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“Oh, virgin daughter, faint no more,
Thy tears are seen, thy prayers are heard. What though, with spirits crushed and broke,
Thy tribes like desert exiles rove, Though Judah feels the stranger's yoke,
And Ephraim is a heartless dove ;Yet, yet shall Judah's Lion wake,
Yet shall the day of promise come, Thy sons from iron bondage break,
And God shall lead the wanderers home!”
The clouds! the clouds! they are beautiful
When they sleep on the soft spring sky,
Their snowy company;
And career o’er the azure plain,
To scatter their balmy rain.
With every passing breath ;
And now they look cold as death!
From the stir of the noisy crowd, And a thousand fanciful visions shaped On the face of a passing cloud.
The clouds! the clouds! round the sun at night,
They come like a band of slaves,
And each in his glory laves.
When the heaven around them glows;
And now with the hue of the rose.
How they float on the light wind's wings :
In their fickle wanderings !
Now it shows their folds between,
From the jewelled brow of a queen. The clouds! the clouds! they are the lid
To the lightning's flashing eye;
The thunder's majesty!
By the shrill blast's battle song;
From the midst of the dark clouds' throng.
Are past, my heart is old;
That never can grow cold;
That Time's wave never shrouds;
In watching the passing clouds !
GOD IS LOVE.
ALL I feel, and hear, and see,
God of love, is full of thee. Earth, with her ten thousand flowers; Air, with all its beams and showers; Ocean's infinite expanse ; Heaven's resplendent countenanceAll around, and all above, Hath this record-God is love.
Sounds among the vales and hills,
THE POOR DEBTOR.
Look on him—through his dungeon grate,
Feebly and cold, the morning light Comes stealing round him, dim and late,
As if it loathed the sight.
Reclining on his strawy bed,
And yet the winter's breath is chill,
The frequent ague thrill!
A murderer shares his prison bed,
Gleam on him, fierce and red;
Crimson with murder, touches him
Has murder stained his hands with gore ? Not so; his crime's a fouler one:
GOD MADE THE OLD MAN POOR! For this he shares a felon's cellThe fittest earthly type of hell ;
For this—the boon for which he poured
Old prisoner, poured thy blood as rain
And Saratoga's plain?
And fling thy starry banner out;
Give back their cradle-shout:
That prison's cold and gloomy wall,
Rise on the wind and fallThink
that prisoner's aged ear Rejoices in the general cheer ?