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Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil!

Yet still renewed`: still round and round he goes,
And strains, and snatches`, and with dreadful cries
Calls on his boy.

(hh) Mad frenzy fires him now:

He plants against the wall his feet`; his chain
Grasps; tugs with giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple`; yells and shrieks with rage:
And, like a desert lion in the snare,

Raging to break his toils,-to and fro bounds`.
(7) But see! the ground is opening;-a blue light
Mounts, gently waving,-noiseless`;-thin and cold
It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flăme;
But by its luster, on the earth outstretched,
Behold the lifeless child! his dress is singed,
And, o'er his face serene, a darkened line
Points out the lightning's track.



(1) The father saw,

And all his fury fled`:-a dead calm fell

That instant on him:-speechless'—fixed'—he stood`,
And with a look that never wandered', gazed
Intensely on the corse`. Those laughing eyes'
Were not yet closed`,-and round those ruby lips
The wonted smile returned`.

Silent and pale

The father stands:-no tear is in his eye':-
The thunders bellow`;-but he hears them not':
The ground lifts like a sea; he knows it not':-
The strong walls grind and gape:-the vaulted roof
Takes shape like bubble tossing in the wind`;
See! he looks up and smiles`;-for death to him
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace
Be given', 't were still a sweeter thing to die.

12. It will be given. (h) Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near

Moves toward the father's outstretched arm his boy':
Once he has touched his garment`:-how his eye
Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears!
Ha! see! he has him now!-he clasps him round;
Kisses his face; puts back the curling locks,
That shaded his fine brow; looks in his eyes;
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands`;
(7) Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping`; and resigned, awaits
Undreaded death.

13. (7) And death came sōōn and swift,

And pangless-The huge pile sünk dōwn at önce
Into the opening earth. Walls—arches'—roof`—
And deep foundation stones-all-mingling-fell!







We are all here!

Father', mother',

Sister, brother`,

All who hold each other dear`.
Each chair is filled`: we're all at home.
To-night, let no cold stranger come`:
It is not often thus around

Our old familiar hearth we 're found':
Bless then the meeting and the spot`;
For once, be every care forgot`;
Let gentle Peace assert her power,
And kind Affection rule the hour;
We're all'all' here`.

We're not all here!

Some are away-the dead ones dear,
Who thronged with us this ancient hearth,
And gave the hour to guiltless mirth.
Fate, with a stern relentless hand,
Look'd in and thinn'd our little band':
Some, like a night-flash, passed away,
And some sank lingering day by day`;
The quiet grave-yard-some lie there
And cruel Ocean' has his share:
We're not all here.

We are all here!

Even they, the dead-though dead', so dear`, Fond Memory, to her duty true,

Brings back their faded forms to view.
How life-like through the mist of years,
Each well-remembered face appears!
We see them as in times long past,
From each to each kind looks are cast`;
We hear their words, their smiles` behold,
They're round us, as they were of old-
We are all here.

We are all here!
Father', mother',

Sister, brother,

You that I love with love so dear`.
This may not long of us be said';
Soon must we join the gathered dead,
And by the hearth we now sit round,
Some other circle will be found.
Oh! then, that wisdom may we know,
Which yields a life of peace below;

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2. But though impressions calm and sweet
Thrill round my heart a holy heat,
And I am inly glad',

The tear-drop stands in either eye`,
And yet I can not tell thee why,
I'm pleased, and yet I'm sad.

3. The silvery rack that flies away
Like mortal life or pleasure's ray,
Does that disturb my breast?
Nay, what have 1`, a studious man`,
To do with life's unstable plan,
Or pleasure's fading vest?

4. Is it that here I must not stop,
But o'er yon blue hill's woody top
Must bend my lonely way?
No, surely no! for give but me
My own fireside, and I shall be
At home, where'er I stray.

5. Then is it that yon steeple there,
With music sweet shall fill the air,

When thou no more canst hear?
Oh, no! oh, no! for then forgiven,
I shall be with my God in heaven,
Released from every fear`.

6. Then whence it is I can not tell`,
But there is some mysterious spell
That holds me when I'm glad;
And so the tear-drop fills my eye`,
When yet, in truth, I know not why,
Or wherefore, I am sad.




1. AND Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done', and withal, how he had slain all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger unto Elijah, saying, So let the gods do to me', and more also, if I make not thy' life as the life of one of them', by tomorrow about this time. And when he saw that', he arose and went for his life', and came and sat down under a junipertree', and he requested for himself that he might die', and said, It is enough'; now, O Lord', take away my life'; for I am not better than my fathers.

2. And as he lay and slept under a juniper-tree', behold, then an angel' touched him, and said unto him, Arise, and eat! And he looked, and behold, there was a cake baked on the coals, and a cruse of water at his head. And he did eat and drink', and laid him down' again. And the angel of the Lord came again the second time, and touched him, and said, Arise and eat; because the journey is too great' for thee. And he arose, and did eat and drink', and went in the strength of that meat, forty days and forty nights', unto Horeb, the mount of God.

3. And he came thither unto a cave, and lodged' there; and behold, the word of the Lord came' to him, and he said unto him, What dost thou here', Elijah"? And he said, I have been very jealous for the Lord God of hosts'; for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword': and I, even I only, am left'; and they seek my life, to take it away.

4. And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by', and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks, before the Lord'; but the Lord was not in the wind': and after the wind an earthquake'; but the Lord was not in the earthquake': and after the earthquake, a fire'; but the Lord was not in the fire': and after the fire, a still, small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle', and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave.

5. And behold there came a voice unto him, and said, What dost thou here', Elijah'? And he said, I have been very jealous for the Lord God of hosts'; because the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, thrown down thine altars, and slain thy prophets with the sword'; and I, even I only, am left'; and they

seek my life, to take it away. And the Lord said unto him, Go', return on thy way to the wilderness of Damascus': and when thou comest, anoint Hazael to be king over Syria'; and Jehu the son of Nimshi shalt thou anoint to be king over Israel'; and Elisha shalt thou anoint to be prophet in thy room. And it shall come

to pass, that him that escapeth the sword of Hazael, shall Jehu' slay; and him that escapeth the sword of Jehu, shall Elisha slay. Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which hath not kissed' him. So, he departed thence.


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1. "Go forth," it had been said to Elijah', "and stand upon the mount before the Lord." The prophet hears it, and leaves his cave'; and no sooner is he gone forth, than signs occur which announce to him the approach of the Almighty. The sacred historian here, indeed, depicts in simple language, a most sublime


2. The first sign was a tremendous wind'. Just before, probably, the deepest silence had prevailed throughout this dreary wilderness. The mountain-tempest breaks forth, and the bursting rocks thunder, as if the four winds, having been confined there, had in an instant broken from their prisons to fight' together. The clouds are driven about in the sky, like squadrons of combatants rushing to the conflict. The sandy desert is like a raging sea, tossing its curling billows to the sky. Sinai is agitated, as if the terrors of the law-giving were renewing around it. The prophet feels the majesty of Jehovah'; it is awful and appalling. It is not a feeling of peace, and of the Lord's blissful nearness, which possesses Elijah's soul in this tremendous scene'; it is rather a feeling of distressing distance'; "a strong wind went before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind."

3. The terrors of an earthquake' next ensue. The very foundations of the hills shake and are removed. The mountains and the rocks which were rent by the mighty wind, threaten now to fall upon one another. Hills sink down, and valleys rise; chasms yawn, and horrible depths unfold, as if the earth were removed out of his place. The prophet, surrounded by the ruins of nature, feels still more of that divine majesty, which "looketh upon the

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