Hymn of Maidens in besieged Jerusalem.
And duly the adoring moon at night Sheds her white glory there, And in the watery air
Suspends her halo-crowns of silver light.
HYMN OF MAIDENS IN BESIEGED JERUSALEM.
ING of kings and Lord of lords! Thus we move, our sad steps timing To our cymbals' feeblest chiming, Where Thy House its rest accords.
Chased and wounded birds are we, Through the dark air fled to thee; To the shadow of thy wings, Lord of lords and King of kings!
Behold, O Lord, the heathen tread The branches of thy fruitful vine, That its luxurious tendrils spread O'er all the hills of Palestine.
And now the wild boar comes to waste Even us, the greenest boughs and last, That drinking of thy choicest dew, On Zion's hill in beauty grew.
No! by the marvels of thy hand Thou still wilt save thy chosen land. By all thine ancient mercies shown, By all our fathers' foes o'erthrown ; By the Egyptian's car-borne host Scattered on the Red-Sea coast; By that wide and bloodless slaughter Underneath the drowning water.
Hymn of Maidens in besieged Jerusalem.
Like us, in utter helplessness,
In their last and worst distress, On the sand and seaweed lying, Israel poured her doleful sighing. While before the deep sea flowed, And behind fierce Egypt rode, To their fathers' God they prayed, To the Lord of Hosts, for aid.
On the margin of the flood
With lifted rod the Prophet stood:
And the summoned East Wind blew, And aside it sternly threw
The gathered waves, that took their stand, Like crystal rocks, on either hand, Or walls of seagreen marble piled Round some irregular city wild.
Then the light of morning lay On the wonder-pavéd way, Where the treasures of the deep In their caves of coral sleep. Those profound abysses, where Was never sound from upper air, Rang with Israel's chanted words,— King of kings and Lord of lords!
Then, with bow and banner glancing, On exulting Egypt came,
With her chosen horsemen prancing, And her cars on wheels of flame,
In a rich and boastful ring
All around her furious king.
But the Lord from out his cloud,
The Lord looked down upon the proud;
And the host drave heavily
Down the deep bosom of the sea.
Hymn of Maidens in besieged Jerusalem. 289
With a quick and sudden swell Prone the liquid ramparts fell, Over horse and over car, Over every man of war, Over Pharaoh's crown of gold The loud thundering billows rolled. As the level waters spread,
Down they sank, they sank like lead, Down without a cry or groan : And the morning sun, that shone On myriads of bright arméd men, Its meridian radiance then
Cast on a wide sea, heaving as of yore, Against a silent solitary shore.
Then did Israel's maidens sing, Then did Israel's timbrels ring,
To him, the King of kings! that in the sea, The Lord of lords! had triumphed gloriously.
And our timbrels' flashing chords, King of kings and Lord of lords! Shall they not attuned be
Once again to victory?
Lo! a glorious triumph now :
Lo! against thy people come A mightier Pharaoh. Wilt not thou Craze the chariot-wheels of Rome? Will not, like the Red-Sea wave,
Thy stern anger overthrow, And from worse than bondage save, From sadder than Egyptian woe, Those whose silver cymbals glance, Those who lead the suppliant dance,— Thy race, the only race that sings, Lord of lords and King of kings?
HOME-THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD.
H, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England-now!
And after April, when May follows,
And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows- Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops-at the bent spray's edge— That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, -Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
AY not, the struggle nought availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light, In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright. A. H. Clough.
NE more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair!
Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing ;- Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing.
Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now is pure womanly.
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