SEE Lucifer like lightning fall, | |
| Dashed from his throne of pride; | |
| While, answering Thy victorious call, | |
| The Saints his spoils divide; | |
| This world of Thine, by him usurped too long, | 5 |
| Now opening all her stores to heal Thy servants’ wrong. | |
| |
| So when the first-born of Thy foes | |
| Dead in the darkness lay, | |
| When Thy redeemed at midnight rose | |
| And cast their bonds away, | 10 |
| The orphaned realm threw wide her gates, and told | |
| Into freed Israel’s lap her jewels and her gold. | |
| |
| And when their wondrous march was o’er, | |
| And they had won their homes, | |
| Where Abraham fed his flock of yore, | 15 |
| Among their fathers’ tombs;— | |
| A land that drinks the rain of Heaven at will, | |
| Whose waters kiss the feet of many a vine-clad hill;— | |
| |
| Oft as they watched, at thoughtful eve, | |
| A gale from bowers of balm | 20 |
| Sweep o’er the billowy corn, and heave | |
| The tresses of the palm, | |
| Just as the lingering Sun had touched with gold, | |
| Far o’er the cedar shade, some tower of giants old; | |
| |
| It was a fearful joy, I ween, | 25 |
| To trace the Heathen’s toil, | |
| The limpid wells, the orchards green, | |
| Left ready for the spoil, | |
| The household stores untouched, the roses bright | |
| Wreathed o’er the cottage walls in garlands of delight. | 30 |
| |
| And now another Canaan yields | |
| To Thine all-conquering ark:— | |
| Fly from the “old poetic” fields, | |
| Ye Paynim shadows dark! | |
| Immortal Greece, dear land of glorious lays, | 35 |
| Lo! here the “unknown God” of thy unconscious praise. | |
| |
| The olive-wreath, the ivied wand, | |
| “The sword in myrtles drest,” | |
| Each legend of the shadowy strand | |
| Now wakes a vision blest; | 40 |
| As little children lisp, and tell of Heaven, | |
| So thoughts beyond their thought to those high Bards were given. | |
| |
| And these are ours: Thy partial grace | |
| The tempting treasure lends: | |
| These relics of a guilty race | 45 |
| Are forfeit to Thy friends; | |
| What seemed an idol hymn, now breathes of Thee, | |
| Tuned by Faith’s ear to some celestial melody. | |
| |
| There’s not a strain to Memory dear, | |
| Nor flower in classic grove, | 50 |
| There’s not a sweet note warbled here, | |
| But minds us of Thy Love. | |
| O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes, | |
| There is no light but Thine: with Thee all beauty glows. | |
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