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, 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 O! the outward hath gone-but in glory and power, The SPIRIT Survived the things of an hour; FUTURITY. 95 Futurity. AND O, beloved voices, upon which The poor world with the sense of love, and witch 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 The Angel of Death. O GLORIOUS World! thou art deck'd in pride, And vale, where the waving harvests smile. I shadow them all with my brooding wings; |