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THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL

SWEPT.

1. Tue harp the monarch minstrel swept,

The King of men, the lov'd of Heav'n, Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er tones her heurt of hearts had giv'n.

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
It soften'd men of iron mould,
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 !

2.
It tola the triumphs of our King,

It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,

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.

1. Ir that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving Love endears; If there the cherish'd heart be fond,

the same, except in tears How welcome those untrodden spheres !

How sweet this very hour to die! To soar from earth, and find all fears

Lost in thy light-Eternity!

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2. It must be so : 'tis not for self

That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to Being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul ia soul grow deathless their's!

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1.
Tue wild gazelle on Judah's hills

Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by:

2. A step as feet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah withess'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inbabitants more fair.
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

In solitary grace:
It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earths.

4.
But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

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1.
Он!

weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream;
Weep for the barp of Judah's broken shell;
Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the godless

dwell!

2. And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when sball Zion's songs again seem sweet? And Judab's melody once more rejoice The bearts that leap'd before its beavenly voice?

8.
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest!
The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country—Israel but the grave!

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