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At one short gust of that close air The sickening cheek grew pale; We turn'd away-'t was all our care,

Heaven's sweet breath to inhale.

"'Mid howl and yell, and shuddering moan,
The scourge, the clanking chain,
The cards were dealt, the dice were thrown,
We staked our share of gain.

"Soon in smooth Martinico's coves

Our welcome bark shall moor, Or underneath the citron-groves

That wave on Cuba's shore.

"Twas strange, ere many days were gone, How still grew all below,

The wailing babe was heard alone,
Or some low sob of woe.

"Into the dusky hold we gazed,

In heaps we saw them lie, And dim, unmeaning looks were raised

From many a blood-red eye.

And helpless hands were groping round
To catch their scanty meal;

Or at some voice's well-known sound,
Some well-known touch to feel.

"And still it spread, the blinding plague

That seals the orbs of sight;

The eyes were rolling, wild and vague;
Within was black as night.

"They dared not move, they could not weep, They could but lie and moan;

Some, not in mercy, to the deep,

Like damaged wares, were thrown.

"We cursed the dire disease that spread,
And cross'd our golden dream;

Those goldless men did quake with dread
To hear us thus blaspheme.

And so we drank, and drank the more,
And each man pledged his mate;

Here's better luck, from Gambia's shore,

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"Till I, the only man, the last
Of that dark brotherhood,
To guide the helm, to rig the mast,
To tend the daily food.

"I felt it film, I felt it grow,

The dim and misty scale,
I could not see the compass now,
I could not see the sail.
"The sea was all a wavering fog,
The sun a hazy lamp,
As on some pestilential bog,

The wandering wild-fire damp.
"And there we lay, and on we drove,
Heaved up, and pitching down;
Oh! cruel grace of Him above,

That would not let us drown.

"And some began to pray for fear,
And some began to swear;
Methought it was most dread to hear
Upon such lips the prayer.

"And some would fondly speak of home,
The wife's, the infant's kiss;
Great God! that parents e'er should come
On such a trade as this!

"And some I heard plunge down beneath,
And drown-that could not I:
Oh! how my spirit yearn'd for death,
Yet how I fear'd to die!

"We heard the wild and frantic shriek

Of starving men below,

We heard them strive their bonds to break, And burst the hatches now.

"We thought we heard them on the stair, And trampling on the deck,

I almost felt their blind despair,

Wild grappling at my neck. "Again I woke, and yet again,

With throat as dry as dust, And famine in my heart and brain, And,-speak it out I must,—

"A lawless, execrable thought,

That scarce could be withstood, Before my loathing fancy brought Unutterable food.

"No more, my brain can bear no more,— Nor more my tongue can tell;

I know I breathed no air, but bore
A sick'ning grave-like smell.

"And all, save I alone, could die-
Thus on death's verge and brink
All thoughtless, feelingless, could lie-
I still must feel and think.

"At length, when ages had pass'd o'er, Ages, it seem'd, of night,

There came a shock, and then a roar

Of billows in their might.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

"I know not how, when next I woke, The numb waves wrapp'd me round, And in my loaded ears there broke

A dizzy, bubbling sound.

"Again I woke, and living men

Stood round-a Christian crew; The first, the last, of joy was then,

That since those days I knew.

"I've been, I know, since that black tide, Where raving madmen lay,

Above, beneath, on ev'ry side,

And I as mad as they.

"And I shall be where never dies

The worm, nor slakes the flame, When those two hundred souls shall rise, The judge's wrath to claim.

"I'd rather rave in that wild room Than see what I have seen;

I'd rather meet my final doom.

Than be-where I have been.

"Priest, I've not seen thy loathing face,
I've heard thy gasps of fear;—
Away-no word of hope or grace-
I may not-will not hear!"

THE LOVE OF GOD.

TWO SONNETS.
I.

LOVE Thee!-oh, Thou, the world's eternal Sire!
Whose palace is the vast infinity,

Time, space, height, depth, oh God! are full of Thee,
And sun-eyed seraphs tremble and admire.
Love Thee!-but Thou art girt with vengeful fire,
And mountains quake, and banded nations flee,
And terror shakes the wide unfathom'd sea,
When the heavens rock with thy tempestuous ire.
Oh, Thou! too vast for thought to comprehend,
That wast ere time,-shalt be when time is o'er;
Ages and worlds begin-grow old-and end,
Systems and suns thy changeless throne before,
Commence and close their cycles :-lost, I bend
To earth my prostrate soul, and shudder and adore!
II

Love Thee!-oh, clad in human lowliness,
-In whom each heart its mortal kindred knows-
Our flesh, our form, our tears, our pains, our woes,-
A fellow-wanderer o'er earth's wilderness!
Love Thee! whose every word but breathes to bless!
Through Thee, from long-seal'd lips, glad language
flows;

The blind their eyes, that laugh with light, unclose;
And babes, unchid, Thy garment's hem caress.
-I see Thee, doom'd by bitterest pangs to die,
Up the sad hill, with willing footsteps, move,
With scourge, and taunt, and wanton agony,
While the cross nods, in hideous gloom, above,
Though all-even there-be radiant Deity!
-Speechless I gaze, and my whole soul is Love!

