A sheet of lightning o'er them wheeled,
The solid ground beneath them reeled;
In dust sank roof and battlement;
Like webs the giant walls were rent;
Red, broad, before his startled gaze,
The monarch saw his Egypt blaze.
Still swelled the plague the flame grew pale;
Burst from the clouds the charge of hail;
With arrowy keenness, iron weight,
Down poured the ministers of fate;
Till man and cattle, crushed, congealed,
Covered with death the boundless field.
Still swelled the plague-uprose the blast,
The avenger, fit to be the last;
On ocean, river, forest, vale,
Thundered at once the mighty gale.
Before the whirlwind flew the tree,
Beneath the whirlwind roared the sea;
A thousand ships were on the wave-
Where are they?-ask that foaming grave!
Down go the hope, the pride of years,
Down go the myriad mariners;
The riches of Earth's richest zone,
Gone! like a flash of lightning, gone!
And, lo! that first fierce triumph o'er,
Swells Ocean on the shrinking shore;
Still onward, onward, dark and wide,
Engulfs the land the furiest tide.
Then bowed thy spirit, stubborn king,
Thou serpent, reft of fang and sting;
Humbled before the prophet's knee,
He groaned, "Be injured Israel free."
To heaven the sage upraised his wand;
Back rolled the deluge from the land;
Back to its caverns sank the gale;
Fled from the noon the vapors pale;
Broad burned again the joyous sun:
The hour of wrath and death was done.
144. FRIENDS SEPARATED BY DEATH.
FRIEND after friend departs;
Who has not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts,
That finds not here an end;
Were this frail world our final rest,
Living or dying none were blest.
Beyond the flight of time—
Beyond the reign of death-
There surely is some blesséd clime
Where life is not a breath;
Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upward and expire.
There is a world above,
Where parting is unknown;
A long eternity of love,
Formed for the good alone;
And Faith beholds the dying here,
Translated to that glorious sphere.
Thus star by star declines,
Till all are past away;
As morning high and higher shines,
To pure and perfect day:
Nor sink those stars in empty night,
But hide themselves in heaven's own light.
THE horn and the trumpet are ringing afar,
As the summons to battle is sounding;
And the steed, as he catches the signal of war,
In the pride of his spirit is bounding;
Shrill it echoes afar, over hill and o'er plain,
And the wide distant mountains repeat it again;
And the shout of the warrior, and nearer the song,
Peal aloud as the glittering bands are hurrying along;
As on, on, on, on, pours the tide of fight,
Still aloft floats the tossing flag, in the glance of morning's
We leap to our saddles, we range us in line
As the voice of the trumpet is calling:
On the crown of yon ridge, bright their drawn sabres shine; Down its slope, like a flood, they are falling.
"Give the spur to the charge, ere the foeman is nigh:
Rush amain, as the forest rings loud with your cry:
Speed on to the shock, in his midway career
For our sires still were first in fight; they never thought of fear!"
So on, on, on, on, o'er the sounding plain,
To the wild conflict fierce they rush, and together dash amain
146. ON LAYING THE CORNER-STONE OF THE BUNKER-HILL
O, is not this a holy spot?
'Tis the high-place of freedom's birth! God of our fathers! is it not
The holiest spot of all the earth?
Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side;
The robber roams o'er Sinai now;
And those old men, thy seers, abide
No more on Zion's mournful brow.
But on this hill, thou, Lord, hast dwelt,
Since round its head the war-cloud curled,
And wrapped our fathers, where they knelt,
In prayer and battle for a world.
Here sleeps their dust: 'tis holy ground:
And we, the children of the brave,
From the four winds are gathered round,
To lay our offering on their grave.
Free as the winds around us blow,
Free as the waves below us spread,
We rear a pile, that long shall throw
Its shadow on their sacred bed.
But on their deeds no shade shall fall,
While o'er their couch thy sun shall flame :
Thine ear was bowed to hear their call,
And thy right hand shall guard their fame.
147. THE MARSEILLES HYMN.
YE sons of Freedom, wake to glory!
Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,
Behold their tears, and hear their cries.
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding?
To arms! to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath:
March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings, confederate, raise ;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities blaze;
And shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing?
To arms! to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath :
March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
With luxury and pride surrounded,
The vile insatiate despots dare,
Their thirst of power and gold unbounded,
To mete and vend the light and air.
Like beasts of burden would they load us;
Like gods, would bid their slaves adore ;
But man is man, and who is more?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us?
J. R. DE L'ISLE. FRANCES J. CROSBY.
To arms! to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath:
March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
O Liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee;
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept, bewailing,
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield;
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms! to arms, ye brave!
Th' avenging sword unsheath:
March on, march on, all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
SPEAK not harshly when reproving
Those from duty's path who stray :
If we would reclaim the erring,
Kindness must each action sway.
Speak not harshly to the wayward ;-
Win their confidence-their love;
They will feel how pure the motive
That hath led us to reprove.
Speak not harshly to the stranger,
Though he come in humble guise ;
Think how slight a thing would kindle
Gladness in a stranger's eyes.
Speak not harshly to the felon,
Though like adamant his heart;
Touch one chord of fond affection,
And the scalding tear may start.
Speak not harshly to the orphan,
They have borne of grief their share;
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