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But who had seen that Prophet's eye
On Carmel that reclined!

It looked not on the times gone by,
But those that were behind :
His grey hair streamed upon the wind,
His hands were raised on high,
As, mirror'd, on his mystic mind
Arose futurity.

He saw the feast in Bozrah spread
Prepared in ancient day;
Eastward, away the eagle sped,
And all the birds of prey.
'Who's this,' he cried, comes by the way
Of Edom, all divine,


Travelling in splendour, whose array
Is red, but not with wine?'

Blest be the herald of our King
That comes to set us free!
The dwellers of the rock shall sing,
And utter praise to thee!

Tabor and Hermon yet shall see
Their glories glow again,

And blossoms spring on field and tree,
That ever shall remain.

The happy child in dragon's way
Shall frolic with delight;

The lamb shall round the leopard play,
And all in love unite;

The dove on Zion's hill shall light,
That all the world must see.

Hail to the journeyer, in his might,
That comes to set us free!'



THERE is a freshness in the air,
A brightness in the sky,

As if a new-born sun were there,
Just seraph-throned on high;

And birds, and flowers, and mountain streams,
Rejoicing in his infant beams,

Are glad as if the Winter's breath
Had never blown the blast of death.
Softly along the silent sea

The light-winged breezes creep,
So low, so calm, so tranquilly,

They lull the waves asleep; And, Oh! as gladly on the tide Yon lofty vessel seems to ride, As if the calmly-heaving sail Had never met a sterner gale.


And in a small, sweet covert nigh,
Her own young hands have made,
A rosy girl hath laughingly

Her infant brother laid;

And made of fresh spring flowers his bed,
And over him her veil hath spread,
With looks as if for ever there

His form should bloom as young and fair.

And shall these pass away, and be

A wreck of what they were;--

Shall birds, and flowers, and earth, and sea,
And yon proud ship, and boy so fair,
Be blasted with the tempest's rage,
Or worn with poverty and age,
Till all of life and hope shall seem
A heart-deceiving, feverish dream?

Yes!-and 'tis but few years we need,
With retrospective eye;

In their repeated tale to read
Our own home's history:

We know their end-to us, to all,-
They are but blossoms, and they fall;
But yet young life, the sun, the flowers
Are sweet as they were always ours:

For they are emblems to the heart
Of things it cannot see,-
Emblems which have their counterpart
In Heaven's eternity;

And though their day be short, or done
With our lost hours and setting sun,
They are within their moment's flight,
What there shall be for ever bright!



WHAT strange, what fearful thing hath come to pass? The ground is iron, and the skies are brass : Man, on the withering harvest, casts his eye, 'Give me your fruits in season, or I die ;' The timely fruits implore their parent Earth, 'Where is thy strength to bring us forth to birth?' The Earth, all prostrate, to the clouds complains'Send to my heart your fertilizing rains ;' The clouds invoke the Heavens- Collect, dispense Through us your healing, quickening influence;' The Heavens to him that rules them raise their moan'Command thy blessing, and it shall be done.' -The Lord is in his temple :-hushed and still, The suppliant Universe awaits his will.

He speaks:-and to the clouds the Heavens dispense

With lightning speed, their genial influence :
The gathering, breaking clouds pour down the rains:
Earth drinks the bliss thro' all her eager veins.
From teeming furrows start the fruits to birth,
And shake their riches on the lap of Earth:
Man sees the harvests grow beneath his eye,
Turns, and looks up with rapture to the sky;
All that have breath and being then rejoice,
All Nature's voices blend in one great voice;


Glory to God, who thus Himself makes known!"
-When shall all tongues confess Him God Alone?
Lord, as the rain comes down from heaven-the rain
That waters Earth, and turns not theuce again,
But makes the tree to bud, the corn to spring,
And feeds and gladdens every living thing;
So come thy Gospel o'er a world destroyed,
In boundless blessings, and return not void :
So let it come, in universal showers,
To fill Earth's dreariest wilderness with flowers,
-With flowers of promise, fill the wild within
Man's heart, laid waste and desolate by sin:
Where thorns and thistles curse the infected ground,
Let the rich fruits of righteousness abound;

And trees of life, for ever fresh and green,
Flourish, where only trees of death have been;
Let Truth look down from heaven, Hope soar above,
Justice and Mercy kiss, Faith work by Love;
Heralds the year of Jubilee proclaim;
Bow every knee at the Redeemer's name;
Nations new-born, their fathers' idols spurn;
The ransomed of the Lord with songs return;
Through realms, with darkness, thraldom, guilt, o'er


In light, joy, freedom, be the Spirit shed.

He waited silently; there came no answer;
The roaring of the tide beneath, the gale
Rustling the forest-leaves, the notes of birds,
And hum of insects,-these were all the sounds,
That met familiarly around his ear.

He look'd abroad; there shone no light from heaven
But that of sunset; and no shapes appear'd

But glistering clouds, which melted through the sky
As imperceptibly as they had come.

While all terrestrial objects seem'd the same
As he had ever known them ;-still he look'd
And listen'd, till a cold sick feeling sunk
Into his heart and blighted every hope.

Anon faint accents, from the sloping lawn
Beneath the crag where he was kneeling, rose,
Like supernatural echoes of his prayer:
-A Name above all names,-I call upon.-
Thou art-Thou knowest that I am :-Reveal
Thyself to me;-but oh! that I may love Thee!
For if thou art, thou must be good:-Oh! hear,
And let me know thou hearest !'-Memory fail'd
The child; for 'twas his grandchild, though he knew


-In the deep transport of his mind, he knew not
That voice, to him the sweetest of ten thousand,
And known the best, because the best beloved.
Again it cried: "Thou art, thou must be good: Oh!

And let me know thou hearest.'-Memory fail'd
The child, but feeling fail'd not; tears of light
Slid down his cheek; he too was on his knees,
Clasping his little hands upon his heart,
Unconscious why, yet doing what he saw
His grandsire do, and saying what he said.
For while he gather'd buds and flowers, to twine

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