True! as thy lineaments I trace, But when I count the souls that now, Erst bowed to thee, in hell must bow- I note within thy fixed eye, A glance of flame that cannot die, Since thou hast dared the god-head claim; The sun shines bright, and tells each day, As on he speeds his jocund way, The goodness of his God; But when thine image meets his view, Prone on the dewy sod. The trees, with arms entwining, stand, To shield thee from the storm; The breezes of the ambient air, That now in Nature's gladness share, All things dishonor thee-in vain When loosened on their wings of wrath, All things dishonor thee-save man, Bows 'fore the shadow of a shade, The image vain his hands have made, But I from this debasement flee, I love to mark a beauteous stone But when it climbs its Maker's throne, I loathe, and turn away! POZZUOLI. WHERE WE FOUND BRETHREN, AND WERE DESIRED TO TARRY WITH THEM SEVEN DAYS. ACTS XXVIII. 14. I SAW one step from off the wave, Led by an armed band; Not his the bearing of a slave, Tho' manacled his hand Who looked his eye within might find His brow was white with age or care, 6 1 2 Sam. xxiii. 4. Troubled he seemed-yet hushed and still; Perplext-yet not distrest; Sorrows, yet joys, his pledge-cup fill; 'Twas strange! who watched his changing mien, Had deemed a two-fold world within. On his hoar locks the sun-rays gleamed, Hard was his lot, whate'er his crime, When lo! from out the throng, who came Ran one, uncheck'd by fear or shame, The prisoner bound to greet And, as long lost, yet found again, Hung on his neck, and loosed his chain. Brother he was not, for his tongue Nor friend of youth-the accents rung- No brother, -friend? then who was he, Their eyes had never met before, Oh what the joy to find on earth A brother of the second birth! Ah then! a week of love and bliss, Puteoli! was thine! Nor yet with thee the harlot-kiss, With thee, the traitor-sign! Tho' small the flock,-their words of love Were heard, and treasured up above.' But richest seasons pass - and night And meeting-smiles, however bright, No Joshua's hand the sun-beam stays; The seed was scattered thick-the soil And Hope sat by to reap her toil, 1 Mal. iii, 16. |