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THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL
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!
them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fir'd not to the tone,
It wafted glory to our God;
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Devotion and her daughter Love
To sounds that seem as from above,
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!
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!
Exulting yet may bound,
That gush on holy ground;
2. A step as feet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah withess'd there;
Inbabitants more fair.
More blest each palm that shades those plains
Than Israel's scatter'd race;
In solitary grace:
In other lands to die;
Our own may never lie:
weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,
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?