Twelfth Psalm of David.

V.

WATTS.

LORD! if thou dost not soon appear,
Virtue and truth will flee away;

A faithful man among us here

Will scarce be found if thou delay.

The whole discourse, when neighbors meet,
Is filled with trifles loose and vain;
Their lips are flattery and deceit,
And their proud language is profane.

But lips that with deceit abound,

Shall not maintain their triumph long; The God of vengeance will confound Their flattering and blaspheming tongue.

The Lord, who sees the poor oppressed, And hears the oppressor's haughty strain, Will rise to give his children rest,

Nor shall they trust his word in vain.

Restoration of Israel.

Thy word, O Lord, though often tried,
Void of deceit shall still appear;

Nor silver, seven times purified

From dross and mixture, shines so clear,

Thy grace shall, in the darkest hour,
Defend the holy soul from harm;
Though when the vilest men have power,
On every side will sinners swarm.

17

Restoration of Esrael.

VI.

MONTGOMERY.

DAUGHTER of Zion, from the dust
Exalt thy fallen head;

Again in thy Redeemer trust,

He calls thee from the dead.

CROLY.

King of the dead! how long shall sweep

Thy wrath! how long thy outcasts weep!

Two thousand agonizing years

Has Afric steeped her bread in tears;

The vial on her head been poured

Flight, famine, shame, the scourge, the sword!

18

Restoration of Israel.

Awake, awake, put on thy strength,
Thy beautiful array;

The day of freedom dawns at length,
The Lord's appointed day.

'Tis done! Has breathed thy trumpet blast;
The tribes at length have wept their last!
On rolls the host! From land and wave
The earth sends up the unransomed slave !
There rides no glittering chivalry,

No banner purples in the sky;

The world within their hearts has died;
Two thousand years have slain their pride!
The look of pale remorse is there,
The lip's involuntary prayer;

The form still marked with many a stain-
Brand of the soil, the scourge, the chain;
The serf of Afric's fiery ground;

The slave, by Southern suns embrowned;
The weary drudges of the oar,
By the swart Arab's poisoned shore,

The gatherings of earth's wildest tract

On bursts the living cataract !

What strength of man can check its speed?
They come the nation of the freed!

Who leads their march? Beneath His wheel
Back rolls the sea, the mountains reel !
Before their tread His trump is blown,
Who speaks in thunder, and 'tis done!
King of the dead! Oh, not in vain
Was thy long pilgrimage of pain;
Oh not in vain arose thy prayer,
When pressed the thorn thy temples bare;
Oh, not in vain the voice that cried,
To spare thy maddened homicide!

Redemption of Israel.

Rebuild thy walls, thy bounds enlarge,
And send thy heralds forth;

Say to the south, Give up thy charge,
And keep not back, O north!'

They come, they come ;-thine exiled bands

Where'er they rest or roam,

Have heard thy voice in distant lands,

And hasten to their home.

Even for this hour thy heart's blood streamed !
They come !-the host of the redeemed!

What flames upon the distant sky?
"T is not the comet's sanguine dye,
"T is not the lightning's quivering spire,
'T is not the sun's ascending fire.

And now, as nearer speeds their march
Expands the rainbow's mighty arch;
Though there has burst no thundercloud,
No flash of death the soil has ploughed,
And still ascends before their gaze,
Arch upon arch, the lovely blaze;
Still as the gorgeous clouds unfold,
Rise towers and domes, immortal mould.
Whose city this? What potentate
Sits there the King of Time and Fate,
Whom glory covers with a robe,
Whose sceptre shakes the solid globe,
To whom archangels bow the knee?-
The weeper of Gethsemane !

Down in the dust! ay, Christian kneel!
For now thy whithered heart must feel!
Ay, let thy wan cheek burn like flame;
There sits thy glory and thy shame!

19

Where is thy Brother.

What mean ye that ye beat my people to pieces, and grind the faces of the poor? saith the Lord God of hosts.'-Isaiah.

VII.

E. L. FOLLEN.

WHAT mean ye that ye bruise and bind
My people, saith the Lord,

And starve your craving brother's mind,
That asks to hear my word?

What mean ye that ye make them toil
Through long and dreary years,
And shed like rain upon your soil
Their blood and bitter tears?'

What mean ye that ye dare to rend
The tender mother's heart;
Brothers from sisters, friend from friend,

How dare you bid them part

What mean ye, when God's bounteous hand
To you so much has given,

That from the slave who tills your land

You keep both earth and heaven?