Amid the oak whose quiet verdure mocked A traitor hath no friends! what were thy thoughts Of vengeful Joab found thee? To thy God I sce that form which awed The foes of Israel with its victor-might Bowed low in grief, and hear upon the breeze We turn us from thy tomb, Lydia Huntley Sigourney. WHERE Jericho. JERICHO. HERE are thy walls, proud Jericho?—the blast Of Israel's horn to earth thy towers might cast, But Time more surely lays thy bulwarks low; Yonder the Jordan sweeps with tireless flow, And Pisgah rears his earth-o'ergazing brow, Defying storm and thunder, — where art thou? Thy towers have left no stone; not e'en a palm Waves on thy site amidst the burning calm: A few green turf-clad mounds alone remain, Like those which rise on Troy's deserted plain. Gone is that costly plant, a queen's fair hand To Salem brought from Sheba's spicy land, The weeping balsam, whose nectareous dew, More prized than silver, well the trader knew: Yet still one flower above its flinty bed, Renowned by minstrels, lifts its lowly head; White rose of Jericho! so small yet sweet, That oft the way-worn traveller stoops to greet, What dost thou in this desert? vain thy bloom As the lamp's light that gilds the cheerless tomb; Vain opes thy bosom to the thankless air, No painted insect flies to nestle there; Thy scents embalm the ground, but useless shed As gifts of good upon the ungrateful head. Alas! fair rose, the barren plain we see, How can it warm to life, have charms for thee? Nicholas Michell. BLIND BLIND BARTIMEUS. Bartimeus at the gates Of Jericho in darkness waits; He hears the crowd; he hears a breath The thronging multitudes increase; Then saith the Christ, as silent stands And he replies, "O, give me light! Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight. Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε ! Ye that have eyes yet cannot see, Recall those mighty Voices Three, Ἰησοῦ, ἐλέησόν με! Θάρσει, ἔγειραι, ὕπαγε! Ἡ πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε! Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. A THE GOOD SAMARITAN. TRAVELLER fell among the thieves; He was crushed like autumn leaves: He was beaten like the sheaves Upon the threshing-floor. There, upon the public way, Void of hope was he, when lo! Came a priest, serene and slow, Many a silver bell and gem Broad were his phylacteries Looked above earth's vanities, He the suffering one descried, Then approached with reverend pace, One of the elected race, The chosen ministers of grace, Who bore the ark of God. He a Levite and a high Exemplar of humanity, Likewise passed the sufferer by, Then came a Samaritan, He beheld the poor man's need, When our Judge shall reappear With what concerned not thee?". |