66 HABAKKUK'S PRAYER Habakkuk iii. 17-18 Yet though the fig-tree should no burden bear, 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 blessings of the field; HYMN OF PRAISE Flocks that whiten all the plain; Clouds that drop their freshening dews; All that Spring with bounteous hand Yet should rising whirlwinds tear 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; Still to Thee our souls shall raise 177 ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD 68 RUTH'S ANSWER TO NAOMI Ruth i. 16-17 Entreat me not, I must not hear, The hearts most dear to us are gone, Thy people shall my people be, 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 |