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And the pæans of men who triumphed.
Over grief and tempting glee
All these divers notes God gathered
From the fount of melody.

And He fused them in one anthem,
Bade the music live, and lo!
David rose, he who to mankind
How to speak with God did show.

Therefore lives there such a yearning,
Such a rapture, exultation,

In the songs that David chanted

For the heart of every nation.

ALTER ABELSON..

The Harp of Faith
AT midnight, so the rabbis tell,
When David slept profound,

A harp suspended on his couch
Gave forth a trembling sound.

Up sprang the royal bard inspired,
His fingers touched the chord,
And with strange gladness in his soul,
In psalms he praised the Lord.

་་

At midnight, when the doubts assail,
And anxious fears surround,
O Soul of mine, amid all gloom,
Give forth a joyous sound..

O bid me seize the harp of faith,
And sing a holy strain,

Until each day my life and thought
Resound in glad refrain,

ABRAM S, ISAACS.

The Harp of David

HEN the night her vision is weaving

WHEN

With moonlight and starlight for warp,

The King in his chamber arises

And wakens the voice of his harp.

He sees not the hands of him playing,
He hears but a melody sweet;
He hears but the heart of him beating
With a musical, magical beat,

He gazes out through the window
On the world in beauty bedight-
Forgotten the throne and the sceptre.
In a holier, higher delight!

He sees like a picture before him,
The quiet, green fields where he spent
His youthful years as a shepherd,
His only palace a tent

His sceptre the flute of the shepherd,
Carved of the cedar-wood hard;
His fortune and lonely treasure-
The soulful pride of the bard.

Then pours he his soul on the harp-strings-
Forgetful of sorrow and pain-

The old, gray monarch of Judah

Is a youthful Poet again!

JEHOASH.

(Translated by Alter Brody.)

Absalom

THE

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'HE pall was settled. He who slept beneath Was straighten'd for the grave; and, as the folds

Sunk to the still proportions, they betray'd

The matchless symmetry of Absalom.

His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls
Were floating round the tassels as they sway'd
To the admitted air, as glossy now

As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing
The snowy fingers of Judea's daughters.
His helm was at his feet: his banner, soil'd
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid,
Reversed, behind him: and the jewell'd hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his cover'd brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he fear'd the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasp'd his blade
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David enter'd, and he gave command,
In a low tone, to his few followers,

And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died; then, throwing off

The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bow'd his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe.

"Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die!

Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb! My proud boy, Absalom!

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee! How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet 'My Father' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom!

"But death is on thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;-
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
To meet me, Absalom!

"And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee;And thy dark sin!-Oh! I could drink the cup,

If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have call'd thee, like a wanderer, home, My lost boy, Absalom!"

He cover'd up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child: then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasp'd
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as if strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently-and left him there-
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS.

In That Day

ABSALOM! Absalom!

Put back thy fragrant hair!
Loud is the city's hum.
Why dost thy linger there

To set soft hearts on fire?
That thou may'st reign and be
What mainly men desire
What best it liketh thee?

Hark to the City's hum,
Absalom, Absalom!

Absalom, Absalom! Canst thou not clearer see

The thronging forms that came
Beneath the branching tree?

The green ways of the wood,
And dropping from the dart
The small dull pool of blood'
That drains the traitorous heart?
See the dim forms that come,
Absalom, Absalom."

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