And though long since we parted, On earth to meet no more; I'd think of thee as children "Not _lost_, but gone before."

Feb. 20, 1853.

"LET ME DIE THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS."

By the river Euphrates the prophet abode, To whom Balak his messengers sent, Entreating his presence and curses on those Who on Moab's destruction were bent.

By hundreds of thousands they're marching along, And by Moses, G.o.d's servant, they're led; The rock for their thirst, cooling water supplies, And with bread from the skies are they fed.

They are felling the nations like trees on their way, And their power there is none can resist; "Come, curse me this people, oh! Balaam, I pray, For he whom _thou_ cursest is curst."

With rich bribes in their hands have these messengers come, Both from Moab and Midian are they; Desiring the Prophet with them would return, And this without any delay.

But the men are requested to stop over night, That the will of the Lord he may learn; And then if by Him he's permitted to go, He'll accompany them on their return.

Now when earth her dark mantle of night had put on, And men's eyes in deep slumber were sealed; In that solemn hour was the voice of G.o.d heard, And his will to the Prophet revealed.

"Thou shalt not go with them!" distinctly was said, "Nor to curse the Lord's people presume;"

So the Princes of Moab returned as they came, And left Balaam reluctant at home.

Again unto Balaam were messages sent, More in number, in _rank higher still_, With the promise if Balak's request he would grant, He may ask and receive what he will.

But Balaam declared that if Balak would give Him his house full of silver and gold, The word of the Lord he could _not_ go beyond, To do _more_ or do less than he's told.

Still the bait was quite tempting, and Balaam was weak, And wicked he certainly proved; E'en the a.s.s that he rode, _that_ man's conduct condemned, Who the gains of unrighteousness loved.

In the country of Moab at length he arrives, And King Balak hath met face to face, Who requests that with him a high hill he'd ascend, And the Israelites curse from that place.

Three times seven altars were raised to the Lord, And three times was the sacrifice made; But the curse was withheld, for whom _G.o.d_ p.r.o.nounced blest, Even _Balaam_ to _curse_ was afraid.

Poor Balaam, thy case is a hard one indeed; Like a house that's divided thou art; Both thy Maker and Mammon thou gladly would'st serve, But the former requires thy whole heart.

"Let me die the death of the righteous," say'st thou, "And my last end like his let it be;"

But if like the righteous _unwilling to live_, _Never hope like the righteous to die_.

March 24, 1853.

Though life is young, and spirits gay, And hope thy fond heart cheers; Though friends are kind, and health is firm, And death _far off_ appears,

Yet think not happiness like this, Is destined long to last; For ere to-morrow morn, perhaps, Thy sky may be o'ercast.

Ah! let not pleasure blind thy eyes, Or flattery lure thy heart; But in the morning of thy life, Secure the better part.

March 29, 1853.

THE GREAT PHYSICIAN.

"And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up.

"That whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life."

St. John, 3:14, 15.

What means that cry of anguish, That strikes the distant ear; The loud and piercing wailing, In desert wilds we hear?

From Israel's camp it cometh, For Israel hath rebelled; And these are cries of anguish, By wrath of G.o.d impelled.

It is no common sorrow, Extorts that bitter groan; 'Tis from the broken hearted, And caused by sin alone.

Lo! in the far off desert, Upon that tented ground, Are many hundred thousands Of weary travellers found.

In desert of Arabia, Near forty years they roam; And soon they are to enter "Canaan their happy home."

But come with me and visit A people so distressed; They are the seed that Jacob When dying p.r.o.nounced blessed.

We'll draw aside the curtain Of tent that's nearest by; Ah! what a mournful picture For stranger's curious eye.

See on that couch reclining, A young and lovely girl, With brow and neck half shaded.

By many a cl.u.s.tering curl.

She was an only daughter, Nurtured with tenderest care; The idol of her parents, And fairest of the fair.

In bloom of youth and beauty, But yesterday she shone; And her fond parents thought her A mine of wealth unknown.

She seems like one that sleepeth, But there's no sign of breath; And coil'd 'neath her arm a serpent, Whose bite is _certain death_.

Yet not alone the mourners In this sad tent are found; Shriek after shriek is echoed For many miles around.

The mother, too, is bitten, With infant in her arms; And sire, in strength of manhood; And bride, with all her charms.

But see on pole suspended, A serpent now appears; And hark! what blissful tidings Salute the mourner's ears.

For every one that's bitten, A remedy is found; However bad the case is, However deep the wound.

If but _one spark_ remaineth Of life in any soul, Just look upon this serpent, That look will make thee whole.