee,

Who will to help incline.

Man may administer to him,

The hapless child of need;
Yea, and bind up the broken heart

When interest prompts the deed;
But Thou lov'st those that know Thee not,

And thus dost man reprove; Thou art—and there is none beside

Disinterested Love.



“ Tidings, my lord the king!"-Cushi to David.

TIDINGS from the Sea! its isles,

Centuries begirt in nightBurnished by the day-spring's smiles,

Shine, the lovely pearls of light.

Tidings! tidings! ocean's King,

Who the islands in his hand

Taketh, as a little thing,

Speaks to sea and speaks to land.

Startled from his ancient prey,

Flies the vampyre, bird of blood; Pe-le, vanquished, hastes to pay

Holocausts alone to God.

Tidings! tidings! fast and far,
Winds and waters urge


on, From the occidental star,

To the chambers of the sun.

Weepers o'er the slain, rejoice,

And new vigour strongly draw Ye of heaven-beseeching voice,

Now the pagan waits his law.

Where is gladness, God! to view

Mau-i sitting at thy feet? Temple domes of 0-a-hu,

Swelling over Satan's seat ?

Broke, the tabu's guilty power

Stilled, the sacrificial drum?Christendom, Jehovah's hour

Seest thou, and art thou dumb?

Tidings! Gaul hath woke at length;

In her thousands burns the flame,And an injured realm, in strength,

Rising, treads it foes to shame.

Tidings! tidings! Freedom's cry

Breaks for ever Bourbon's trance; And her broad tri-colour, high,

Streams above thy lilies, France.

Hymns to Orlean's dawning glory,

Where the fleur-de-lis hath set; Marble for the martyr's story,

Civic crowns for Lafayette.

Tidings thunder o'er the wave;

Despotism goads no more; And the story of the brave,

Rocks the transatlantic shore.

Flies not gladness through our coasts,

And the voice of mirthful men? Yea, a shout, the shout of hosts,

Rang in cheer and triumph then.

Yet, O God, when sceptres fall,

Empires down to dust are hurledThine shall flourish, all in all,

Throned above a ruined world.






Away unto Jerusalem!

An alien to us be;
And henceforth for thy fellows choose

The men of Galilee.

Thy father's house—thy native land

Another lot is thine;
Thy kindred are the mission band,

Thy country Palestine.

Thy embassy is glorious,

Thy feet with peace are shod;
Go forth and herald Christ to them

That tread where He hath trod.

And speak where Fisk and Parsons spake

The words of holy balm,
And, haply, thee to rest betake

With them, below the palm.

Thou, too, away, and tempt the wave,

And should its sullen womb
Yield thee the christian-martyr's grave,

It were a noble doom.


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