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It told the triumphs of our King,
It wasted glory to our God;
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Devotion and her daughter Love,
To sounds that seem as from above,
IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
IF that high world, which lies beyond
Our own, surviving Love endears ;
The eye the same, except in tears-
How sweet this very hour to die !
Lost in thy light-Eternity!
That we so tremble on the brink;
Yet cling to Being's severing link.
To hold each heart the heart that sharce,
And soul in soul grow deathless thoirs !.
THE WILD GAZELLE,
Exulting yet may bound,
That gush on holy ground;
Hath Judah witness'd there;
Inhabitants more fair.
Than Israel's scatter'd race ;
In solitary grace :
It cannot quit its place of birth,
In other lands to die ;
Our own may never lie:
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. OA! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream ; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell ; Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell! And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? And Judah's melody, once more rejoice The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice ! Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye flee away and be at rest! The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country-Israel but the grave !
ON JORDAN'S BANKS.
On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray,
If the band that I love lay me low,
OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.
Oh! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;.
Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb’d the dead! Away! ye know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress : Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less ? And thou—who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
MY SOUL IS DARK.
The harp I yet can brook to bear;
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
That sound shall charm it forth again :
"Twill ficw, and cease to burn my braio
Nor let thy notes of joy be first :
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence long ; And now 'tis doom'd to know the worst,
And break at once-or yield to song,
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I saw thee weep—the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue :
A violet dropping dew :
Beside thee ceased to shine ;
That fill'd that glance of thine.
A deep and mellow dye,
Can banish from the sky,
Their own pure joy impart;
That lightens o'er the heart.
THY DAYS ARE DONE.
The days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The slaughters of his sword;
The freedom he restored !
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death ! The generous blood that flow'd from the
Disdain'd to sink beneath :
Thy spirit on our breath!
Shall be the battle-word !
From virgin voices pour'd !
Thou shalt not be deplored.