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Thou that didst bow the billows' pride,
Speak, speak to passion's raging tide,
CHRIST'S AGONY IN THE GARDEN.
He knelt the Saviour knelt and pray'd,
Look'd through the lonely garden's shade,
The Lord of all, above, beneath,
Was bow'd with sorrow unto death.
The sun set in a fearful hour,
So to o'ershadow Him!
That He who gave man's breath might know
He knew them all-the doubt, the strife,
All darken'd round his head!
It pass'd not-though the stormy wave
It pass'd not-though to Him the grave
But there was sent him from on high
A gift of strength, for man to die.*
And was His mortal hour beset
-How may we meet our conflict yet,
In the dark, narrow way?
How, but through Him, that path who trod?
*" And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him."-St. Luke, xxii. 43.
THOU art no lingerer in monarch's hall,
Thou art walking the billows, and Ocean smiles-
To the solemn depths of the forest-shades,
I look'd on the mountains-a vapor lay
Thou tak'st through the dim church-aisle thy way,
And thou turnest not from the humblest grave,
Sunbeam of summer, oh! what is joy like thee?
-One thing is like thee, to mortals given,
The faith, touching all things with the hues of Heaven.
IN sunset's light o'er Afric thrown,
The cradle of that mighty birth,
So long a hidden thing to earth.
He heard its life's first murmuring sound,
A music sought, but never found,
By kings and warriors gone;
He listen'd-and his heart beat high
That was the song of victory!
The rapture of a conqueror's mood
Though stillness lay, with eve's last smile,
Night came with stars :-across his soul
No more than this!-what seem'd it now
A thousand streams of lovelier flow
Bathed his own mountain land!
Whence, far o'er waste and ocean track,
They call'd him back to many a glade,
Where brightly through the beechen shade
They call'd him, with their sounding waves,
But darkly mingling with the thought
The Arab's lance, the desert's gloom,
Where was the glow of power and pride?
His weary heart within him died
He wept-the stars of Afric's heaven
Ev'n on that spot where fate had given
-Oh happiness! how far we flee
Thine own sweet paths in search of thee!*
THE VAUDOIS VALLEYS.
YES, thou hast met the sun's last smile,
By many a bright Egean isle,
Thou hast seen the billows foam:
*The arrival of Bruce at what he considered to be the source of the Nile was followed almost immediately by feelings thus suddenly fluctuating from triumph to despons dence. See his Travels in Abyssinia,
From the silence of the Pyramid
Thou hast watch'd the solemn flow
Thy heart hath burn'd as shepherds sung
And o'er the lonely Grecian streams
But go thou to the pastoral vales
For o'er the snows and round the pines,
The nurture of the peasant's vines
A spirit, stronger than the sword,
A memory clings to every steep
Of long-enduring faith,
And the sounding streams glad record ke Of courage unto death.
Ask of the peasant where his sires
For truth and freedom bled,
Ask, where were lit the torturing fires,
Where lay the holy dead;
And he will tell thee, all around,
On fount, and turf, and stone,
Far as the chamois' foot can bound,
Their ashes have been sown!