And a ship sped along in her beauty and grace, But pestilence, madness, and death Raged and raved in her dark crowded hold, And the slaves, as they drew their last breath, Uncoffined, unwept, ere their limbs were yet cold, O'er the tall vessel's side were remorselessly hurled ! Swift, swift o'er the billowy main Flew onward that death-stricken bark, Swam many a monstrous and ravenous shark, As I gazed the great deep was unfurled! Which shall yet be an army, with banners outspread, When the last trumpet sounds which shall waken the dead. The vision fled slowly away, And another appeared in its place; Before me a fair region lay, Where mountains rose bigh, like a huge giant race, With sweet flowry hills lying calm at their base. That land was the land of the slave! The scene of his closing career, Where the generous, the fond, and the brave I saw them worn out with their toil, I saw the lash cruelly coil Round their scar-covered backs, till the warm blood would drip, While a groan faintly fell from the eloquent lip! Enslaved both in body and mind, They seemed to their fortunes resigned, I beheld a poor African chief, Whose name was once honoured afar, And meekly he bore with his grief, And sang to himself, "Calabar, Calabar, Me could die in sweet peace could me see Calabar." The vision fled slowly away, And another appeared in its place; And the branded, down-trodden, enslaved negro race, With their tyrants and task-masters, stood face to face! Then spake One from the cloud which he trod"If man has no mercy on man, How can man hope for mercy from God?" And a cry of despair through the multitude ran, "There is no hope for men who have trafficked in man." WHAT IS GLORY? Is it glory to cause the widow's tears Is it glory to watch the orphan's grief, Such glory is caused by the battle-plain, Where the husband and father lie with the slain. Is it glory to break a mother's heart, And from her home to tear The only one who cared for her In this weary world of care ? Then carry her son to the battle-plain, And bury him there 'mid the thousands slain. Is it glory to drive the soul in haste To a world of black despair, Then trample the youth amidst the slain, Is it not glory to follow Him Who said that brotherly love Must reign in the breast of those who wish The Prince of Peace will smile on those ANN JANE. THE SANDAL TREE. Oh! many a lesson we may learn, The modest lily of the vale When wounded, in return it throws And perfumes every breeze that blows Would men but learn of that fair tree Soon this fair earth of ours would be More like our home above. H. M. P, THE HARMONY OF HEAVEN. As flowers that vary in their dyes, We all shall bloom in Paradise.-HOGG. There is no jarring chord In the harmony of heaven : The hosts which shine around their Lord Have ne'er in anger striven. Love is all potent there; For passion, pride, and strife Can never taint the blissful air No proud gonfanons float, No party banners fly, No dull or harsh discordant note Disturbs the church on high. M |