Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/69

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PRAYER.
51
Oh! Elah's vale is red with gore,
And steel with steel is clashing;
But where is he who rushed before,
Like a flame through the columns dashing?

Young hero of Elah! did sleep
Thy sword in its scabbard that morning?
No—many a maiden shall weep
When she sees not her lover returning.

And many a widow lament
The chariot wheels delaying
Of the lord of her heart, thon hast sent
To his long sleep, thy prowess displaying!

Ye daughters of Israel rejoice,
With tabret and wild cymbals sounding;
And raised be the loveliest voice,
The fame of the hero resounding.

But vainly the sword of the brave
Might flash, like the meteor gleaming,
Had the Lord not arisen to save
His chosen from slavery redeeming!

But hush!—for the scoffer's at hand,
And the spirit of song hath departed;
Oh! 'tis strange in a far distant land,
That my harp from its willow is parted!

Prayer.
Go when the morning shineth,
Go when the noon is bright,
Go when the eve declineth,
Go in the hush of night;
Go with pure mind and feeling,
Fling earthly thoughts away,
And, in thy chamber kneeling,
Do thou in secret pray.

Remember all who love thee,
All who are loved by thee,
Pray, too, for those who hate thee,
If any such there be:

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