-Rejoice with me! The chastening rod

Blossoms with love; the furnace heat

Grows cool beneath His blessed feet Whose form is as the Son of God!

Rejoice! Our Marah's bitter springs

Are sweetened; on our ground of grief

Rise day by day in strong relief The prophecies of better things.

Rejoice in hope! The day and night

Are one with God, and one with them

Who see by faith the cloudy hem Of Judgment fringed with Mercy's light!

THE flags of war like storm-birds fly,

1 The charging trumpets blow; Yet rolls no thunder in the sky,

No earthquake strives below.

And, calm and patient, Nature keeps

Her ancient promise well, Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweeps

The battle's breath of hell.

And still she walks in golden hours

Through harvest-happy farms,
And still she wears her fruits and flowers

Like jewels on her arms.

What mean the gladness of the plain,

This joy of eve and morn, The mirth that shakes the beard of grain

And yellow locks of corn ?

Ah! eyes may well be full of tears,

And hearts with hate are hot; But even-paced come round the years,

And Nature changes not.

She meets with smiles our bitter grief,

With songs our groans of pain; She mocks with tint of flower and leaf

The war-field's crimson stain.

Still, in the cannon's pause, we hear

Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm ; Too near to God for doubt or fear,

She shares th' eternal calm.

She knows the seed lies safe below

The fires that blast and burn; For all the tears of blood we sow

She waits the rich return.

She sees with clearer eye than ours

The good of suffering born, The hearts that blossom like her flowers,

And ripen like her corn.

0, give to us, in times like these,

The vision of her eyes ;
And make her fields and fruited trees

Our golden prophecies !

0, give to us her finer ear!

Above this stormy din,
We too would hear the bells of cheer

Ring peace and freedom in!

I NOW’ST thou, O slave-cursed land ! I. How, when the Chian's cup of guilt Was full to overflow, there came God's justice in the sword of flame That, red with slaughter to its hilt, Blazed in the Cappadocian victor's hand ?