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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;
Deceit is oft'nest found.
Is oft the direst foe;
Are tainted as they flow.
For who hath pillowed all his heart
On seeming honour's breast,
That refuge but a jest ?
And said, here is my stay,
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-
To shield the wretch is thine;
Who will to help incline.
Man may administer to him,
The hapless child of need;
When interest prompts the deed;
And thus dost man reprove; Thou art—and there is none beside
THE SANDWICH ISLANDS-FRANCE.
“ 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,
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.
DEPARTURE OF THE MISSIONARIES,
MESSRS. ALEXANDER AND THOMPSON, FROM THE WEST;
FOR PALESTINE AND THE SANDWICH ISLANDS, NOVEMBER,
Away unto Jerusalem!
An alien to us be;
The men of Galilee.
Thy father's house—thy native land
Another lot is thine;
Thy country Palestine.
Thy embassy is glorious,
Thy feet with peace are shod;
That tread where He hath trod.
And speak where Fisk and Parsons spake
The words of holy balm,
With them, below the palm.
Thou, too, away, and tempt the wave,
And should its sullen womb
It were a noble doom.