Now in Death's appalling hour, On the wings of earnest prayer Shall for these our incense rise,— Wafted to yon altar, there THE Hypocrites! how curst are they,- My Country! shall it ever be, That thou, escaped from Slavery's rod,— Thou, only happy, only free, Shall barter, too, the price of blood? Say! shall the offspring of that soil, Which smokes e'en now with veteran gore, Be sharers in the cruel spoil, That desolates the Afric shore? SONG OF DEBORAH AND BARAK. "Forbid it, heaven!" each freeman cries, "Forbid it feeling, manhood, shame!" Then haste! avert the sacrifice, And cleanse thy proud, thy sullied name. SONG OF DEBORAH AND BARAK. LORD! when thou went'st in might from Seir, Thy wheels were heard, and ocean fled, The old foundations shook with dread, When wrath was gathered round thy seat. We praise thee, Lord! alone possessed 59 60 ARE NOT MY DAYS FEW. OH MARY, TAKE THIS BRILLIANT GEM. Он, Mary! take this brilliant gem, I've brought thee from the Indian mine; I would it were a diadem, Dear maid! the treasure should be thine. Sparkling with nature's modest glow, "Tis chaste as Virtue's self, and so ARE NOT MY DAYS FEW? HAST thou not treasured the amount Soon I shall lay this weary frame To rest upon its native bed; This form, the worm's unconscious prey, ARE NOT MY DAYS FEW. Pleasure, Ambition,—ah, how frail, Why then should folly's passing dream Why should I sigh when sorrow's cloud, Teach me, my Maker, earth to prize Draw me from time, and bid me soar 61 62 HIS PATH IS THE OCEAN. HIS PATH IS THE OCEAN, HE MAKETH HIS DWELLING. His path is the ocean, he maketh his dwelling Where tempests are cradled, and winds rudely blow; His joys like the billows he buffets, now swelling, And now like to them sunk forgotten below. On land with his messmates to share he is willing, The sky for his covering, the pavement his bed. By perils, by watchings, by misery broken, Of the world he is weary, though few are his years; Does he sigh for a better?-to him none has spoken Of the clime where for ever are wiped away tears. In penury now, and in dread of the morrow, mean; |