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Amid the oak whose quiet verdure mocked
I sce that form which awed
the palm-groves of Jerusalem, The wild continuous wail, —“O Absalom! My son! My son!”
We turn us from thy tomb, Usurping prince! Thy beauty and thy grace Have perished with thee, but thy fame survives, — The ingrate son that pierced a father's heart.
Lydia Huntley Sigourney.
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?
LIND Bartimeus at the gates
Of Jericho in darkness waits;
The thronging multitudes increase;
Ye that have eyes yet cannot see,
Recall those mighty Voices Three, 'Ιησού, ελέησόν με! θάρσει, έγειραι, ύπαγε! Η πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε !
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
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,
And seemed to breathe no more.
Void of hope was he, when lo!
His journey just begun.
Many a silver bell and gem
In the unclouded sun.
Broad were his phylacteries
Looked above earth’s vanities,
And gazed upon the sky.
He the suffering one descried,
And left him there to die.
Then approached with reverend pace,
Who bore the ark of God.
He a Levite and a high
Even as the dust he trod.
Then came a Samaritan,
As one in bonds to sin.
He beheld the poor man's need,
And brought him to the inn.
When our Judge shall reappear Thinkest thou this man will hear, “ Wherefore didst thou interfere
With what concerned not thee?".