88

PSALM CXXXVII

We sat us down and wept,

Where Babel's waters slept,

And we thought of home and Zion as a long-gone happy dream;

We hung our harps in air,

On the willow-boughs, which there,

Gloomy as round a sepulchre, were drooping o'er the stream.

The foes, whose chains we wore,

Were with us on that shore,

Exulting in our tears that told the bitterness of woe. "Sing us," they cried aloud,

"Ye, once so high and proud,

The songs ye sang in Zion ere we laid her glory low."

And shall the harp of heaven

To Judah's monarch given,

Be touched by captive fingers, or grace a fettered hand?

No! sooner be my tongue

Mute, powerless, and unstrung,

Than its words of holy music make glad a stranger

land.

May this right hand, whose skill

Can wake the harp at will,

And bid the listeners' joys or griefs in light or dark

ness come,

Forget its godlike power,

If for one brief, dark hour,

My heart forgets Jerusalem, fallen city of my home.

Daughter of Babylon!

Blessed be that chosen one,

Whom God shall send to smite thee, when there is

none to save;

He from the mother's breast
Shall pluck the babe at rest,

And lay it in the sleep of death beside its father's

grave!

89

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK

FROM PSALM CXXXIX

Where from Thy presence shall I flee?
Where seek a hiding-place from Thee?
If the pure breath of Heaven I share,
Lo! I shall find Thy spirit there!
If, wandering in the depths of hell,
I trust in secrecy to dwell,

Behold! in all Thy power and might

Thou, Lord, shalt pierce the veil of night.

If on the radiant wings of morn
To unknown lands I'm gently borne,
There, even there, Thy hand shall lead,
Thy voice support my sinking head.
If to my inmost soul I say

Darkness and night shall shroud my way,
That darkness shall dissolve in light,
And day usurp the throne of night.
No power can dim Thy searching eye,
Or bid Thy guardian spirit fly.

Thou knowest well each infant thought,
Which passion, pride, or sin has taught;
And doubts and fears, but half-expressed,
To Thee, Almighty, stand confessed.
Plain as the waves of yonder sea,

Man's subtlest thoughts are known to Thee
From the small insect tribe which plays
Within the sun's enlivening rays,

To the broad ocean waves which rise

In heaving billows to the skies,

Or great or small, each work of Thine,
It whispers of a hand divine.

Each breeze which fans the twilight hour,
Speeds onward, guided by Thy power;
Each wind which wildly sweeps abroad,
Is teeming with the voice of God.

MARGARET M. DAVIDSON

90

PSALM CXLV

[Sir Robert Grant lived from 1779 to 1838. His parliamentary career was distinguished by his persistent efforts to obtain the removal of the civil disabilities of the Jews in England. In 1833, with the aid of Macaulay, Hume, and O'Connell, he succeeded in passing a resolution in favor of Jewish emancipation, and in the same session carried a bill through the House of Commons with the same object. It was, however, rejected by the House of Lords, as was a similar bill passed by the House of Commons the following year. It was not until 1858, twenty years after his death, that the object to which he had devoted so much time and thought was accomplished. ALFRED H. MILES.]

O worship the King

All glorious above;

O gratefully sing

His power and love;
Our Shield and Defender,
The Ancient of days,
Pavilioned in splendor,
And girded with praise.

O tell of His might,

O sing of His grace,
Whose robe is the light,

Whose canopy space;
His chariots of wrath

Deep thunder-clouds form,

And dark is His path

On the wings of the storm.

*

The earth with its store
Of wonders untold,
Almighty, Thy power
Hath founded of old;
Hath 'stablished it fast

By a changeless decree,

And round it hath cast,
Like a mantle, the sea.

Thy bountiful care

What tongue can recite?
It breathes in the air,
It shines in the light;
It streams from the hills,
It descends to the plain,
And sweetly distils

In the dew and the rain.

O measureless Might,
Ineffable Love,
While angels delight

To hymn Thee above,
Thy humbler creation,
Though feeble their lays,
With true adoration

Shall lisp to Thy praise.

SIR ROBERT GRANT