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“HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED,

MRS. E. B. BROWNING.

PSALM CXXVii. 2.

SLEEP!"

Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,

Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now, tell me if that
any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this—
"He giveth His beloved, sleep?"

What do we give to our beloved?—
The hero's heart, to be unmoved,

The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?
"He giveth His beloved, sleep!"

What do we give to our beloved ?—
A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake: "He giveth His beloved, sleep!"

66 Sleep soft, belov'd!" we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.

But never doleful dream again

Shall break the happy slumber when

"He giveth His beloved, sleep!"

O earth, so full of dreary noises !
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delved gold, the wailers heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through it all,
And giveth His beloved, sleep.

His dews drop mutely on the hill ;
His cloud above it saileth still;

Though on its slope men sow and reap:
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

"He giveth His beloved, sleep!"

Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man

Confirmed in such a rest to keep;
But angels say, and through the word
I think their happy smile is heard,
"He giveth His beloved, sleep!"

For me, my heart, that erst did go,
Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would childlike on His love repose

Who giveth His beloved, sleep.

And friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,

Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall,
"He giveth His beloved, sleep!"

(By permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall.)

THE MARRIAGE OF SALECH.

REV. H. C. ADAMS, M.A.

A NUMEROUS Company had assembled, in compliance with the invitation of Salech, the most renowned warrior and monarch of the line of Irad. Spacious as were the gardens surrounding the palace of the bridegroom, the throng of visitors appeared almost to

fill them; and the splendour of their apparel to cast into the shade the very flowers, whose rich abundance loaded the parterres with every variety of colouring. Warriors arrayed in flashing armour; priests and nobles clad in scarlet and gold; maidens of rare beauty, wreathed with jewels intermingled with flowers, were scattered in many a glittering group over the terraces; or sat beneath cool pavilions, listening to the music. In a sylvan banquetting-room of vast proportions a feast had been spread; which was to commence at sunset, and would last far into the ensuing morning. The occasion of the festivity was the union of Salech with the daughter of a neighbouring king, who had long carried on a deadly warfare with him, but had now been compelled to cede his dominions to his rival, conditionally on the latter espousing his daughter. This submission had removed the last enemy of the victorious monarch, whose kingdom was now the most extensive which the sun had ever beheld; and who, being in the flower of his years and renown, seemed likely to reign, as one of his ancestors had done, for ten generations of men.

The glory of Salech and the beauty of his bride were the theme of every tongue. One only of the guests, a youth scarcely on the verge of manhood, did not appear to share the general enthusiasm. He leant silent and sombre against the trunk of a cypress, and once or twice answered the remarks addressed to him, in a manner which plainly showed that his thoughts were occupied by some unwelcome subject. Even a beautiful maiden, who had been standing for some time at his side, failed to attract his attention. For awhile his abstraction passed unnoticed, but at length one of his companions remarked with a gay laugh—

"What! Rezeph, art thou still dreaming of the words of that old madman? Dost thou really believe that the clouds are about to turn into rivers, and flow down upon the earth? or that the earth itself is about to burst open, and spout up volumes of water

to drown us?

Shall we not all be turned into fishes when that happens? By the blue sky above us, to my thought the one is as likely to happen as the other."

"Scoff not, Ithram," answered Rezeph, earnestly. "That old man's voice seems ever to be ringing in my ears, and the strains of the music and the laughter of the dancers cannot drown it. This very morning, too, as I came by the ravine near his dwellingpaused, as if oppressed by some recollection too painful for expression.

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"And what happened this morning?" pursued Ithram. "Didst thou perceive the dotard and his sons at their never-ending task? It was begun, I have heard, some forty years before my great-grandsire was born, and has been going on ever since. Or did Noah favour thee with a renewal of the homily of last week?” "Nay," said Rezeph, "I saw him, but he spoke not to me, nor was he busy with his labour as usual. and hammer were laid aside; the work seemed to be completed."

66

Axe

Completed! Truly that would be a wonder in itself, which might well cause thy astonishment. But what else?"

"Do not ask me," said Rezeph, turning sadly away, "thou wouldst not credit it, were I to tell thee."

He disappeared beneath the shadow of a copse of pines; followed at some distance by Karen, the maiden to whom he was betrothed.

"My Rezeph," she said, "what is this? What has occurred to disquiet thee? Let me at least share thy trouble."

"Nay, wherefore should I grieve thee with my sad thoughts?" replied the youth. "I would fain believe that my fears have no foundation. But in no case

would human help be of any avail.”

"Tell me at least thy sorrow," rejoined Karen. "I cannot bear that thou shouldst have one which is hidden from me. What sawest thou this morning near

the tents of Noah Ben-Lamech to cause thee such distress?"

"Thou shalt hear, Karen; for thou, and it may be thou only, wilt credit my tale, nor account me mad that I myself believe it. Thou knowest that in the deepest gorge of the valley, in the midst of the great grove of gopher trees, this Noah has built him a vast

chest or coffer of wood, of a shape and construction so strange, that men are never weary of forming conjectures concerning it."

"Surely," said the maiden: "who is there in these parts that knoweth it not? So long as I can remember, it hath been the most common topic of talk among us. But men love not in general to approach the spot, dreading to hear the discourse of the old man, which disquiets and alarms them. Hath ought that he said disturbed thee?"

"It was no talk," replied Rezeph. "As I passed early this morning along the northern edge of the ravine, my ear was struck with a strange confused noise, proceeding, as it seemed, from the opposite side of the valley; but the trees hid the spot from my sight. I climbed a lofty cedar to obtain a view of the scene beyond. The spectacle which I beheld I can scarcely venture to describe, even to thee, lest thou shouldst deem me mad. Far and wide as the open plain extended, it was filled with animals, wild and tame, mingled together in the strangest confusion; and all, it seemed, under the influence of some spell, which caused them to renounce their natural instinct. The lion and the tiger were there, side by side with the deer and the sheep, but they harmed them not; nor did the presence of the most venomous serpents seem to excite the slightest terrors in the animals habitually their prey. As I gazed in amazement at this strange sight, I noticed that a continual movement was going on among them, and at length discovered-but thou wilt not credit it, if I tell thee, Karen."

"Nay, go on," said his companion; "I doubt thee not."

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