"No stately pile shall monumental rise,
"To tell where nobleness or virtue lies;
"Not e'en the fleeting shelter of the grave,
"Common to high and low, her bones shall have;
"Not to the dust shall her vile relics come;
“The earth shall spurn them from her peaceful womb; "Dogs-than herself more true to nature's law
"Shall tear her slaughtered limbs, and gulf them in their
"And she-who could for life reject the suit
"Of age and youth-in death shall mingle with the brute !"
TH' appointed time was come.
That lot distinctive and exceptional,
Of which glad premonitions had been given,
Now, as a dazzling crown or palmy wreath,
Hung o'er the prophet's head; shed round his steps
Supernal grace, and bathed his reverend aspect
With glory's chastened rays.
The counsels of th' Eternal mind; nor keep,
For good or ill, with our weak thought their pace.
The years that, since that wondrous colloquy,
And bright display of heavenly grace, elapsed,
When, passing by the storm, the fire, the throes
And earthquake-heavings, in the still small voice,
The Lord of all called to His audience-seat
His servant-once so faithful, faithless found-
Once so undaunted, now the slave of fear;
Not more sufficed those years, than to complete
Designs, which wisdom infinite and love,
Had formed on his behalf. He of his God
Had heard by the ear's hearing; then he saw
His glory; then, His goodness passed before him ;
Then, as in times of old, He found him still
The Merciful, the Gracious, the Long-suffering;
Abounding still in truth and goodness; still
Keeping for him, as for uncounted thousands,
Mercy. He in the tented battle-field,
Had borne the standard; now 'twas his to rest,
And gather in the spoils. He had dispensed
To hungering myriads heaven-given manna; now
He must the food, in rumination sweet,
Make his own nutriment. Much was to do
Within, without, for heaven, and for himself.
Without, there was to mould for his high office
The heaven-directed neophyte and friend,
Elisha, promptly answering to his call,
And reverently by his great master's side
Walking in holy commune. Next, the church,
Jehovah's witness midst a rebel land-
The yet untainted thousands, who preserved
Their fealty to Heaven-was his to feed,
To lead to living pastures and rich streams,
And hold their wavering footsteps in the fold.
And last, the young; who, through the land were sown, In schools prophetical, as fruitful seed,
Broadcast; or in plantations fair
As healthful scions; these to instruct, to train
To truth and virtue, and endow with gifts
For their high office, shared at early dawn
His waking thoughts, and filled his anxious care
To midnight's hour; while they, as still revolved
His watchful visitations, fondly hung
Upon his aged lips, and drank his words
Of counsel, warning, and instruction ripe,
As waters from the spring.
Were sweet and gentle processes of grace
Yet to be consummated. Faith, that failed
In those sore conflicts, must be brought again
To pristine vigour; hope, well-nigh extinct,
Quickened to healthy life; joy, gratitude,
Drooping, and weak, and dead, restored; the harsh,
Rough, and austere in mood, must be subdued;
The plumage, ruffled, stained, amidst the jar
And din of sin and passion's contests fierce,
Smoothed and redressed, within the downy nest
Of soft retirement; and the ligaments
Of earth which hold good men (nor even he
Exempt, though, rashly, once he asked to die!)
Must gently be relaxed. Thus his soul gained
A holy calm, a sacred rest, a frame
Of poise and balance, between earth's demands,
And the great future;-willing to abide
His Master's will, but ready to depart
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