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Red from the scourge, and weary from the chain?
Friend of the poor! the poor and friendless save-
Giver and Lord of freedom! help the slave.
North, south, and west the sandy whirlwinds fly
The circling pall of Egypt's chivalry.

On earth's last margin throng the weeping train,
Their cloudy guide moves on-And must we sweep the main ?
Mid the light spray the snorting camels stood,
Nor bathed a fetlock in the nauseous flood.

He comes their leader comes-the man of God
O'er the wide water lifts his mighty rod,
And onward treads; the circling waves retreat
In hoarse deep murmurs from his holy feet:
And the chafed surges, inly roaring, show
The hard wet sand and coral hills below.

With limbs that falter and with hearts that swell,
Down, down they pass a deep and slippery dell;
Round them arise, in pristine chaos hurled,
The ancient rocks, the secrets of the world ;
And flowers that blush beneath the ocean green,
And caves, the sea-calf's low-roofed haunts, are seen.
Down, safely down the narrow pass they tread,
The seething waters storm above their head;
While far behind retires the sinking day,
And fades on Edom's hills its latest ray.
Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light,

Or dark to them or cheerless came the night;

Still in the van along that dreadful road

Blazed broad and fierce the brandished torch of God,
Its meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave

On the long mirror of the rosy wave;
While its blest beams a sunlike heat supply,
Warm every cheek and dance in every eye-
To them alone :—for Mizraim's wizard train

Invoke for light their monster gods in vain :

Clouds heaped on clouds their struggling sight confine,
And tenfold darkness broods along their line;

Yet on they go by reckless vengeance led,

And range unconscious through the ocean's bed.

Till midway now that strange and fiery form,

Showed his dread visage, lightening through the storm,
With withering splendor blasted all their might,

And brake their chariot wheels and marred their coursers' flight.
"Fly, Mizraim, fly," the ravenous floods they see,
And fiercer than the floods, the Deity!

"Fly, Mizraim, fly," from Edom's coral strand,
Again the prophet stretched his dreadful wand :
With one wild crash the thundering waters sweep,
And all is waves—a dark and lonely deep:
Yet o'er those lonely waves such murmurs passed,
As mortal wailing swelled the nightly blast,
And strange and sad the whispering surges bore
The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore.

Oh! welcome came the morn, where Israel stood
In trustless wonder by the avenging flood!
Oh! welcome came the cheerful morn to show
The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below;
The mingled limbs of men, the broken car,
A few sad relics of a nation's war:
Alas, how few! Then soft as Elim's well,
The precious tears of new-born freedom fell;
And he whose hardened heart alike had borne
The hours of bondage and the oppressor's scorn,
The stubborn slave, by hope's new beams subdued,
In faltering accents sobbed his gratitude.

Till, kindling into warmer zeal around,

The virgin timbrel waked its silver sound;

And in fierce joy no more by doubt suppressed,

The struggling spirit throbbed in Miriam's breast.
She-with bare arms, and fixing on the sky
The dark transparence of her lucid eye-

Poured on the winds of heaven her wild sweet harmony.
"Where now," she sang, "the tall Egyptian spear,

Oris' sunlike shield and Zoan's chariot, where?

Above their ranks the whelming waters spread;
Shout Israel! for the Lord hath triumphed !"

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THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE.

THOU art gone to the grave-but we will not deplore thee,
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb;
The Saviour has passed through its portals before thee,
And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave-v
-we no longer behold thee,
Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side,
But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,
And sinners may hope since the Sinless has died.

Thou art gone to the grave-and its mansion forsaking,
Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered long,
But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,
And the song which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song.

Thou art gone to the grave-but 'twere wrong to deplore ther
When God was thy ranson, thy guardian, thy guide :
He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee,
Where death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died.

HYMN ON THE

CREATION.

OH! blest were the accents of early creation,

When the words of Jehovah came down from above,

In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,

And wake their cold atoms to life and to love.

And mighty the tones which the firmament rended,
When on the wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind,
By lightning and hail, and thick darkness attended,
He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind.

And sweet was the voice of the first-born of heaven,
Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form;
Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven,"
"Be whole" to the sick, and, "Be still" to the storm.

O Judge of the world! when arrayed in thy glory,
Thy summons again shall be heard from on high,
When nature stands trembling and naked before Thee,
And waits on thy sentence to live or to die—

When the heavens shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder,
And the sun in thy lightnings grow languid and pale,
And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave asunder,
In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail.

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WHEN Spring unlocks the flowers, to paint the laughing soil;
When Summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's toil;
When Winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good.

The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade;
The winds that sweep the mountain, or lull the drowsy glade;
The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,
The moon, and stars, their Maker's name in silent pomp display.

Shall man the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,-
Shall man alone unthankful, his little praise deny?
No,-let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love; and, Saviour, honor Thee.

The flowers of Spring may wither,—the hope of Summer fade,—
The Autumn droop in Winter,-the birds forsake the shade,—
The wind be lulled,—the sun and moon forget their old decree,—
But we in nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee.

THE FOLLOWERS OF CHRIST.

THE Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain:
His blood-red banner streams afar:
Who follows in his train?

Who best can drink his cup of wo,
Triumphant over pain,

Who patient bears his cross below,
He follows in his train.

The martyr first, whose eagle eye

Could pierce beyond the grave;
Who saw his Maker in the sky,
And called on Him to save.

Like Him, with pardon on his tongue
In midst of mortal pain,

He prayed for them that did the wrong.
Who follows in his train?

A glorious band, the chosen few,

On whom the Spirit came;

Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew,
And mocked the cross and flame.

They met the tyrant's brandished steel,
The lion's gory mane;

They bowed their necks the death to feel.
Who follows in their train?

A noble army-men and boys,

The matron and the maid-
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice,
In robes of light arrayed.

They climb the steep ascent of heaven,
Through peril, toil, and pain!
O God! to us may grace be given
To follow in their train!

THE RAISING OF THE WIDOW'S SON.

WEEP not, O mother, sounds of lamentation;
Weep not, O widow, weep not hopelessly!
Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation!

Strong is the Word of God to succor thee!

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