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No. I
Come with the voice, the lyre,
Daughters of Judah, with the timbrel rise;
Ye of the dark, prophetic, eastern eyes,
Imperial in their visionary fire;
Oh! Steep my soul in that old glorious time,
When God’s own whispers shook the cedars of your clime.
Mrs. Hemans.
Ye come, ye come! I see a spirit band
Through the dim, shadowy twilight of the past,
Slowly advancing:—Nearer! nearer yet!
Ethereal spirits! that my soul may catch
A glimpse of that bright loveliness o’er which
A charm of heaven lingers;—oh! How unlike
The beauty of this earth!
Now swifter move
Those glittering pinions, and one radiant form*
Is bending queen-like o’er her sister shades.
Hark! How their voices swell! the golden clouds
Hang motionless; light silvery masses roll,
And half envelop the bright, beauteous forms
Of the fair choristers. Sweet vision, stay!
Let not the o’erwearied mind, too sorely tried,
Be fettered down again to earth’s dull tasks,
But lose itself thus in sweet dreams of heaven.
* Sarah.
SARAH
Room! for that queenly one;
Room! for the peerless gem;
Place on her form the regal robe,
On her brow the diadem.
And hail her as the queen
Of a high and noble race;
Proud mother of a princely line,
Radiant in every grace.
She comes, a husband’s pride,
Protected by his arms;
And haughty kings and princes bend
In homage to her charms.
From her our race hath sprung—
She has given us a dower
More dear than gems or robes of price,
Or the pomp of earthly power.
Then blest, forever blest!
Be she, who thus hath given
Unto her weary, earth-born sons,
A heritage in heaven.
Philadelphia, May 18th, 1846.
Rebekah
Hyneman Index
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