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But not a setting beam could glow
Where twin'd the path, in shadow hid,
Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd,
From the Arabic menarah, a lantern. In Eastern architecture the slender and lofty turrets with projecting balconies, used by the Mahomedans for the purpose of calling the people to prayers.
With boughs that quak'd at every breath,
THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER.'
"SERVANT of God! well done;
The voice at midnight came;
A mortal arrow pierc'd his frame:
Tranquil amidst alarms,
It found him in the field,
A veteran slumbering on his arms,
Occasioned by the sudden death of a clergyman, after having declared in his last sermon, on a preceding evening, that he hoped to die as an old soldier of Jesus Christ, with his sword in his hand.
His sword was in his hand,
It was a two-edg'd blade,
Of heavenly temper keen;
And double were the wounds it made
'Twas death to sin; 'twas life
To all that mourn'd for sin,
Oft with its fiery force
Bent on such glorious toils,
The world to him was loss;
Yet all his trophies, all his spoils,
He hung upon the cross.
At midnight came the cry,
"To meet thy God prepare!"
He woke, and caught his Captain's eye;
Then, strong in faith and prayer
His spirit, with a bound,
Burst its encumbering clay!
His tent, at sunrise, on the ground,
A darken'd ruin lay.
The pains of death are pass'd,
Labour and sorrow cease,
And, life's long warfare clos'd at last,
His soul is found in peace.
Soldier of Christ! well done;
THE WATER PARTY.
SOMETIMES a party, row'd from town, will land
Left by the water when the tides are low,
Then what alarm! what danger and dismay,
The urns were boiling, and the cups went round,
Some form'd a party from the rest to stray,
For lo! a lady sage, who pac'd the sand With her fair children, one in either hand, Intent on home, had turn'd, and saw the boat Slipp'd from her moorings, and now far afloat; She gaz'd, she trembled, and though faint her call, It seem'd, like thunder, to confound them all. Their sailor guides, the boatman and his mate, Had drunk, and slept regardless of their state. "Awake!" they cried aloud!" Alarm the shore! Shout all, or never shall we reach it more!" Alas! no shout the distant land can reach, Nor eye behold them from the foggy beach : Again they join in one loud powerful cry, Then cease, and eager listen for reply; None came the rising wind blew sadly by: They shout once more, and then they turn aside, To see how quickly flow'd the coming tide; Between each cry they find the waters steal On their strange prison, and new horrors feel; Foot after foot on the contracted ground The billows fall, and dreadful is the sound; Less and yet less the sinking isle became,
And there was wailing, weeping, wrath, and blame.
Had one been there, with spirit strong and high, Who could observe, as he prepar'd to die, He might have seen of hearts the varying kind, And trac'd the movement of each different mind: He might have seen, that not the gentle maid Was more than stern and haughty man afraid; Such, calmly grieving, will their fears suppress, And silent prayers to Mercy's throne address; While fiercer minds, impatient, angry, loud, Force their vain grief on the reluctant crowd. The party's patron, sorely sighing, cried, "Why would you urge me? I at first denied." Fiercely they answer'd:-" Why will you complain, Who saw no danger, or were warn'd in vain ?”