III

Nor from their blood that slaughter'd lay, Nor from the fat of strong men slain, Came Jonathan his bow away,

Nor drew forth Saul his sword in vain.
In lifetime they were lovely fair,

In death they undivided are.
More swift than eagles of the air
And stronger they than lions were.

IV

Weep, Israel's daughters, weep for Saul,
Who you with scarlet hath array'd;
Who clothed you with pleasures all
And on your garments gold hath laid.
How comes it he, that mighty was
The foil in battle doth sustain !
Thou, Jonathan, oh thou (alas)
Upon thy places high wert slain.

V

And much distressèd is my heart,
My brother Jonathan, for thee;
My very dear delight thou wert,
And wonderous was thy love to me;
So wonderous, it surpasséd far
The love of woman (every way).

Oh, how the mighty fallen are!

How warlike instruments decay!

GEORGE WITHER.

Jehovah-Nissi. The Lord My Banner

BY whom was David taught

To aim the deadly blow,

When he Goliath fought,

And laid the Hittite low?

Nor sword nor spear the stripling took,
But chose a pebble from the brook.

'Twas Israel's God and King
Who sent him to the fight;
Who gave him strength to sling,
And skill to aim aright.

Ye feeble saints, your strength endures
Because young David's God is yours.

Who ordered Gideon forth,

To storm the invaders' camp

With arms of little worth,

A pitcher and a lamp?

The trumpets made his coming known
And all the host was overthrown.

Oh! I have seen the day

When with a single word,

God helping me to say,

"My trust is in the Lord,"

My soul hath quell'd a thousand foes,
Fearless of all that could oppose.

But unbelief, self-will,

Self-righteousness and pride,

How often do they steal

My weapon from my side!

Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's friend,

Will help his servant to the end.

WILLIAM COWPER.

The Song of David

HE sang of God, the mighty source

Of all things, that stupendous force, Of 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 SHARP.

The Poet's Soul

WOULD you know the poet's soul,

Why he doth wondrous sing?

Come, read the tale the Rabbis told
Of Israel's poet king.

From the orb of day, a golden ray,
From the moon its silvery beam,
From the twinkling star in heaven afar,
He took its shimmering gleam...

From the azure sky and the clouds on high,

He borrowed their mingled glow,

And the verdant green,-all the varying scene,

Of beauteous world below.

And the grateful praise for joyous days,"

That comes from out the heart,

And the happy smile of romping child
Yet free from guile and art.

From the murmuring brook, its plaint he took
Whilst dreamily flowing by;

And the whispering breeze amidst the trees
Lent its low and mournful sigh.

And the dulcet note from the warbling throat

Of the lark as it soared on high,

And the linnet's song, as it sped along

'Neath the dome of the summer sky.

And blending these beautiful things one with the other

In one harmonious whole,

The Lord breathed it into the sovereign bard,

For such was King David's soul.

ANONYMOUS.

OF

King David

F Israel's sweetest singer now I sing,
His holy style and happy victories;

Whose muse was dipt in that inspiring dew,
Archangels 'stilled from the breath of Jove,
Decking her temples with the glorious flowers
Heaven rained on tops of Sion and Mount Sinai.
Upon the bosom of his ivory lute

The cherubim and angels laid their breasts;

And when his consecrated fingers struck

The golden wires of his ravishing harp,

He gave alarum.to the host of heaven

That, wing'd with lightning, brake the clouds, and cast Their crystal armour at his conquering feet.

Of this sweet poet, Jove's musician,

And of his beauteous son, I press to sing:

That help, divine Adonai, to conduct
Upon the wings of my well-tempered verse
The hearers' minds above the towers of heaven
And guide them so in this thrice haughty flight,

Their mounting feathers scorch not with the fire,
That none can temper but thy holy hand;
To thee for succour flies my feeble muse,

And at thy feet her iron pen doth use.

GEORGE PEEle.

To David

ISRAEL'S God-anointed warrior king,

Who from the Lord of Hosts thy valor drew, And single-handed dread Goliath slew

(Though boasting he swift death should on thee bring):

Nor e'en yet feared when wrathful Saul did fling A furious javelin at thy head to do

Thee harm, for Jesse's son that one well knew
Should one day after him be Israel's king;
'Tis not alone thy lion strength of heart,

Nor yet thy triumphs nor thy hero's deeds
That lift my soul in boundless love to thee!
Ah, no! 'Tis this in but the lesser part,
For more than all, my soul exultant feeds
On thine more precious gift of psaltery.

MIRIAM SUHLER.

David

Do you wonder why such longing

Transport, pain and love impassioned

In the psalms are interwoven?

Listen how God's bard was fashioned.

Murmurings of brooks and fountains,
Passion of tempestuous seas,

Solemn sounds of winds and forests,
The lorn nightingale's love-pleas.