G.o.d is my Refuge!--let the tempests come, They will but speed me sooner to my home!

II.

Night lowers in sullen gloom, Christian!--a long, dark night awaiteth thee, Dreary as Egypt's night of fear and doom,-- Where will thy hiding be?

G.o.d is my refuge!--in the dreary night In Him I dwell, and have abundant light!

III.

Thine is a lonely way, Christian!--and dangers all thy path infest; Pitfalls and snares crowd all thy doubtful way,-- Where is thy place of rest?

G.o.d is my Refuge!--safe in Him I move, And feel no fear, kept by sustaining Love.

IV.

The grave--that dreary place, Christian, the lonely dwelling in the dust Awaits thee; 'tis the doom of all thy race,-- Where, then, shall be thy trust?

G.o.d is my refuge! Sweet will be my rest On the dear pillow that my Saviour pressed!

V.

Alas!--that dreamless sleep-- Christian, its chains are strong, and hard to break; All thy belov'd sleep on in silence deep, And dost _thou_ hope to wake?

G.o.d is my refuge! I shall wake and sing-- "O grave! where is thy vict'ry?--death thy sting?"

JUDSON'S GRAVE.

He sleeps where the billow Lifts high its white crest O'er his lone, sea-weed pillow On Ocean's dark breast; No shroud is around him, No flowers bloom above, No mourners surround him With grief-drops of love.

But the limitless ocean His requiem sings, As, with tireless motion, The green billow springs Toward the infinite heaven, Blue, bending above, Where angels are watching His slumbers in love.

Oh! boundless his tomb is, Far-reaching, sublime, Stretching forth in immenseness To every clime; Thus boundless his love was, On every side Spreading freely wherever Man sorrowed or died.

Sleep, Judson! no grave-dust Shall rest on thy head, In sunlight or starlight No marble shall shed Its shadow sepulchral Above thee,--no tomb Save Earth's grandest and vastest, May give to thee room!

Man marks not thy pillow With yew-tree or stone; But G.o.d, o'er the billow, Keeps watch of His own; And glorious thy rising, O crowned one, will be, When Jehovah shall summon His dead from the sea!

SHALL BE FREE.

"ALL PERSON'S HELD AS SLAVES, within said designated States and parts of States, ARE, AND HENCEFORWARD SHALL BE FREE!"

--_Proclamation of Emanc.i.p.ation, Jan. 1st, 1863._

"Shall be free! shall be free!"--lo, the strong winds have caught it, And borne it from hill top to hill top afar, And echo to answering echo has taught it, Through the din of the conflict, the thunder of war!

It has flashed like the lightning from ocean to ocean, Across the black face of the skies it has blazed, And strong men have thrilled with unwonted emotion, And shouted for joy as they listened and gazed!

"Shall be free! shall be free!"--the poor, manacled "chattel"

Has caught the sweet word amid fetters and blows; It has burst on his ear through the tumult of battle, Through the shoutings of friends and the cursings of foes; And lifting his poor, fettered hands up to heaven, He has joined in the song that ascended to G.o.d; Or, kneeling in trembling rapture, has given Thanksgiving to Him who has broken the rod!

"Shall be free! shall be free!"--there are ears that have listened, There are lips that have prayed through long, agonized years, There are eyes that with hope's fitful radiance have glistened Yet, as hope was deferred, have grown heavy with tears Joy! joy!--thou hast heard it at last, lonely weeper, Look up, for the prayer of thy anguish is heard.

Look up, ye bruised spirits, for G.o.d is your keeper, And the heart of His boundless compa.s.sion is stirred.

"Shall be free! shall be free!"--O Humanity, listen The Dawn that long since on the pale "Watcher" shone Now higher, and brighter, and clearer has risen, As the Day star rides on toward the glories of noon.

Those words that rang out from the isles of the ocean, Sarmatia has echoed from mountain to sea And America, from her red field of commotion, He echoes the same stirring words--"Shall be free!"

Hark!--all the wild air is astir with the tempest!

The swift lightnings leap in red arrows on high!

Winds shriek to mad winds, and the hoa.r.s.e thunder answer As it ploughs its dread path through the shuddering sky!

There are hisses of serpents, and howlings of demons, And moanings of anguish by land and by sea, But, clearer than angel tones, high o'er the tumult, Rings out the glad utterance--"they shall be free!"

And lo! dimly seen, on the crest of the billow Lashed white by the storm, undismayed and serene, Moves that form that once bent o'er the sufferer's pillow, And touched the dim eyes till strange glories were seen And sweetly, to ears that will patiently listen, That voice which spake "peace" to turbulent sea, Now speaks through the roar of the tempest uprisen, In tones unmistakable,--"THEY SHALL BE FREE!"

AFTER FIFTY YEARS

A MOTHER'S ADDRESS TO HER FAMILY ON HER GOLDEN-WEDDING DAY.

Just fifty years, my daughters, Just fifty years, my son, Since your sire and I together The march of life begun.

It does not seem so long ago As _half a hundred years_, Since hand in hand we started out, To face life's toils and tears.

And toils, and tears, too, we have met; Yet sunbeams oft have come-- Many and beautiful, and bright-- To cheer our happy home; Sweet infant faces, thro' the years, Are smiling back to me; And, G.o.d be praised, each precious one Still at my side I see!

Yet ye are changed, my children three, Your baby-bloom is gone; And you are growing old, I see, Grey hairs are coming on; Yet when I, musing, close my eyes, I see you as you were In those old years when cloudless skies Dropped sunshine on your hair.

The patter of your busy feet Still rings upon the floor, And song, and jest, and laughter sweet Float round me as of yore;-- Yet when I open eager eyes, To watch your pastimes gay, Your children's faces round me rise-- Yourselves have done with play.

And there was one--a little one-- Who slumbered on my breast-- I loved and cherished as my own, That dove that sought your nest; And _she_ is here,--I see her face Among my own to-day;-- Thank G.o.d for all the loves I trace, Along life's devious way!

And yet there's one we miss to-day,-- The last to quit our side,-- The one who wandered far away The day she was a bride.

Were she but here, our chain of love No missing link would show, And every face we called our own Would still around us glow.

Well, _half a century_ is, I know, A long, long stretch of time; And truly once we deemed it so, When we were in our prime.

But as we've glided down the years They've shorter seemed to grow, And now, how brief the time appears Since fifty years ago!

And, husband, you and I have changed Since that old wedding day;-- I viewed you then with partial eyes-- "Fond, girlish eyes" you'd say;-- But were my eyes as keen as then, And I allowed to scan The handsomest of handsome men, _You_ still would be the man.