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Weep not for Her.

WEEP not for her! Her span was like the sky, Whose thousand stars shine beautiful and bright, Like flowers that know not what it is to die,

Like long link'd shadeless months of polar light,

Like music floating o'er a waveless lake,
While echo answers from the flowery brake,
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! She died in early youth,
Ere hope had lost its rich romantic hues,
When human bosoms seem'd the homes of truth,

And earth still gleam'd with beauty's radiant dews.
Her summer prime waned not to days that freeze,
Her wine of life was not run to the lees:
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! By fleet or slow decay
It never grieved her bosom's core to mark
The playmates of her childhood wane away,

Her prospects wither, and her hopes grow dark.
Translated by her God with spirit shriven,

She pass'd, as 'twere on smiles, from earth to heaven: Weep not for her!

WEEP NOT FOR HER.

Weep not for her! It was not hers to feel

The miseries that corrode amassing years,
'Gainst dreams of baffled bliss the heart to steel,
To wander sad down age's vale of tears,
As whirl the wither'd leaves from friendship's tree,
And on earth's wintry wold alone to be:
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! She is an angel now,
And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise,
All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow,
Sin, sorrow, suffering, banish'd from her eyes;
Victorious over death, to her appears

The vista'd joys of heaven's eternal years:
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! Her memory is the shrine

Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers,

Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline,

Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers,

Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light,

Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night:
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! There is no cause of wo,
But rather nerve the spirit that it walk
Unshrinking o'er the thorny path below,

And from earth's low defilements keep thee back.
So, when a few fleet swerving years have flown,
She'll meet thee at heaven's gate-and lead thee on:
Weep not for her!

D. M. MOIR,

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SONG OF THE JEWS.

Like us in utter helplessness,
In their last and worst distress,
On the sand and sea-weed lying,
Israel pour'd her doleful sighing;
While before the deep sea flow'd,
And behind fierce Egypt rode,
To their fathers' God they pray'd,
To the Lord of Hosts for aid.

On the margin of the flood

With lifted rod the Prophet stood;

And the summon'd east wind blew,

And aside it sternly threw

The gather'd waves, that took their stand,

Like crystal rocks, on either hand,

Or walls of sea-green marble piled
Round some irregular city wild.

Then the light of morning lay
On the wonder-paved way,
Where the treasures of the deep
In their caves of coral sleep.
The profound abysses, where
Was never sound from upper air,
Rang with Israel's chanted words,
King of kings! and Lord of lords!

Then with bow and banner glaneing,

On exulting Egypt came,

With her chosen horsemen prancing

And her ears on wheels of flame,

In a rich and boastful ring,

All around her furious king.

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