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These flocks and herds-this faint and weary train-
Red from the scourge, and recent from the chain ?
God of the poor, the poor and friendless save!
Giver and Lord of freedom, help the slave!
North, south, and west, the sandy whirlwinds fly,
The circling horns of Egypt's chivalry.

On earth's last margin throng the weeping train;
Their cloudy guide moves on:- 'And must we swim the


main ?"

'Mid the light spray their snorting camels stood,
Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood;
He comes-1
—their leader comes !-the man of God
O'er the wide waters lifts his mighty rod,
And onward treads. The circling waves retreat,
In hoarse, deep murmurs, from his holy feet;
And the chased surges, inly roaring, show
The hard wet sand and coral hills below.

With limbs that falter, and with hearts that swel
Down, down they pass a steep and slippery dell;
Around them rise, in pristine chaos hurled,
The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world;
And flowers that blush beneath the ocean green,
And caves, the sea-calves' low-roofed haunt, are seer..
Down, safely down the narrow pass they tread;
The beetling waters storm above their head;
While far behind retires the sinking day,
And fades on Edom's hills its latest ray.

Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light, Or dark to them or cheerless came the night.

Still in their van, along that dreadful road,
Blazed broad and fierce the brandished toren of God.

Its meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave
On the long mirror of the rosy wave;
While its blest beams a sunlike heat supply,
Warm every cheek, and dance in every eye-
To them alone-for Misraim's wizard

Invoke for light their monster-gods in vain;
Clouds heaped on clouds their struggling sight confine,
And tenfold darkness broods above their line.
Yet on they fare, by reckless vengeance led,
And range unconscious through the ocean's bed;
Till midway now—t
-that strange and fiery form
Showed his dread visage lightening through the storm;
With withering splendour blasted all their might,

And brake their chariot wheels, and marred their coursers'


“Fly, Misraim, fly!" The ravenous floods they see,
And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity.
"Fly, Misraim, fly!" From Edom's coral strand
Again the prophet stretched his dreadful wand.
With one wild crash the thundering waters sweep,
And all is waves-a dark and lonely deep;
Yet o'er those lonely waves such murmurs passed,
As mortal wailing swelled the nightly blast.
And strange and sad the whispering breezes bore
groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore.

Oh! welcome came the morn, where Israel stood
In trustless wonder by the avenging flood!
Oh! welcome came the cheerful morn, to show
The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below!
The mangled limbs of men—the broken car—
A few sad relics of a nation's war;

Alas, how few! Then, soft as Elim's well,
The precious tears of new-born freedom fell.
And he, whose hardened heart alike had borne
The house of bondage and the oppressor's scorn,
The stubborn slave, by hope's new beams subdued,
In faltering accents sobbed his gratitude,

Till, kindling into warmer zeal, around

The virgin timbrel waked its silver sound;
And in fierce joy, no more by doubt suppressed,
The struggling spirit throbbed in Miriam's breast.
She, with bare arms, and fixing on the sky

The dark transparence of her lucid eye,
Poured on the winds of heaven her wild sweet harmony.
"Where now," she sang, "the tall Egyptian spear?
On's sunlike shield, and Zoan's chariot, where?
Above their ranks the whelming waters spread.
Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumphèd!"
And every pause between, as Miriam sang,
From tribe to tribe the martial thunder rang,
And loud and far their stormy chorus spread-
"Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumphèd!”


FROM Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand,

Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand-
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,

They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes

Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile :
In vain, with lavish kindness,

The gifts of God are strown— The heathen, in his blindness,

Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we, whose souls are lighted

With wisdom from on highShall we to man benighted

The lamp of life deny? Salvation! O, Salvation!

The joyful sound proclaim, Till earth's remotest nation

Has learned Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, the story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole— Till o'er our ransomed nature

The Lamb for sinners slainRedeemer, King, Creator

In bliss returns to reign.

Mrs. Hemans.


"Look now abroad-another race has filled

Those populous borders-wide the wood recedes,
And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled;
The land is full of harvests and green meads."


HE breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear ;

They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.


Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free!

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