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I bowed my face, in awe and fear,
On the dear child who slumbered near,
“ With me, as with my only son,
Oh God!” I said, “THY WILL BE DONE ! ”


“ Get ye up from the wrath of God's terrible day! Ungirded, unsandalled, arise and away! 'Tis the vintage of blood — 't is the fullness of time, And vengeance shall gather the harvest of crime !

The warning was spoken — the righteous had gone,
And the proud ones of Sodom were feasting alone ;
All gay was the banquet — the revel was long,
With the pouring of wine and the breathing of song.

’T was an evening of beauty ; the air was perfume,
The earth was all greenness, the trees were all bloom ;
And softly the delicate viol was heard,
Like the murmur of love or the notes of a bird.

And beautiful maidens moved down in the dance,
With the magic of motion and sunshine of glance ;
And white arms wreathed lightly, and tresses fell free,
As the plumage of birds in some tropical tree.

Where the shrines of foul idols were lighted on high,
And wantonness tempted the lust of the eye ;
Midst rites of obsceneness, strange, loathsome, abhorred,
The blasphemer scoffed at the name of the Lord.

Hark! the growl of the thunder - the quaking of earth!
Woe — woe to the worship, and woe to the mirth!
The black sky has opened — there 's flame in the air
The red arm of vengeance is lifted and bare !

Then the shriek of the dying rose wild where the song
And the low tone of love had been whispered along ;
For the fierce flames went lightly o'er palace and bower,
Like the red tongues of demons, to blast and devour !

Down— down, on the fallen, the red ruin rained,
And the reveller sank with his wine-cup undrained ;
The foot of the dancer, the music's loved thrill,
And the shout and the laughter grew suddenly still.

The last throb of anguish was fearfully given ;
The last eye glared forth in its madness on Heaven !
The last groan of horror rose wildly and vain,
And death brooded over the pride of the Plain !


SUN-LIGHT upon Judea's hills !

And on the waves of Galilee —
On Jordan's stream, and on the rills

That feed the dead and sleeping sea !
Most freshly from the green wood springs
The light breeze on its scented wings ;
And gaily quiver in the sun
The cedar tops of Lebanon !

A few more hours — a change hath come!

The sky is dark without a cloud !
The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb,

And proud knees unto earth are bowed.
A change is on the hill of Death,
The helmed watchers pant for breath,
And turn with wild and maniac eyes
From the dark scene of sacrifice !

That Sacrifice !- the death of Him -

The High and ever Holy One!
Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim,

And blacken the beholding Sun !
The wonted light hath fled away,
Night settles on the middle day,
And earthquake from his caverned bed
Is waking with a thrill of dread !

The dead are waking underneath !

O???,,,,,,,ri/?? ?? And, ghastly with the seal of death,

They wander in the eye of day!

The temple of the Cherubim,
The House of God is cold and dim ;
A curse is on its trembling walls,
Its mighty veil asunder falls !

Well may the cavern-depths of Earth

Be shaken, and her mountains nod; Well may the sheeted dead come forth

To gaze upon a suffering God ! Well may the temple-shrine grow dim, And shadows veil the Cherubim, When He, the chosen one of Heaven, A sacrifice for guilt is given !

And shall the sinful heart, alone,

Behold unmoved the atoning hour, When Nature trembles on her throne,

And Death resigns his iron power ? Oh, shall the heart — whose sinfulness Gave keenness to His sore distress, And added to His tears of blood — Refuse its trembling gratitude !


WHERE Time the measure of his hours

By changeful bud and blossom keeps, And like a young bride crowned with flowers,

Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps ;

Where, to her poet's turban stone,

The Spring her gift of flowers imparts, Less sweet than those his thoughts have sown

In the warm soil of Persian hearts :

There sat the stranger, where the shade

Of scattered date-trees thinly lay, While in the hot clear heaven delayed

The long, and still, and weary day.

Strange trees and fruits above him hung,

Strange odors filled the sultry air, Strange birds upon the branches swung,

Strange insect voices murmured there.

And strange bright blossoms shone around,

Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, As if the Gheber's soul had found

A fitting home in Iran's flowers.

Whate'er he saw, whate'er he heard,

Awakened feelings new and sad, — No Christian garb, nor Christian word,

Nor church with Sabbath bell chimes glad,

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