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none at hand of higher grace
The Cross to carry in his place.

But if he hears and sits him still,
First, he will lose his hate of ill;
Next, fear of sinning, after hate;
Small sins his heart then desecrate;
And last, despair persuades to great.

Off Ithaca. December 30, 1832.

LIV The Death of Moses

My Fatherā€™s hope! my childhoodā€™s dream!
The promise from on high!
Long waited for! its glories beam
Now when my death is nigh.

My death is come, but not decay;
Nor eye nor mind is dim;
The keenness of youthā€™s vigorous day
Thrills in each nerve and limb.

Blest scene! thrice welcome after toilā ā€”
If no deceit I view;
O might my lips but press the soil,
And prove the vision true!

Its glorious heights, its wealthy plains,
Its many-tinted groves,
They call! but He my steps restrains
Who chastens whom He loves.

Ah! now they meltā ā€Šā ā€¦ they are but shadesā ā€Šā ā€¦
I die!ā ā€”yet is no rest,
O Lord! in store, since Canaan fades
But seen, and not possest?

Off Ithaca. December 30, 1832.

LV Melchizedek

ā€œWithout father, without mother, without descent; having neither beginning of days, nor end of life.ā€

Thrice blessā€™d are they, who feel their loneliness;
To whom nor voice of friends nor pleasant scene
Brings aught on which the saddenā€™d heart can lean;
Yea, the rich earth, garbā€™d in her daintiest dress
Of light and joy, doth but the more oppress,
Claiming responsive smiles and rapture high;
Till, sick at heart, beyond the veil they fly,
Seeking His Presence, who alone can bless.
Such, in strange days, the weapons of Heavenā€™s grace;
When, passing oā€™er the high-born Hebrew line,
He moulds the vessel of His vast design;
Fatherless, homeless, reft of age and place,
Severā€™d from earth, and careless of its wreck,
Born through long woe His rare Melchizedek.

Corfu. January 5, 1833.

LVI Corcyra

I sat beneath an oliveā€™s branches grey,
And gazed upon the sight of a lost town,
By sage and poet raised to long renown;
Where dwelt a race that on the sea held sway,
And, restless as its waters, forced a way
For civil strife a hundred states to drown.
That multitudinous stream we now note down
As though one life, in birth and in decay.
But is their beingā€™s history spent and run,
Whose spirits live in awful singleness,
Each in its self-formā€™d sphere of light or gloom?
Henceforth, while pondering the fierce deeds then done,
Such reverence on me shall its seal impress
As though I corpses saw, and walkā€™d the tomb.

At Sea. January 7, 1833.

LVII Transfiguration

ā€œThey glorified God in me.ā€

I saw thee once and nought discernā€™d
For stranger to admire;
A serious aspect, but it burnā€™d
With no unearthly fire.

Again I saw, and I confessā€™d
Thy speech was rare and high;
And yet it vexā€™d my burdenā€™d breast,
And scared, I knew not why.

I saw once more, and awe-struck gazed
On face, and form, and air;
Godā€™s living glory round thee blazedā ā€”
A Saintā ā€”a Saint was there!

Off Zante. January 8, 1833.

LVIII Behind the Veil

Banishā€™d the House of sacred rest,
Amid a thoughtless throng,
At length I heard its creed confessā€™d,
And knelt the saints among.

Artless his strain and unadornā€™d,
Who spoke Christā€™s message there;
But what at home I might have scornā€™d,
Now charmā€™d my famishā€™d ear.

Lord, grant me this abiding grace,
Thy Word and sons to know;
To pierce the veil on Mosesā€™ face,
Although his speech be slow.

At Sea. January 9, 1833.

LIX Judgment

If eā€™er I fall beneath Thy rod,
As through lifeā€™s snares I go,
Save me from Davidā€™s lot, O God!
And choose Thyself the woe.

How should I face Thy plagues? which scare,
And haunt, and stun, until
The heart or sinks in mute despair,
Or names a random ill.

If elseā ā€Šā ā€¦ then guide in Davidā€™s path,
Who chose the holier pain;
Satan and man are tools of wrath,
An Angelā€™s scourge is gain.

Off Malta. January 10, 1833.

LX Sensitiveness

Time was, I shrank from what was right
From fear of what was wrong;
I would not brave the sacred fight,
Because the foe was strong.

But now I cast that finer sense
And sorer shame aside;
Such dread of sin was indolence,
Such aim at Heaven was pride.

So, when my Saviour calls, I rise,
And calmly do my best;
Leaving to Him, with silent eyes
Of hope and fear, the rest.

I step, I mount where He has led;
Men count my haltings oā€™er;ā ā€”
I know them; yet, though self I dread,
I love His precept more.

Lazaret, Malta. January 15, 1833.

LXI David and Jonathan

ā€œThy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.ā€

O heart of fire! misjudged by wilful man,
Thou flower of Jesseā€™s race!
What woe was thine, when thou and Jonathan
Last greeted face to face!
He doomā€™d to die, thou on us to impress
The portent of a blood-stainā€™d holiness.

Yet it was well:ā ā€”for so, ā€™mid cares of rule
And crimeā€™s encircling tide,
A spell was oā€™er thee, zealous one, to cool
Earth-joy and kingly pride;
With battle-scene and pageant, prompt to blend
The pale calm spectre of a blameless friend.

Ah! had he lived, before thy throne to stand,
Thy spirit keen and high
Sure it had snappā€™d in twain loveā€™s slender band,
So dear in memory;
Paul, of his comrade reft, the warning givesā ā€”
He lives to us who dies, he is but lost who lives.

Lazaret, Malta. January 16, 1833.

LXII Humiliation

I have been honourā€™d and obeyā€™d,
I have met scorn and slight;
And my heart loves earthā€™s sober shade,
More than her laughing light.

For what is rule but a sad weight
Of duty and a snare?
What meanness, but with happier fate
The Saviourā€™s Cross to share?

This my hid choice, if not from heaven,
Moves on the heavenward line;
Cleanse it, good Lord, from earthly leaven,
And make it simply Thine.

Lazaret, Malta. January 16, 1833.

LXIII The Call of David

ā€œAnd the Lord said, Arise, anoint him, for this is he.ā€

Latest born of Jesseā€™s race,
Wonder

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