THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL.

211

of decay and desolation. This loss of verdure, together with the shortened days, the diminishing warmth, and frequent rains, justify the title of gloomy to the month of November; and other animals seem to sympathize with man in feeling it as such. Intervals of clear and pleasant weather, however, frequently occur. In fair weather, the mornings are somewhat frosty; but the hoar-frost soon vanishes after sunrise. High winds fre quently happen in November, which at once strip the trees of their faded leaves, and reduce them to their winter state of nakedness. Flocks of wood-pigeons, or stock-doves, the latest birds of passage in their arrival, visit us in this month. Salmon now begin to ascend the rivers to spawn: Their force and agility in leaping over cataracts, and other obstacles to their ascent, are very surprising. The farmer strives during this month to finish all his ploughing of fallows. Cattle and horses are taken out of the exhausted pastures, and kept in the house or yard. Hogs are put up to fatten. Sheep are turned into the turnip-field, or, in stormy weather, fed with hay at the rick. Bees now require to be moved under shelter; and the pigeons in the dovehouse to be fed.

J

THE POOR MAN'S FUNERAL.

YON motely sable-suited throng, that wait
Around the poor man's door, announce a tale
Of woe; the husband, parent, is no more!
Contending with disease, he labour'd long,
By penury compell'd. Yielding at last
He laid him down to die; but lingering on
From day to day, he from his sick-bed saw,
Heart-broken quite, his children's looks of want
Veil'd in a clouded smile. Alas! he heard
The elder lispingly attempt to still

J

The younger's plaint languid he raised his head,
And thought he yet could toil-but sunk

Into the arms of death, the poor man's friend.-
The coffin is borne out; the humble pomp
Moves slowly on; the orphan mourner's hand,
Poor helpless child ! just reaches to the pall.
And now they pass into the field of graves,
And now around the narrow house they stand,
And view the plain black board sunk from the sight.
Hollow the mansion of the dead resounds,

As falls each spadeful of the bone-mix'd mould.
The turf is spread; uncover'd is each head,-
A last farewell: all turn their several ways.

Woe's me! these tear-dimm'd cheeks, that sobbing.

breast,

Poor child! thou thinkest of the kindly hand
That wont to lead thee home: no more that hand
Shall aid thy feeble gait, or gently stroke
Thy little sun-bleach'd head and downy cheek.
But go, a mother waits thy homeward steps;
In vain her eyes dwell on the sacred page—
Her thoughts are in the grave; 'tis thou alone,
Her first-born child, canst rouse that statue gaze
Of woe profound. Haste to the widow'd arms;
Look with thy father's look, speak with his voice,
And melt a heart that else will break with grief.

THE Dead Sea below, upon our left, appeared so near to us, that we thought we could ride thither in a very short space of time. Still nearer stood a mountain upon its western shore, resembling, in its form, the cone of Vesuvius, and having also a crater u upon its top, which was plainly discernible. The distance, however, is much greater than it appears to be; the magnitude of the objects beheld in this fine prospect, causing them to appear less remote than they really are. The atmosphere was remarkably clear and serene; but we saw none of those clouds of smoke, which, by some

THE DEAD SEA.

66

213

writers, are said to exhale from the surface of Lake As phaltites, nor from any neighbouring mountain. Every thing about it was, in the highest degree, grand and awful. Its desolate, although majestic features, are well suited to the tales related concerning it by the inhabitants of the country, who all speak of it with terror, seeming to shrink from the narrative of its deceitful allurements and deadly influence. Beautiful fruit," say they, "grows upon its shores, which is no sooner touched, than it becomes dust and bitter ashes." In addition to its physical horrors, the region around is said to be more perilous, owing to the ferocious tribes wandering upon the shores of the lake, than any other part of the Holy Land. A passion for the marvellous has thus affixed, for ages, false characteristics to the sublimest associations of natural scenery in the whole world; for, although it be now known that the waters of this lake, instead of proving destructive of animal life, swarm with myriads of fishes; that, instead of falling victims to its exhalations, certain birds make it their peculiar resort; that shells abound upon its shores; that the pretended "fruit, containing ashes," is as natural and as admirable a production of nature, as the rest of the vegetable kingdom; that bodies sink on float in it, according to the proportion of their gravity to the gravity of the water; that its vapours are not more insalubrious than those of any other lake; that innumerable Arabs people the neighbouring district; notwithstanding all these facts are now well established, even the latest authors by whom it is mentioned, and one among the number, from whose writings some of these truths have been derived, continue to fill their descriptions with imaginary horrors and ideal phan toms, which, though less substantial than the "black perpendicular rocks," around it," cast their lengthened shadows over the waters of the Dead Sea." The an cients, as it is observed by the traveller now alluded to, were much better acquainted with it than are the moderns; and, it may be added, the time is near at hand, when it will be more philosophically examined. The present age is not that in which countries so si tuated, can long continue unexplored. The thirsts of

214

CHRIST OUR KING.

knowledge, and the love of travel, have attained to such a pitch, that every portion of the globe will be ransacked for their gratification.

CHRIST OUR KING.

CHRIST performs the office of our King in a twofold respect. He is possessed of supreme authority. God has made him head over all things for the government of his church. And to him we must ever look for direction in duty. He has enacted laws; and these laws we are bound conscientiously to obey. Our obligation to obey Christ, arises not merely from his being set over us as our Sovereign, but also from his great mercy in redeeming us from the dominion of sin and Satan, and making us free to serve the living God. So that, while it is incumbent on us, as his faithful subjects, to yield an unreserved submission to his commandments, we are constrained, by motives of gratitude for his unspeakable compassion, to yield that submission with cheerfulness and delight. He is also possessed of supreme power. This power he exerts for our spiritual good. He employs it to subdue our re bellious hearts to the love of himself and the obedience of his law. He employs it for strengthening us in the resistance of every temptation, and in the discharge of every duty. And he employs it to protect us from all the dangers that beset us, and from all the enemies that would injure or destroy us.Let us be glad that we are under such a great and gracious King. Let us study to be to him a willing and obedient people. Let us meditate on his laws day and night, that we may know them, and that we may conform to them. Let us rejoice in the guardianship which he exercises over us. Let us have recourse to him in faith, and by prayer, in every time of trial and of peril. Let it be our object to persuade others to come under his sway. And let us live and act in the animating hope, that when he shall come the second time, he will grant to us to sit

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215

down with him on his throne, and to reign with him as kings for ever.

NOR you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise."

Can storied urn, or animated bust,

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed.
Or wak'd to ecstacy the living lyre.

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet even these bones, from insult to protect,
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.