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They chose new gods:

War was in all their gates!
Was buckler seen, or lance,
'Mong forty thousand sons of Israel?

My soul is yours, ye chiefs of Israel!
And ye, the self-devoted of the people, "
Praise ye the Lord with me '

Ye that ride upon the snow-white asses;
Ye that sit to judge on rich divans
Ye that plod on foot the open way,
Come, meditate the song.

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He hath pluck'd up his garden-hedge, He hath destroy'd His Temple;

Jehovah hath forgotten made the solemn feast and Sabbath;

Then stamp'd the clattering hoofs of prancing horses And in the heat of ire He hath rejected King and At the flight, at the flight of the mighty.

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Priest.

The Lord his altar hath disdain'd, abhorred his Holy place,

And to the adversary's hand given up his palace walls;

Our foes shout in Jehovah's house, as on a festal day. ii. 7, 8.

Her gates are sunk into the earth, he hath broke through her bars;

Her Monarch and her Princes are now among the Heathen;

The Law hath ceased; the Prophets find no vision from Jehovah. ii. 10.

My eyes do fail with tears; and troubled are my bowels;

My heart's blood gushes on the earth, for the daughter of my people;

Children and suckling babes lie swooning in the squares

They say unto their Mothers, where is corn and wine! They swoon as they were wounded, in the city

squares;

While glides the soul away into their Mother's bosom. ii. 11, 12.

Even dragons, with their breasts drawn out, give suck unto their young;

But cruel is my people's daughter, as the ostrich in the desert;

The tongues of sucking infants to their palates cleave with thirst.

Young children ask for bread, and no man breaks it for them;

Those that fed on dainties are desolate in the streets Those brought up in scarlet, even those embrace the dunghill. iv. 3, 4, 5

Behold, Jehovah, think to whom thou e'er hast deal'd From the sea, from the land, from the south and the thus!

Have women ever eat their young, babes fondled in their hands?

Have Priest and Prophet e'er been slain in the Lord's Holy place?

In the streets, upon the ground, lie slain the young and old;

My virgins and my youth have fallen by the sword; In thy wrath thou'st slain them, thou hast had no mercy.

Thou hast summon'd all my terrors, as to a solemn feast;

None 'scaped, and none was left in Jehovah's day of wrath ;

All that mine arms have borne and nursed, the enemy hath slain. ii. 20. 1, 2.

Remember, Lord what hath befallen,

Look down on our reproach.

Our heritage is given to stangers,

Our home to foreigners,

Our water have we drank for money, Our fuel hath its price-v. 1, 2, 3.

We stretch our hands to Egypt,

To Assyria for our bread.
At our life's risk we gain our food,

From the sword of desert robbers.
Our skins are like an oven, parched,
By the fierce heat of famine.
Matrons in Sion have they ravish'd,

Virgins in Judah's cities.

Princes were hung up by the hand,

And age had no respect. Young men are grinding at the mill, Boys faint 'neath loads of wood. The Elders from the gate have ceased, The young men from their music. The crown is fallen from her head,

Woe! woe! that we have sinn'd. "Tis therefore that our hearts are faint, Therefore our eyes are dim. For Sion's mountain desolate, The foxes walk on it.

HYMNS FOR CHURCH SERVICE.

SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT.

THE chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll on fire
As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire:
Self-moving it drives on its pathway of cloud,
And the Heavens with the burthen of Godhead are
bow'd.

The glory! the glory! by myriads are pour'd
The host of the Angels to wait on their Lord,
And the glorified saints and the martyrs are there,
And all who the palm-wreath of victory wear.
The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard:
Lo, the depths of the stone-cover'd charnel are stirr'd:

north,

The vast generations of men are come forth.

The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set,

Where the Lamb and the white-vested Elders are met!
All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eternity hangs on His word!

Oh mercy! oh mercy! look down from above,
Creator! on us thy sad children, with love!
When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven,
May our sanctified souls find a mansion in heaven!

