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CHRIST'S AGONY IN THE GARDEN.
It pass'd not—though the stormy wave
Had sunk beneath His tread ;
Had yielded up its dead.
And was His mortal hour beset
With anguish and dismay?
In the dark, narrow way?
* “And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.”
St. Luke, xxii. 43.
Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall,
Thou art walking the billows, and Ocean smilesThou hast touch'd with glory his thousand islesThou hast lit up the ships, and the feathery foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from home.
To the solemn depths of the forest-shades,
I look'd on the mountains-a vapor lay
I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot-
To the earth's wild places a guest thou art,
Thou tak'st through the dim church-aisle thy way,
And thou turnest not from the humblest
grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest, Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast.
Sunbeam of summer, oh! what is like thee?
THE TRAVELLER AT THE SOURCE OF
In sunset's light o'er Afric thrown,
A wanderer proudly stood
Of Egypt's awful flood;
He heard its life's first murmuring sound,
A low mysterious tone;
By kings and warriors gone;
The rapture of a conqueror's mood
Rush'd burning through his frame,
The depths of that green solitude
Its torrents could not tame, Though stillness lay, with eve's last smile, Round those calm fountains of the Nile.
Night came with stars across his soul
There swept a sudden change,
A shadow dark and strange,
No more than this !—what seem'd it now
First by that spring to stand ?
Bath'd his own mountain land !
They call'd him back to many a glade,
His childhood's haunt of play, Where brightly through the beechen shade
Their waters glanc'd away ; They call'd him, with their sounding waves, Back to his fathers' hills and graves.