AROUND the earth grim night her sable
Curtains drew, and over all things stillness
Came, the hum of business was hush'd.
Men to their homes repair'd, and shutting out
The world, with all its toils and cares and pains,
Sunk for awhile to rest. Above, the sky
Was dark and cloudless; not a star appear'd
To chase away the gloom, or cheer the poor
Benighted traveller. Some there were that
Night who slept not. In one chamber lay
A dying child. The lamp burnt faint and dim,
And shot but quiv'ring rays from time
To time across the murky gloom. By his
Side one watch'd, who long his couch had tended.
She was still fair in form and face, though now
Her cheek was paled by care, and her eye dimm'd
By tears. Oft on that quiv'ring lip,
Flush'd cheek, and that glazed eye, she gazed in
Silent anguish, and own'd in mute despair
The all-conquering hand of death, and felt
She could not stay his dart, though he should strike
Her only one, her best beloved. The child
Returned her ardent gaze with looks of
Equal love, and fondly bade her not to weep.
His clasped hands upon his bosom rested,
And his parch'd lips oft moved in silent prayer.
All that long gloomy night that mother
Watch'd at her lone post. At length, it pass'd
Away, and the bright beams of morn appear'd,
And, through the casement darting, rested on
The pillow of that dying child. The sudden
Burst of glorious light when he beheld,
In his bright innocence he thought that heaven
Her gates had thrown open wide to welcome
Him; and, raising both his hands, he cried
Aloud, "Fond mother, my spirit is free.
The angels wait for me, and for me string
A golden harp, and weave a never-fading
Crown. Hark! Hark! they beckon me to join their
Glorious throng. Mother, I go, I go.
Weep not for me, though parted thus, yet we
Shall meet again in that bright world on high, Where we shall part no more." He ceased to speak, And on his mother's bosom sinking,
His pure spirit left her prison-house
Of clay, and pass'd away to that bless'd world,
Where all is joy and peace, and where night
Never comes, but all is pure and bright
And endless day, and where immortal spirits
Never tiring, unceasingly their heavenly
Praises sing, and cast their beauteous crown
Before the Saviour's feet throughout
A long eternity of perfect bliss.
Upon his couch the mother sank and wept
Awhile; then, as a Christian, all her sorrow
Casting on Him who never chasteneth
But whom he loves, meekly she bow'd
To his decree, and own'd the hand of God,
And kiss'd the rod, though it had smitten low
That lovely one, who till so late had been
Her fondest hope, her only stay and prop,
The cherish'd idol of her widow'd heart.
HARK! heard ye not that rushing sound
Amid the mulberry trees,
As if their sunlit tops were stirr'd
By some celestial breeze?
It is the Spirit's going forth
The rustling boughs among;
And Zion, from her low estate,
Bursts forth into a song.
Make room, make room, enlarge thy tents,
Stretch out each shrinking cord,
Unfurl on all thy battlements
The banner of the Lord.
For lo as doves their windows seek,
Unto thy courts they press
Whose hearts have just been tuned to sing
The Lord Our Righteousness.
All night in tears fair Zion lay,
And spread her hands in vain,
For none was found to comfort her
Amid her travail pain.
But gladness, with the morning light,
Returns her heart to cheer;
Amid the joy of new-born souls
Her sorrows disappear.
Her pilgrims now the King's highway
With joy exultant throng,
Their heads adorn'd with amaranths
And everlasting song.
They come, they come! their tears of joy Their victory proclaim,
While, graven on each beaming brow,
Shines their Redeemer's name.
THE King of Israel sat in state,
Within his palace fair,
Where falling fountains, pure and cool,
Assuaged the summer air;
But shrouded was the son of Kish,
'Mid all his royal grace ;
The tempest of a troubled soul
Swept flashing o'er his face.
In vain were pomp or regal power,
Or courtier's flattering tone,
For pride and hatred basely sat
Upon his bosom's throne.
He called upon his minstrel-boy,
With hair as bright as gold,
Reclining in a deep recess,
Where droop'd the curtain's fold.
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