Of the limitless realms of the air, Have you read it, the marvellous story Of Sandalphon, Glory, Sandalphon, Prayer? the Angel of And he gathers the prayers as he stands, And they change into flowers in his hands, Into garlands of purple and red; the Angel of And beneath the great arch of the How. erect, at the outermost gates With his feet on the ladder of light, That, crowded with angels unnumbered, By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered Alone in the desert at night? The Angels of Wind and of Fire stress; portal, Through the streets of the City Immortal Is wafted the fragrance they shed. It is but a legend, I know, — Of the ancient Rabbinical lore; When I look from my window at night, Expire in their rapture and won. And the welkin above is all white, der, As harp-strings are broken asunder All throbbing and panting with stars, Among them majestic is standing By music they throb to express. Sandalphon the angel, expanding The frenzy and fire of the brain, Among the dead angels, the death- That grasps at the fruitage for A sudden rush from the stair- Though smothered and half sup They almost devour me with At the ominous sounds they hear, Because you have scaled the Where ashes are heaped in drifts · And the storm-wind shouts through Never!' our gallant Morris re the pines Of Alps and of Apennines, 'Enceladus, arise!' THE CUMBERLAND AT anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, plies; 'It is better to sink than to yield!' And the whole air pealed With the cheers of our men. Then, like a kraken huge and black, She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp! On board of the Cumberland, Down went the Cumberland all a A little feather of snow-white Lord, how beautiful was Thy day! smoke, And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak. Down upon us heavily runs, fort; Every waft of the air Was a whisper of prayer, Or a dirge for the dead. Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas! Ye are at peace in the troubled stream; Silent and sullen, the floating | Ho! brave land! with hearts like Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death, From each open port. We are not idle, but send her straight Defiance back in a full broad side! these, Thy flag, that is rent in twain, Shall be one again, And without a seam! SNOW-FLAKES OUT of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, As hail rebounds from a roof of Over the woodlands brown and |