Were shook beneath her child. Her hand had touch'd
His forehead, as she dallied with his hair- And it was cold-like clay! Slow, very slow, Came the misgiving that her child was dead. She sat a moment, and her eyes were closed In a dumb prayer for strength, and then she took His little hand, and press'd it earnestly- And put her lip to his-and look'd again Fearfully on him—then, bending low,
She whisper'd in his ear, "My son!-my son!" And as the echo died, and not a sound
Broke on the stillness, and he lay there still- Motionless on her knee-the truth would come! And with a sharp, quick cry, as if her heart Were crush'd, she lifted him and held him close Into her bosom-with a mother's thought- As if death had no power to touch him there!
The man of God came forth, and led the child Unto his mother, and went on his way. And he was there-her beautiful-her own- Living, and smiling on her with his arms Folded about her neck, and his warm breath Breathing upon her lips, and in her ear The music of his gentle voice once more!
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB
The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, The host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
The host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heav'd, and forever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Asshur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
SONG OF THE JEWS
IN THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY King of kings! and Lord of lords! Thus we move, our sad steps timing To our cymbals' feeblest chiming, Where Thy house its rest accords. Chased and wounded birds are we, Through the dark air fled to Thee; To the shadow of Thy wings, Lord of lords! and King of kings!
Behold, O Lord, the heathen tread
The branches of Thy fruitful vine, That its luxurious tendrils spread
O'er all the hills of Palestine. And now the wild boar comes to waste E'en us, the greenest boughs, and last, That, drinking of Thy choicest dew, On Zion's hill, in beauty grew.
No! by the marvels of Thine hand, Thou wilt save Thy chosen land! By all Thine ancient mercies shown; By all our fathers' foes o'erthrown;
By the Egyptians' car-borne host, Scattered on the Red Sea coast; By that wide and bloodless slaughter Underneath the drowning water. Like us in utter helplessness,
In their last and worst distress- On the sand and sea-weed lying, Israel poured her doleful sighing; While before, the deep sea flowed, And behind, fierce Egypt rode- To their fathers' God they prayed— To the Lord of hosts for aid.
On the margin of the flood With lifted rod the prophet stood; And the summoned east wind blew, And aside it sternly threw
The gathered waves that took their stand
Like crystal rocks, on either hand, Or walls of sea-green marble piled Round some irregular city-wild.
Then the light of morning lay On the wonder-pavèd way, Where the treasures of the deep In their caves of coral sleep. The profound abysses, where Was never sound from upper air, Rang with Israel's chanted words, King of kings! and Lord of lords!
Then with bow and banner glancing, On exulting Egypt came,
With her chosen horsemen prancing,
And her cars on wheels of flame;
In a rich and boastful ring
All around her furious king.
But the Lord from out His cloud, The Lord looked down upon the proud; And the host drave heavily
Down the deep bosom of the sea.
With a quick and sudden swell
Prone the liquid ramparts fell; Over horse and over car, Over every man of war, Over Pharaoh's crown of gold The loud thundering billows rolled.
As the level waters spread,
Down they sank, they sank like lead; Sank without a cry or groan; And the morning-sun that shone On myriads of bright-armed men, Its meridian radiance then Cast on the sea, beating as before, Against a silent, solitary shore.
HENRY HART MILMAN
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