166

Lo,

the waking up of nations, From Slavery's fatal sleep, The murmur of a Universe,

Deep calling unto Deep! Joy to thy spirit, brother!

On every wind of heaven
The onward cheer and summons
Of FREEDOM'S VOICE is given !

Glory to God forever!

Beyond the despot's will
The soul of Freedom liveth
Imperishable still.

The words which thou hast uttered
Are of that soul a part,

And the good seed thou hast scattered
Is springing from the heart.

In the evil days before us,

And the trials yet to come,— In the shadow of the prison,

Or the cruel martyrdom,

We will think of thee, O brother!
And thy sainted name shall be
In the blessing of the captive,
And the anthem of the free.

1834.

LINES,

ON THE DEATH OF S. O. TORREY.

GONE before us, O our brother,
To the spirit-land!

Vainly look we for another
In thy place to stand.

Who shall offer youth and beauty

On the wasting shrine Of a stern and lofty duty,

With a faith like thine?

O, thy gentle smile of greeting
Who again shall see?
Who amidst the solemn meeting
Gaze again on thee?-
Who, when peril gathers o'er us,
Wear so calm a brow?
Who, with evil men before us,

So serene as thou?

Early hath the spoiler found thee, Brother of our love!

In meek obedience utterance giving
To words of truth, so fresh and living,
That, even to the inward sense,
They bore unquestioned evidence
Of an anointed Messenger!
Or, bowing down thy silver hair
In reverent awfulness of prayer,

The world, its time and sense, shut
out, -

The brightness of Faith's holy trance Gathered upon thy countenance,

As if each lingering cloud of doubt,The cold, dark shadows resting here In Time's unluminous atmosphere,

Were lifted by an angel's hand, And through them on thy spiritual eye Shone down the blessedness on high, The glory of the Better Land!

The oak has fallen !

While, meet for no good work, the vine
May yet its worthless branches twine.
Who knoweth not that with thee fell
A great man in our Israel?
Fallen, while thy loins were girded still,
Thy feet with Zion's dews still wet,
And in thy hand retaining yet
The pilgrim's staff and scallop-shell!
Unharmed and safe, where, wild and
free,

Across the Neva's cold morass
The breezes from the Frozen Sea

With winter's arrowy keenness pass; Or where the unwarning tropic gale Smote to the waves thy tattered sail, Or where the noon-hour's fervid heat Against Tahiti's mountains beat; The same mysterious Hand which gave

Deliverance upon land and wave, Tempered for thee the blasts which blew

Ladaga's frozen surface o'er,
And blessed for thee the baleful dew

Of evening upon Eimeo's shore, Beneath this sunny heaven of ours, Midst our soft airs and opening flowers Hath given thee a grave!

His will be done, Who seeth not as man, whose way Is not as ours! -'T is well with thee! Nor anxious doubt nor dark dismay Disquieted thy closing day,

From Darien's mountains stretching far,

So strange, heaven-broad, and lone, that there,

With forehead to its damp wind bare,
He bent his mailed knee in awe ;
In many an isle whose coral feet
The surges of that ocean beat,
In thy palm shadows, Oahu,

And Honolulu's silver bay,
Amidst Owyhee's hills of blue,

And taro-plains of Tooboonai, Are gentle hearts, which long shall be Sad as our own at thought of thee, Worn sowers of Truth's holy seed, Whose souls in weariness and need Were strengthened and refreshed by thine.

For blessed by our Father's hand Was thy deep love and tender care, Thy ministry and fervent prayer, Grateful as Eschol's clustered vine To Israel in a weary land!

And they who drew

By thousands round thee, in the hour Of prayerful waiting, hushed and deep,

That He who bade the islands keep Silence before him, might renew Their strength with his unslumbering power,

Seals of thy true apostleship. And, if the brightest diadem,

Whose gems of glory purely burn Around the ransomed ones in bliss, Be evermore reserved for them

Who here, through toil and sorrow,

turn

Many to righteousness,

May we not think of thee as wearing That star-like crown of light, and bearing,

Amidst Heaven's white and blissful band,

The fadeless palm-branch in thy hand;
And joining with a seraph's tongue
In that new song the elders sung,
Ascribing to its blessed Giver
Thanksgiving, love, and praise forever!

Farewell!

And though the ways of Zion mourn When her strong ones are called away, Who like thyself have calmly borne The heat and burden of the day,

Yet He who slumbereth not nor sleepeth

His ancient watch around us keepeth;
Still, sent from his creating hand,
New witnesses for Truth shall stand, -
New instruments to sound abroad
The Gospel of a risen Lord;

To gather to the fold once more
The desolate and gone astray,
The scattered of a cloudy day,

And Zion's broken walls restore; And, through the travail and the toil Of true obedience, minister Beauty for ashes, and the oil

Of joy for mourning, unto her ! So shall her holy bounds increase With walls of praise and gates of peace: So shall the Vine, which martyr tears And blood sustained in other years,

With fresher life be clothed upon; And to the world in beauty show Like the rose-plant of Jericho, And glorious as Lebanon !

DANIEL NEALL.

I.

169

FRIEND of the Slave, and yet the friend of all:

Lover of peace, yet ever foremost

when

The need of battling Freedom called for men

To plant the banner on the outer wall; Gentle and kindly, ever at distress Melted to more than woman's tenderness,

Yet firm and steadfast, at his duty's post Fronting the violence of a maddened host,

Like some gray rock from which the waves are tossed!

Knowing his deeds of love, men questioned not

The faith of one whose walk and word were right,

Who tranquilly in Life's great taskfield wrought,

And, side by side with evil, scarcely caught

A stain upon his pilgrim garb of white:

Prompt to redress another's wrong, his