Part 4 (1/2)

The tambour' is silent, O G.o.d of the Nile!

The harp has been hung in acacian shade.

We are bowed to the earth, we are broken and bent, And the blade of our fathers in dust has been laid.

We came, as the simoom creeps over the plain; We came, as the tiger its covert forsakes; As the hurricane brushes the dust from the brakes; As the lightning leaps out and the thunder-G.o.d shakes.

We are shorn of our strength as with plague we are smote; The axe has been wrenched from the hands that are brawn, And the arms whose strong sinews till now were unbent Have been broken as brittles; our prowess is gone.

O! thou bright s.h.i.+ning G.o.d! with thy scintles of gold; If thy children have gathered the glow of thy face, If thy kisses, ere warmed to the lips that are cold, O we pray! let us feel thy impa.s.sioned embrace.

We are journeying forth to the cradle of morn, Where thy lids feel the weight of their slumbering still; We would kneel at thy bed where the seasons are born, And learn from thy lips the whole law of thy will.

Have we sinned in thy sight? have we slackened our pace?

Are we paying the forfeit in wormwood of shame?

We draw nearer to thee, and our lives we would place In the hands of the Maker, that out of thy flame

We may gather that fire that shall glow with thy love; And will never grow dim through the future of years, That shall make us like thee, and our fealty prove 'Till we learn to forget this dark trackhood of tears.

As we turn to the East, wilt thou smile on our way?

Wilt thou lessen the distance between us and thee?

Or our hearts remain hungry, the shadow still stay With its wizard arm lifted to smite as we flee.

We doubt thee no longer--we know thou wilt aid; We turn to the path where thy morning rays s.h.i.+ne; We will seek thy first footfall, and all unafraid, We feel thee, we love thee, we know we are thine.

We leave the old life, with the graves of our kin, We turn from the sunset of dampness and death, We turn where the light with its G.o.d doth begin, And the praise of the day-king embalms every breath;

Where the sun slakes his thirst with the dew of the flowers, Where the night flees before him far into the west, Where the honey-dew clings to the fruit-laden hours, Where the soul sets its table, with Joy as its guest.

So does our faith stand out against our grief; So does our hope grow up into belief.

One G.o.d? Yes, Father, Thou! and only One.

We praise thee; yet, our praise is only done, When we extol thee for the gift of faith.

Not every one can name thee; but each breath May be enladen with the thought of praise And all adore thy attributes--the ways That they adore thee are not always thine; Yet, do they bend to thy great thoroughfare and s.h.i.+ne With light from the Eternal throne; 'tis well, Nor otherwise than good--it can but swell The choral of thy praise; and in the end These thousand thoughts of Deity, in thee, not fail to blend.

THE JOURNEY.

O thou! who charmed the demons in the breast Of Saul, and set the universal voice Of all the earth to thy unflagging song; Thou royal shepherd! bend for us across The bridge of ages thy leant lips, and pour The echo of thy music on our souls.

And Thou of Nazareth! whose very life Was as the cadence of a well-strung harp, Thyself the instrument, upon whose strings, Ten thousand symphonies are left entranced; Pour in the empty vial of our verse, Some of thy soul of music, and let s.h.i.+ne Through every darkened crevice of the heart, Rays of celestial suns.h.i.+ne. Not in vain Our humble dalliance, if thou set the charm Of thine approval. Let our song be praise And devotate our hands, that there be left No tissue, but is animate of Thee!

The seas reach out to clasp each other's hands, The greater and the less, and leap the sands That tear in two their waters; but not so She of the Nile; her rights will not forego.

The hand that rocks the crib of empire holds A charm, that locks the East and West in one The track of nations is her beaten path, And undisputed, till the earth be done.

Man may disturb it, but the hand of G.o.d Has placed a thousand tokens on this sod.

The flocks are gathered, and the flight began, Old Uri and attendants in the van; The portents were of good as far as seen, Each breast a shrine of hope; thus early man Gave little time to sorrow--after years Were left for its fruition; light of heart, These early-planted germlets of the earth, Took their reverses in the better part Of hardihood; they had thus early learned, That in the chafe of fortune there is gain; That scars are coronets, though they be burned Deep in the brow of care; each gem a pain.

Our philosophic age with heavy draught, Drinks deep in phantasies, but fails to learn The wiser lesson of this early craft, To catch the wheel of fortune with each turn.

East over Syria they bent their steps, Meeting Euphrates many leagues above Where Babylon since molded into form Her mystical proportions; and so strove Persistently the mastery of earth.

Crossing the Tigris but a span below, Where Taurus from his fountains feeds the stream, They traverse Persia with its after-glow Of conquest; where Ispahan gave touch, To chords that deify the voice of song, And mellow through the ages, if so much As but an echo would inspire the tongue, With that enchantment, that rolls down the course Of her great history. We seek in vain Another Cyrus, or another force Of Scripture fulfillment, with lesser pain, And Time's repleted garner has no riper grain.

Still East they cross the Amoo, and above Where now, Bokhara's languor and repose Invites the Sclavic hordes in summer quest Of forage. And Belor, giant like, still throws Its shadow o'er the landscape; and the Koosh Shortens the noon of summer, from the South; A thousand sparkling torrents downward rush, And pour their waste of waters in the mouth Of Indus. They cross where Belor melts its snow, To placid Cashgar's arms, sending below A current to the waste of farther Nor.

They stand on Cobis' southern girt, and drink The final retrospective of the West; And keep the gloomy borders to the brink Of far-off Koulon, where the Argoon lends Its mite of wastage to the vast Amour; And the impetuous s.h.i.+lka, swiftly sends Its tribute to the master of Mantchoor.