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Poor blackened lips!—

I wonder if they dream,

My pretty children

Come, Mephibosheth,

Here is your father; say "God save the king!"
The Gibeonites! Ah! that was long ago.

Why should they die for what they never did?
No, David never would consent to that.

Whose son is he, this youth? Dost know him,
Abner?

Ha, ha! they shout again "God save the king!"

Was I asleep? I came not here to sleep.

O poor old eyes, sorrow has made you weak.

My sons! No, naught has touched them. O, how

cold!

Cold, cold! O stars of God, have pity on me,

Poor, lonely woman! O my sons, Saul's sons!
Kind stars, watch with me; let no evil beast
Rend that dear flesh. O God of Israel,
Pardon my sins! My heart is broken!

JOHN READE

He

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THE SONG OF DAVID

II Samuel xxii

sang of God, the mighty source Of all things, the stupendous force

On which all strength depends;
From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes,
All period, power, and enterprise

Commences, reigns, and ends.

The world, the clustering spheres He made,
The glorious light, the soothing shade,
Dale, champaign, grove, and hill,

The multitudinous abyss,

Where secrecy remains in bliss,

And wisdom hides her skill.

Tell them I am, Jehovah said
To Moses, while earth heard in dread,
And, smitten to the heart,
At once, above, beneath, around,
All Nature, without voice or sound,
Replied, "O Lord, Thou art."

CHRISTOPHER SMART

53

DAVID'S THREE MIGHTY ONES

II Samuel xxiii. 15

Faint on Rephaim's sultry side

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Sat Israel's warrior king;

Oh, for one draught," the hero cried,

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From Bethlehem's cooling spring!

From Bethlehem's spring, upon whose brink
My youthful knee bent down to drink!

"I know the spot, by yonder gate,
Beside my father's home,
Where pilgrims love at eve to wait,
And girls for water come.
Oh, for that healing water now,
To quench my lip, to cool my brow!

"But round that gate, and in that home,
And by that sacred well,
Now hostile feet insulting roam,
And impious voices swell.

The Philistine holds Bethlehem's halls,
While we pine here beneath its walls."

Three gallant men stood nigh, and heard
The wish their king expressed;
Exchanged a glance, but not a word,

And dashed from midst the rest.
And strong in zeal, with ardor flushed,
They up the hill to Bethlehem rushed.

The foe fast mustering to attack,
Their fierceness could not rein;
No friendly voice could call them back.
"Shall David long in vain?

Long for a cup from Bethlehem's spring,
And none attempt the boon to bring?"

And now the city gate they gain,
And now in conflict close;
Unequal odds! three dauntless men

Against unnumbered foes.

Yet through their ranks they plough their way
Like galleys through the ocean spray.

The gate is forced, the crowd is passed;
They scour the open street,

While hosts are gathering fierce and fast
To block up their retreat.

Haste back! haste back! ye desperate three!
Or Bethlehem soon your grave must be!

They come again, and with them bring
Nor gems nor golden prey;

A single cup from Bethlehem's spring
Is all they bear away;

And through the densest of the train
Fight back their glorious way again.

O'er broken shields and prostrate foes
They urge their conquering course.
Go, try the tempest to oppose,
Arrest the lightning's force;

But hope not, Pagans, to withstand
The shock of Israel's chosen band!

Hurrah! hurrah! again they're free;
And 'neath the open sky,

On the green turf they bend the knee,
And lift the prize on high;

Then onward through the shouting throng
To David bear their spoil along.

All in their blood and dust they sink
Full low before their king.
"Again," they cry, "let David drink
Of his own silver spring;

And if the draught our lord delight,
His servants' toil 'twill well requite."

With deep emotion David took

From their red hands the cup;
Cast on its stains a shuddering look,
And held it heavenward up.

"I prize your boon," exclaimed the king,

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But dare not taste the draught you bring.

"I prize the zeal that perill'd life

A wish of mine to crown;
I prize the might that in the strife
Bore foes by thousands down;
But dare not please myself with aught
By Israel's blood and peril bought.

"To Heaven the glorious spoil is due;

And His the offering be,

Whose arm hath borne you safely through,
My brave, but reckless three!"-
Then on the earth the cup he poured,

A free libation to the Lord.

HENRY FRANCIS LYTE

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