To the admitted air; as glossy now
As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls,
His helm was at his feet; his banner soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed beside him: and the jewel'd hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him! He grasped his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David entered,—and he gave command,
In a low tone, to his few followers,
Who left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died: then, throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe.
"Alas! my noble boy, that thou shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, My proud boy, Absalom.
'Cold is thy brow, my son; and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill.
Like a rich harpstring,-yearning to caress thee; And hear thy sweet "my father" from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!
"The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung,
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
To meet me, Absalom!
"And oh when I am stricken, and my heart,
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom!
"And now farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death, so like a gentle slumber, on thee:
And thy dark sin !-Oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee like a wanderer, home,
My lost boy, Absalom!"
He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child: then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hand convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as if strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently-and left him there-
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.
Go when the morning shineth,
Go when the noon is bright,
Go when the day declineth,
Go in the hush of night.
Go with pure mind and feeling,
Fling earthly thoughts away,
And in thy chamber kneeling,
Do thou in secret pray.
Remember all who love thee,
All who are loved by thee;
Pray too for those who hate thee,
If any such there be.
Then for thyself in meekness
A blessing humbly claim,
And link with each petition
Thy great Redeemer's name.
Or if 'tis e'er denied thee,
In solitude to pray,
Should holy thoughts come o'er thee,
When friends are round thy way;
Even then the silent breathing
Of thy spirit raised above,
Will reach His throne of glory,
Who is Mercy, Truth, and Love!
Oh! not a joy or blessing
With this can we compare,
The power that He hath given us
To pour our souls in Prayer!
Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness,
Before His footstool fall,
And remember in thy gladness,
His grace who gives thee all.
I MURMUR not that now a stranger
pass along the smiling earth;
I know the snare; I dread the danger;
I hate the haunts; I shun the mirth.
My hopes are passing upward, onward,
And with my hopes my heart has gone;
My eye is turning sky-ward, sun-ward,
Where glory brightens round yon throne.
My spirit seeks its dwelling yonder;
And faith foredates the joyful day
When these old skies shall cease to sunder
The one, dear, love-linked family.
Well-pleased I find years rolling o'er me,
And hear each day time's measured tread;
Far fewer clouds now stretch before me,
Behind me is the darkness spread.
My future from my path unlinking,
Each dying year untwines the spell ;
The visible is swiftly sinking,
Uprises the invisible.
To light unchanging and eternal
From mists that sadden this bleak waste,
To scenes that smile for ever vernal,
From winter's blackening leaf I haste.
THE DESERT NIGHT-SONG.
THE cloud is resting bright and still,
The shades of evening gather round;
So rest, my oft-rebellious will,
So wait within thy tented ground.
And not because 'tis gloomy night;—
Since that strange radiance gleameth near,
Thou needest not the morning light
Didst thou the call of trumpet hear;--
But only that thy Lord's command
In symbol speaketh to thy heart,
And stays thy marching through the land.
Till thou shalt see that cloud depart.
It is enough for thee to know
His guidance is for ever thine,
By day, in cloud His counsels show,
By night, in deepest lustre shine.
So when that Pillar moves not-stay;
And when it moves,-then strike thy tent:
Thou may'st be sure, by night or day,
What is thy Leader's clear intent.
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