Thy sons no more licentious;-and the Fair

Make mental, not corporeal, aims, their care!

Then, as along the stream of Time I glide, diminishes the tide;

While every year

As unperceiv'd the moments fleet away,

Till,

“dust to dust,” concludes Life's fitful day; My grateful bosom, as my years decrease— Shall pass the closing scene in Joy and Peace; And meet, resign'd, th' appointed hour of rest; In humble hope to rise among the blest

Through Him-who died a guilty world to

save

And rose Victorious from the Vanquish'd Grave.

JUDEA REDIVIVA.

A Fragment.

COMPOSED, ANN. DOM. 1811.

WAKE-harp of Sion!-wake the trem

bling strings!

Thy realm's restor'dan alien poet sings !

Arise! depress'd Jerusalem, arise!

Exalt thy drooping head-and ope thy tearful

eyes!

For lo! emerging through the mist of years

Thy light is come! thy Saviour King appears! His hand shall prune thy branches-and entwine In Glory's wreaths, his figurative Vine.

H

At length resume the long forgotten song!

Such, as of old, thy sacred courts among

Swell'd the full chorus of the Levite choir

When Miriam hymn'd; or David struck the

lyre:

For lo!-the hours on Eagle pinions fly!

The promis'd "Day spring," issues from on high! The latter days Heaven's dark decrees unfoldBy prophet Bards, and, gifted Seers, foretold: Wars and Convulsions shake the astonish'd

World;

O'er guilty realms are vengeful thunders hurl'd;

The Man of sin's disclos'd;-the Book unseal'd;

Th' Apocalypse to mortal eye reveal'd!

Foredoom'd to waft the scatter'd Exiles o'er,

From distant regions, to their long-lost shore, Soon shall the Nation maritime expand

Its canvass, freighted to the promis'd land

In solemn Hymns and Hallelujahs join,
Amid thy seats;-recover'd Palestine!-
But-who can sing thy renovated state?
Or Armageddon's dreadful strife relate?
Awake! (oh! long invok'd) Awake, at length—
Arm of the Lord!-put forth thy wonted strength!
Awake! (thou scourge retributive of crimes!)

As in the days of old-the ancient times

Art thou not it that Rahab cut, of yore?

And stretch'd the Dragon weltering in his gore?

Art thou not it-that clave th' opposing deep?

That gather'd up its waters on a heap?

That wall'd its waves-and led the ransom'd o'er

From Egypt's confines to Arabia's shore ?— But hark!-what sorrow-smitten Mourner sings? What more than mortal finger sweeps the strings ?

What woe-worn warbler breathes the plaintive

strain

School'd in distress-and practis'd to complain?
Whose faded form appals my aching eye-
In tatter'd Robes-and humbled Majesty ?!!!
'Tis Sion's plaint-in sorrowing accents told;

Bereft of Him the Shepherd of her fold:

B