THE HEBREW MOTHER.

Sleep as on the battle-field,
Girded-grasping sword and shield;

Those thou canst not name nor number
Steal upon thy broken slumber.

Soldier, rise-the war is done :
Lo! the hosts of hell are flying;
'Twas thy Lord the battle won;
Jesus vanquish'd them by dying.
Pass the stream-before thee lies

All the conquered land of glory:
Hark! what songs of rapture rise,
These proclaim the victor's story.
Soldier, lay thy weapons down,
Quit the sword, and take the crown:
Triumph all thy foes are banished,
Death is slain, and earth has vanish'd.

CHARLOTTE ELIZABETII.

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ર

The Bebrem Mother.

THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain,
When a young mother, with her first born, thence
Went up to Zion; for the boy was vow'd

Unto the temple-service. By the hand
She led him, and her silent soul, the while,
Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye

Met her sweet, serious glance, rejoic'd to think

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THE HEBREW MOTHER.

That aught so pure, so beautiful was hers,
To bring before her God.

So pass'd they on

O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves
Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon,
Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive boughs,
With their cool dimness, cross'd the sultry blue
Of Syria's heaven, she paus'd, that he might rest:
Yet from her own meek eye-lids chas'd the sleep
That weigh'd their dark fringe down, to sit & watch
The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose,
As at a red flower's heart; and where a fount
Lay, like a twilight star, midst palmy shades,
Making its banks green gems along the wild,
There too she linger'd, from the diamond wave
Drawing clear water for his rosy lips,

And softly parting clusters of jet curls
To bathe his brow.

At last the Fane was reach'd, The earth's One Sanctuary: and rapture hush'd Her bosom, as before her, through the day It rose a mountain of white marble, steep'd In light like floating gold.-But when that hour Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye Reseechingly to hers, and half in fear,

Turn'd from the white-rob'd priest, and round her arm

THE HEBREW MOTHER.

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Clung e'en as ivy clings; the deep spring-tide
Of nature then swell'd high; and o'er her child
Bending, her soul brake forth, in mingled sounds
Of weeping and sad song.-"Alas!" she cried-

Alas, my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me,

The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes,
And now fond thoughts arise,

And silver chords again to earth have won me;
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart—
How shall I hence depart?-

"

'How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert playing,

So late along the mountains at my side?
And I in joyous pride,

By every place of flowers my course delaying,
Wove e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair,
Beholding thee so fair!

'And oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted,

Will it not seem as if the sunny day

Turn'd from its door away,

While, through its chambers wandering weary hearted,

I languish for thy voice, which past me still
Went like a singing rill?

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THE HEBREW MOTHER.

"Under the palm trees thou no more shalt meet me, When from the fount at evening I return

With the full water-urn!

Nor will thy sleep's low, dove-like murmurs greet

me,

As midst the silence of the stars I wake,
And watch for thy dear sake.

"And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed? Wilt thou not vainly spread

Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee,

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To find my neck; and lift up in thy fear,

What have I said, my child?-Will HE not hear

thee

Who the young ravens heareth from their nest?
Will HE not guard thy rest,

And, in the hush of holy midnight hear thee,
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy?
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy!

"I give thee to thy God!-the God that gave thee, A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart! And precious as thou art,

And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled!
And thou shalt be His Child!

"Therefore, farewell;-I go; my soul may fail me, As the stag panteth for the water-brooks, Yearning for thy sweet looks?

But thou, my first-born! droop not, nor bewail me: Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell, The Rock of strength-farewell.”

MRS. HEMANS.

Birds.

YE birds that fly through the fields of air,
What lessons of wisdom and truth ye bear!
Ye would teach our souls from the earth to rise,
Ye would bid us its grovelling scenes despise,
Ye would tell us that all its pursuits are vain,
That pleasure is toil-ambition is pain,-
That its bliss is touched with a poisoning leaven;
Ye would teach us to fix our aim on heaven.

Beautiful birds of the azure wing,

Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring;
We see you arrayed in the hues of the morn,
Yet ye dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn!
Though rainbow splendour around you glows,
Ye vaunt not the beauty which nature bestows:
O what a lesson for glory are ye,

How ye preach the grace of humility!