Hark! a sound in the valleys, where, swollen

and strong,

Thy river, O Kishon, is sweeping along;

Where the Canaanite strove with Jehovah in

vain,

And thy torrent grew dark with the blood of the slain!

There, down from his mountains, stern Zebulon

came,

And Naphtali's stag, with his eye-balls of flame; And the chariots of Jabin roll'd harmlessly on, Near the arm of the Lord was Abinoam's son !

There sleep the still rocks and the caverns which rang

To the song which the beautiful prophetess sang, When the Princess of Issacher stood by her side, And the shout of a host in its triumph replied.

Lo! Bethlehem's hill-site before me is seen, With the mountains around, and the valleys between ;

There rested the shepherds of Judah, and there The song of the angel rose sweet on the air.

And Bethany's palm-trees in beauty still throw Their shadows at noon on the ruins below;

But where are the sisters who hasten'd to greet The lowly Redeemer, and sit at his feet?

I tread where the TWELVE in their way-faring trod;

I stand where they stood with the Chosen of God; Where His blessing was heard, and His lessons were taught;

Where the blind was restored, and the healing was wrought.

O here with his flock the sad Wanderer came; These hills He toil'd over in grief are the same. The founts where He drank by the way-side still flow,

And the same airs are blowing which breathed on His brow.

And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem yet,
But with dust on her forehead and chains on her

feet;

For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath

gone,

And the holy Shekinah is dark where it shone!

But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode Of humanity clothed in the brightness of God!

Where my spirit has turn'd from the outward and dim,

It could gaze, even now, on the presence of Him!

Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when In love and in meekness He moved among men; And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of the sea,

In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me.

And what if my feet may not tread where He stood,

Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood, Nor my eyes see the cross which He bowed him

to bear,

Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of prayer

Yet, loved of the Father, Thy Spirit is near
To the meek and the lowly, and the penitent here;
And the voice of Thy love is the same even now,
As at Bethany's tomb, or on Olivet's brow.

O! the outward hath gone-but in glory and

power,

The SPIRIT Survived the things of an hour;
Unchang'd, undecaying, its Pentecost flame
On the heart's secret altar is burning the same.

FUTURITY.

95

Futurity.

AND O, beloved voices, upon which
Ours passionately call, because ere long
Ye brake off in the middle of that song
We sang together softly, to enrich

The poor world with the sense of love, and witch
The heart out of things evil,-I am strong,-
Knowing ye are not lost for aye among

The hills with last year's thrush.

niche

God keeps a

In heaven to hold our idols! and albeit

He brake them to our faces, and denied
That our close kisses should impair their white,-
I know we shall behold them raised, complete,-
The dust shook from their beauty,—glorified
New Memnons singing in the great God-light.

The Angel of Death.

O GLORIOUS World! thou art deck'd in pride,
And crown'd with joy like a mortal bride;
The robe of majesty thou dost wear
Glows with the hues of the changing year.
Strange beauty dwells on forest and plain,
On snow-capp'd mountain and swelling main,
On rose-hued glacier and rocky isle,

And vale, where the waving harvests smile.
Bright warblers dwell in thy perfumed groves,
The snowy sail o'er the blue lake moves;
And marble column and gilded spire
Gleam on the plain in the sun's red fire.
The spell of unmingled beauty is thine,
O glorious world! yet I call thee mine.
By the lightning's flash, by the tempest's gloom,
By the whirlwind's rush I blast thy bloom.
I bow the pride of all living things,

I shadow them all with my brooding wings;
They fade, they droop at my withering breath,
Mighty I am, and my name is Death!