« PreviousContinue »
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE
BOU BEN ADHEM-may
his tribe increase Awoke one night from a
deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel, writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem
bold, And to the presence in the room he
said: “What writest thou?" The vision
raised his head, And, with a look made of all sweet
accord, Answered: “The names of those who
love the Lord.” “And is mine one?” said Adhem.
“Nay, not so, Replied the angel. Abou spoke more
low, But cheerily still, and said: “I pray
Write me as one who loves his fellow
men. The angel wrote and vanished. The
next night He came again with a great awakening
light And showed the names whom love of
God had bless'd, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
ON HIS BLINDNESS
HEN I consider how my
light is spent Ere half my days in this
dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul
more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, ,
chide: “Doth God exact day-labor, light
denied ?” I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies : “God
doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts ;
who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him
best: his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding
speed, And post o'er land and ocean without
rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.'
-John Milton. TO MARY IN HEAVEN
HOU lingering star, with
lessening ray, T
That lov'st to greet the
early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his
That sacred hour can I forget
Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met
To live one day of parting love!
Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace;
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, O’erhung with wild woods, thickening
green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twined amorous round the raptured
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every sprayTill soon, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of wingèd day.
Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?