His honors nothing teas'd him from himself; And he but fill'd his fortunes like a man FROM THE PERSIAN. To each his country dearer far Than the throne of Solomon: Thorns from home, too, dearer are Than myrtle or than cinnamon. Joseph, in the pride of State, Ruling over Egypt's strand, Sighed, and would have changed his fate, For poverty in Canaan's Land. Translated by ROBERT NEEDHAM CUST. THE FINDING OF MOSES. SLOW glides the Nile; amid the margin flags, Closed in a bulrush ark, the babe is left, Left by a mother's hand. His sister waits Far off; and pale, 'tween hope and fear, beholds The royal maid, surrounded by her train, Approach the river bank,-approach the spot Where sleeps the innocent: She sees them stoop With meeting plumes; the rushy lid is oped, And wakes the infant, smiling in his tears, As when along a little mountain lake The summer south-wind breathes, with gentle sigh, And parts the reeds, unveiling, as they bend, A water-lily floating on the wave. JAMES GRAHAME (1765-1811). MOSES CONCEALED ON THE NILE. So the sad mother at the noon of night, From bloody Memphis stole her silent flight; Wrapped her dear babe beneath her folded vest, And trusts the scaly monsters of the Nile. Erewhile majestic from his lone abode, Ambassador of heaven, the prophet trod; Wrenched the red scourge from proud oppression's hands, And broke, cursed slavery! thy iron bands. Hark! heard ye not that piercing cry, Which shook the waves and rent the sky? E'en now, e'en now, on yonder western shores, Weeps pale despair, and writhing anguish roars; E'en now in Afric's groves, with hideous yell. Fierce slavery stalks, and slips the dogs of hell; From vale to vale the gathering cries rebound, And sable nations tremble at the sound! Ye bands of senators! whose suffrage sways Britannia's realms, whom either Ind obeys; Who right the injured, and reward the brave, Stretch your strong arm, for ye have power to save! Throned in the vaulted heart, his dread resort, Inexorable conscience holds his court; With still small voice the plots of guilt alarms, What mother cruel could thus her child confide To these rude waves? With arms outstretched he lies, A few frail reeds 'twixt him and the threatening tide: Heartless was she who placed VICTOR HUGO (1802-1885). (Translated by WALTER HART BLUMENTHAL.) ON A PICTURE OF THE FINDING THIS picture does the story express Moses that little infant is. His rushy cradle, his frail bark! With bulrushes this ark, and brought "Go." No more the painter's art can show; To her will Pharaoh's daughter say, I would protect as my own son. MOSES IN THE DESERT. Go where a foot hath never trod, Through unfrequented forests flee: The wilderness is full of God, His presence dwells in every tree. To Israel and to Egypt dead, But God the wandering exile found, The lonely bush a tree became, That made the moon around it night. Then came the Eternal voice that spake Salvation to the chosen seed; Thence went the Almighty arm that brake Proud Pharaoh's yoke, and Israel freed. By Moses, old and slow of speech, WHEN Moses once on Horeb's rocky steep, A banished man, was keeping Jethro's sheep, What time his flocks along the hills and dells Made music with their bleatings and their bells, He, by the thoughts that stirred within him drawn Deep in the mountain, heard at early dawn One who in prayer did all his soul outpour, With deep heart-earnestness, but nothing more; For strange his words were, savage and uncouth, And little did he know in very sooth Of that great Lord to whom his vows were made. The other for a moment listening stayed, Until his patience altogether spent"Good friend, for whom are these same noises meant? For Him who dwells on high? This babbling vain, Which vexes even a mortal ear with pain? Oh, peace! this is not God to praise, but blame; Unmannerly shame : applause brings only Oh, stop thy mouth; thou dost but heap up sin, Such prayer as this can no acceptance win, But were enough to make God's blessings cease." Rebuked, the simple herdsman held his That poor man's words were rougher husks than thine, Which yet might hold a kernel more divine, Rude vessels guarding a more precious wine. All prayer is childlike; falls as short of Him The wisdom of the wisest Seraphim, As the child's small conceit of heavenly things; A line of sound His depths no creature brings. Before the Infinite, the One, the All, Must every difference disappear and fall, There is no wise nor simple, great nor small. For Him the little clod of common earth Has to the diamond no inferior worth; Nor doth the Ocean, world-encompassing. Unto His thoughts more sense of vastness bring Than tiny dew-drop; atoms in His eye, A sun and a sun-mote dance equally; Not that the great (here understand aright) Is worthless as the little in His sight, Rather the little precious as the great, And, pondered in His scales, of equal weight; So that herein lies comfort, not despair, As though we were too little for His care. God is so great, there can be nothing small To Him-so loving He embraces all. And to resent it with displeasure strong, When from Him there is rudely, proudly turned The meanest soul that loved Him, and that yearned After His grace. Oh, haste then and begone, Rebuild the altar thou hast overthrown; Replace the offering which on that did stand, Till rudely scattered by thy hasty hand Removing, if thou canst, what made it rise A faulty and imperfect sacrifice: And, henceforth, in this gloomy world and dark, Prize every taper yielding faintest spark, And if perchance it burn not clear and bright, Trim, if thou canst, but do not quench it quite." "Thou'rt come," at length the Monarch spoke; Haughty and high the words outbroke: "Is Israel weary of its lair, The forehead peeled, the shoulder bare? Take back the answer to your band; Go, reap the wind; go, plough the sand; Go, vilest of the living vile, |