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. LORD! Thou didst arise and say

To the troubled waters "Peace,"
And the tempest died away,

Down they sank, the foamy seas;
And a calm and heaving sleep
Spread o'er all the glassy deep,
All the azure lake serene
Like another heaven was seen!

Lord! Thy gracious word repeat

To the billows of the proud! Quell the tyrant's martial heat,

Quell the fierce and changing crowd! Then the earth shall find repose From its restless strife and foes; And an imaged Heaven appear On our world of darkness here!

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.

THE angel comes, he comes to reap
The harvest of the Lord!
O'er all the earth with fatal sweep

Wide waves his flamy sword. .

And who are they, in sheaves to bide
The fire of Vengeance bound!
The tares, whose rank luxuriant pride
Choked the fair crop around.

And who are they, reserved in store
God's treasure-house to fill?
The wheat a hundred-fold that bore
Amid surrounding ill.

O King of Mercy! grant us power
Thy fiery wrath to flee!
In thy destroying angel's hour,
O gather us to Thee!

QUINQUAGESIMA.

LORD! we sit and cry to Thee,

Like the blind beside the way: Make our darken'd souls to see

The glory of thy perfect day! Lord! rebuke our sullen night, And give Thyself unto our sight!

Lord! we do not ask to gaze

On our dim and earthly sun; But the light that still shall blaze

When every star its course hath run: The light that gilds thy blest abode, The glory of the Lamb of God!

SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT.

OH help us, Lord! each hour of need

Thy heavenly succour give;

Help us in thought, and word, and deed, Each hour on earth we live.

Oh help us, when our spirits bleed
With contrite anguish sore,

And when our hearts are cold and dead,
O help us, Lord, the more.

O help us, through the prayer of faith
More firmly to believe;

For still the more the servant hath,
The more shall he receive.

If strangers to Thy fold we call,

Imploring at Thy feet

The crums that from Thy table fall, "Tis all we dare entreat.

But be it, Lord of Mercy, all,

So Thou wilt grant but this;

The cruins that from Thy table fall Are light, and life, and bliss.

Oh help us, Jesus! from on high, We know no help but Thee; Oh! help us so to live and die As thine in Heaven to be.

SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

RIDE on! ride on in majesty!
Hark! all the tribes Hosanna cry!
Thine humble beast pursues his road,
With palms and scatter'd garments strow'd!

Ride on! ride on in majesty!

In lowly pomp ride on to die!

Oh Christ! Thy triumphs now begin
O'er captive death and conquer'd Sin!

Ride on! ride on in majesty!
The winged squadrons of the sky
Look down with sad and wondering eyes,
To see the approaching sacrifice!

Ride on! ride on in majesty!
Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh;
The father on His sapphire throne
Expects His own anointed Son!
Ride on ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die!
Bow Thy meek head to mortal pain!

Then take, oh God! Thy power, and reign!

GOOD FRIDAY.

BOUND upon th' accursed tree,
Faint and bleeding, who is He?
By the eyes so pale and dim,
Streaming blood and writhing limb,
By the flesh with scourges torn,
By the crown of twisted thorn,
By the side so deeply pierced,
By the baffled burning thirst,
By the drooping death-dew'd brow,
Son of Man! 't is Thou! 't is Thou!

Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is He?
By the sun at noon-day pale,
Shivering rocks, and rending veil,
By earth that trembles at His doom,
By yonder saints who burst their tomb,
By Eden, promised ere He died
To the felon at His side,

Lord! our suppliant knees we bow,
Son of God! 't is Thou! 't is Thou!

Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Sad and dying, who is He?

By the last and bitter cry
The ghost given up in agony;
By the lifeless body laid
In the chamber of the dead;
By the mourners come to weep
Where the bones of Jesus sleep;
Crucified! we know Thee now;
Son of Man! 't is Thou! 't is Thou'

Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is He?
By the prayer for them that slew,
"Lord! they know not what they do!"
By the spoil'd and empty grave,
By the souls He died to save,
By the conquest He hath won,
By the saints before His throne,
By the rainbow round His brow,
Son of God! 't is Thou! 't is Thou!

SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. LORD! have mercy when we strive To save through Thee our souls alive' When the pamper'd flesh is strong, When the strife is fierce and long; When our wakening thoughts begin, First to loathe their cherish'd sin, And our weary spirits fail, And our aching brows are pale, Oh then have mercy! Lord!

Lord! have mercy when we lie On the restless bed, and sigh, Sigh for Death, yet fear it still, From the thought of former ill; When all other hope is gone; When our course is almost done:

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