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THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL
THE harp the monarch minstrel swept,
It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fir'd not to the tone,
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!
It tola the triumphs of our King,
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspir'd to heav'n, and there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more, Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.
IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
Ir that high world, which lies beyond
It must be so: 'tis not for self
That we so tremble on the brink;
And striving to o'erleap the gulf,
To hold each heart the heart that shares,
And soul in soul grow deathless their's!
THE WILD GAZELLE.
THE wild gazelle on Judah's hills
And drink from all the living rills
Its airy step and glorious eye
A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
And o'er her scenes of lost delight
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!
More blest each palm that shades those plains
Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking rout, it there remains
It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.
But we must wander witheringly,
And where our fathers' ashes be,
Our temple hath not left a stone,
OH! WEEP FOR THOSE.
On! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;
Mourn where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell!
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,