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66

HABAKKUK'S PRAYER

Habakkuk iii. 17-18

Yet though the fig-tree should no burden bear,
Though vines delude the promise of the year;
Yet though the olive should not yield her oil,
Nor the parch'd glebe reward the peasant's toil;
Though the tired ox beneath his labors fall,
And herds in millions perish from the stall;
Yet shall my grateful strings

Forever praise Thy name;

Forever Thee proclaim

The everlasting God, the mighty King of kings.

WILLIAM BROOME

67

HYMN OF PRAISE

Habakkuk iii. 17-18

Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous source of every joy!
Let Thy praise our tongues employ.

For the blessings of the field;
For the stores the gardens yield;
For the vine's exalted juice;
For the generous olive's use;

HYMN OF PRAISE

Flocks that whiten all the plain;
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain;

Clouds that drop their freshening dews;
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse;

All that Spring with bounteous hand
Scatters o'er the smiling land;
All that liberal Autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores;
These to Thee, our God! we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow;
And for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.

Yet should rising whirlwinds tear
From its stem the ripening ear;
Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot
Drop her green, untimely fruit;
Should the vine put forth no more,

Nor the olive yield her store;

Though the sickening flocks should fall,

And the herds desert the stall;

Should Thine altered hand restrain

Vernal showers and latter rain;
Blast each opening bud of joy,
And the rising crops destroy;

Still to Thee our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise;
And, when every blessing's flown,
Love Thee for Thyself alone.

177

ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD

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68

RUTH'S ANSWER TO NAOMI

Ruth i. 16-17

Entreat me not, I must not hear,
Mark but this sorrow-beaming tear;
Thy answer's written deeply now
On this warm cheek and clouded brow;
'Tis gleaming o'er this eye of sadness,
Which only near thee sparkles gladness.

The hearts most dear to us are gone,
And thou and I are left alone;
Where'er thou wanderest, I will go;
I'll follow thee through joy or woe;
Should'st thou to other countries fly,
Where'er thou lodgest, there will I.

Thy people shall my people be,
And to thy God I'll bend the knee;
Whither thou fliest, will I fly,
And where thou diest, I will die;
And the same sod which pillows thee
Shall freshly, sweetly bloom for me.

LUCRETIA DAVIDSON

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST

179

69

BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST

Daniel v

It is night. Nature has bowed to the inevitable, and, save the low moaning of the far-off sea, the lisping leaves awakened by the night-breezes, and perhaps an occasional gurgling of the gliding Euphrates, all is hushed and still.

But what of man? Behold! from the towering domes of the city of Babylon, myriads of lights gleam and flash defiance to the darkness and to the watchful stars, which so lovingly bend over all. The hum and quiver of excitement prevail in every dwelling, but in the royal palace are gathered the proudest of the proud, the gayest of the gay, the lords of the land. All the pomp and splendor, all the wealth and the luxuries that lands e'er produced are lavished upon them. Can words paint the grandeur of the scene? High on the throne, in jewelled robes, King Belshazzar reigns, while brawny slaves bow in his presence in trembling adoration. Gorgeously apparelled lords are grouped around him, while before them all the bounties of the earth are spread. The rich perfume of spices mingles with that of rare flowers. Wave upon wave of thrilling music echoes and re-echoes in that massive hall and swells far out into the night. It is King Belshazzar's midnight feast.

Louder grows the revelry of laugh and song. Recklessly they quaff the rare wine, yet pride is not satisfied.

Let music swell. Let flowers fade and die. All hearts beat with happiness. No power in earth or sky can stay our mirth. Bring forth the cups of gold and silver from the temple. Drink from their sacred depths the foaming beverage. Fill those consecrated censers with sacrifices to Babylon's gods. I am King Belshazzar. I fear not Israel's God." Forth from the temple held so sacred by the conquered and fallen Israelites, from within that consecrated Holy of holies where God Himself had reigned, those sacred vessels are brought and desecrated by honoring the gods of the heathen. The All-Seeing Eye beholds their mocking festivities, and hears their derisive shouts of victory as those hallowed vessels, so sanctified to His use, are polluted by unholy sacrifices.

Ah! what is this? O'er that glittering and defiant scene, a shadow, slight, yet chilling, seems to fall. The lights, but a moment ago so brilliant, now flicker and dart like greedy tongues toward yon far corner, where on the wall appears a dark, rapidly moving object—a human hand. Swiftly and silently it traces word after word of language all unknown. Spellbound, with bloodless lips and bated breath, they gaze with sickening terror. A silence has fallen, so dread, so full of awe, that the very foaming of the wine, now so utterly ignored, is audible. The rich perfume of the flowers only makes the still

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