Stirred in his soul most hideous jealousy.

The prophet's words, "God hath rejected thee,

And hath thy kingdom to thy neighbor given,"

Rose like some dismal spectre on his sight.

The plaudits of the crowd, "Saul hath thousands

But David tens of thousands nobly slain,"

Inflamed his mind with horrible revenge.

He saw the words inscribed on every side,

And heard the acclamations loud arise,
Re-echoed by innumerable crowds.
His wild imagination figures up

A regal throne, on which the youth is placed,

The shepherd-boy transformed a lordly king!

Upon his fair and sunny brow a crown Is set, refulgent with the brightest gems; Thousands in his presence wait obsequious,

And tens of thousands cry, exulting, "King David, live for ever!" Starting

He sung of Jacob's youngest born,-the child

Of his old age,-sold to the Ishmaelite;
His exaltation to the second power
In Pharaoh's realm; his brethren thither
sent;

Suppliant they stood before his face, well known,

Unknowing, till Joseph fell upon the neck

Of Benjamin, his mother's son, and wept.

Unconsciously the warlike shepherd paused;

But when he saw, down the yet quivering string,

The tear-drop, trembling glide, abāsh'd, he check'd,

Indignant at himself, the bursting flood, And, with a sweep impetuous, struck the chords:

From side to side his hands transversely glance,

Like lightning 'thwart a stormy sea; his voice

Arises 'mid the clang, and straightway calms

Th' harmonious tempest, to a solemn swell

Majestical, triumphant; for he sings
Of Arad's mighty host by Israel's arm
Subdued; of Israel through the desert
led

He sings; of him who was their leader, call'd

By God himself, from keeping Jethro's flock,

To be a ruler o'er the chosen race. Kindles the eye of Saul; his arm is poised,―

Harmless the javelin quivers in the wall.

JAMES GRAHAME (1765-1811).

DAVID AND SAUL.

WHEN David fled from Saul oppressed. Who should have held the Shepherd dear,

He carried Patience in his breast,
And Conscience light, a heavenly Guest;
He feared not, nor had Cause of fear.

But, when he fled the holy Place

In horror from his rebel Son,

He carried Terror and Disgrace;
Nor could a gleam of Comfort trace
In all the battles he had won.

But, as upon his Throne he shook,

With present Love and Glory crowned, The one stern word the Prophet spoke At once into his Bosom broke

To fright, alarm him, and confound.

Thus injured, I my peace retain

And feel from Guilt and Terror free; But, should I injure Man again, I should in fear and Dread remain, Tho' cheered with wealth and blest by thee. GEORGE CRABBE (1754-1832).

FILIAL PIETY OF DAVID.

ADULLAM'S sheltering cavern bent
O'er many an exile's head,
Who from the tyrant sway of Saul
In discontent had fled;
And he, the leader of that band,

Came forth in sadden'd thought,
And to a foreign monarch's court
His suit a suppliant brought:

"Oh. King of Moab!" bowing down

With trembling lip he said
Who oft to victory's crimson field
Had Israel's thousands led,
"I pray thee, let mine aged sire,
And she beside whose knee
My earliest, lisping prayer was learn'd,
In safety dwell with thee.

"Lest, while the adverse torrent's force
With struggling breast I stem,
My hands grow weak, my spirits faint,
In anxious care for them;
For with an outlaw's ceaseless pain,
I wander to and fro,

And wait Jehovah's righteous will
More perfectly to know."

Then forth to Moab's pitying prince
His aged sire he led,

The cavern dampness on the locks
That silver'd o'er his head;
And, leaning on his vigorous arm,
A wrinkled woman came,
The mother of the many sons

Who honour'd Jesse's name.

The youngest and the dearest one
Now woke her parting tear,

And sorrow shook his manly breast

That ne'er had quail'd with fear;
While drawing near the monarch's side,
In low and earnest tone
He press'd upon his soften'd heart
The treasures of his own.

Low kneeling at his parents' side,
That blessing he besought,
Which ever in his childish years

Had calm'd each troubled thought;
While they with fond and feeble hand
His clustering curls among,
Jehovah's majesty and might
Invoked with faltering tongue.

With tearful thanks to Moab's king,
The exile left the place,
For filial duty well discharged
Shed sunshine o'er his face;
And sweet as when on
vales

Bethlehem's

He fed his fleecy flock,
The dew of holy song distill'd
Like honey from the rock.

"God is my light!. Why should I fear, Though earth be dark with shade? God is the portion of my soul,

Why should I be afraid?

Unless his arm had been my stay

When snares were round me spread, My strength had fainted and gone down To silence and the dead.

"Father and mother, dear and true,
The homeless one forsake,
While like the hunted deer, my course
From cliff to cliff I take.

Though kings against my life conspire,
And hosts in hate array'd,
God is the portion of my soul;
Why should I be afraid?"

LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY
(1791-1865).

DAVID AND ABIGAIL.

Now Samuel was dead, beloved priest, And all the Israelites did mourn for him,

And gathered them together at his house In Ramah, where they buried Samuel. Then rose the Lord's anointed, Jesse's

son,

And from Engedi's rocky hold led down His men of war to Paran's wilderness,

Eluding jealous Saul, whose rancor sought

To compass his destruction. David mused,

Heart-burdened by the big solicitude
Of leadership in peril; to his cause
Clung guerdonless the twice two hun-
dred men

Who joined his exile in Adullam's cave, And chose him captain. These he would reward,

But bony famine, stalking from forlorn, Unfruitful wastes, forbade. As in a lake The fleeting clouds are pictured, so the glass

Of clear remembrance mirrored back the scenes

Of David's varied life. Himself he saw, A shepherd lad among Judea's hills; Then standing with his harp before a king,

Or feasting prince-like, at the royal board,

Saul's favorite, and dear to Jonathan, To whom his soul was knit; flashed next to view

Heroic days, and valiant deeds of arms; He smote Goliath with the fatal stone, And slew Philistia's thousands; then the land

Rang with his triumphs, and the women

came

From Israel's cities, dancing to the sound

Of joyous tabrets as they sang his praise,

Till Saul was wroth, and David fled the court,

To hide in fields and caves. Now Hareth's wild.

Now Ziph's bleak mountains fend his gathered host;

Now Saul pursues to Maon, where the peal

Of trumps that summon havoc to the plain,

Made pity ruthless. In that dreadful time,

One whose possessions lay in war's red path,

Did David's warriors guard; his fields , were saved

From ravage, and his flocks were spared. His house,