Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ down from the mountain crown

      The great procession swept.

      Perchance some bald old eagle

      On gray Beth-peor's height,

      Out of his rocky eyrie

      Looked on the wondrous sight.

      Perchance some lion, stalking,

      Still shuns the hallowed spot,

      For beast and bird have seen and heard

      That which man knoweth not.

      But when the warrior dieth

      His comrades in the war,

      With arms reversed and muffled drums

      Follow the funeral car;

      They show the banners taken,

      They tell his battles won,

      And after him lead his matchless steed

      While peals the minute gun.

      Amid the noblest of the land

      They lay the sage to rest;

      And give the bard an honored place,

      With costly marble drest,

      In the great minster's transept height,

      Where lights like glory fall,

      While the sweet choir sings and the organ rings

      Along the emblazoned wall.

      This was the bravest warrior

      That ever buckled sword;

      This the most gifted poet

      That ever breathed a word;

      And never earth's philosopher

      Traced, with his golden pen,

      On the deathless page, truths half so sage

      As he wrote down for men.

      And had he not high honor?

      The hillside for his pall;

      To lie in state while angels wait

      With stars for tapers tall;

      And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,

      Over his bier to wave;

      And God's own hand, in that lonely land,

      To lay him in his grave;

      In that deep grave without a name,

      Whence his uncoffined clay

      Shall break again—most wondrous thought!—

      Before the judgment day,

      And stand, with glory wrapt around,

      On the hills he never trod,

      And speak of the strife that won our life

      Through Christ, the incarnate God.

      O lonely tomb in Moab's land,

      O dark Beth-peor's hill,

      Speak to these curious hearts of ours,

      And teach them to be still.

      God hath his mysteries of grace—

      Ways that we cannot tell;

      He hides them deep, like the secret sleep

      Of him he loved so well.

      —Cecil Frances Alexander.

      ———

      O, blessed is that man of whom some soul can say,

      "He was an inspiration along life's toilsome way,

      A well of sparkling water, a fountain flowing free,

      Forever like his Master, in tenderest sympathy."

      ———

      Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land?

      All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

      Painful pre-eminence!—yourself to view

      Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.

      —Alexander Pope.

      

      ———

      EMIR HASSAN

      Emir Hassan, of the prophet's race,

      Asked with folded hands the Almighty's grace,

      Then within the banquet-hall he sat,

      At his meal, upon the embroidered mat.

      There a slave before him placed the food,

      Spilling from the charger, as he stood,

      Awkwardly upon the Emir's breast

      Drops that foully stained the silken vest.

      To the floor, in great remorse and dread,

      Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said:

      "Master, they who hasten to restrain

      Rising wrath, in paradise shall reign."

      Gentle was the answer Hassan gave:

      "I am not angry." "Yet," pursued the slave,

      "Yet doth higher recompense belong

      To the injured who forgives a wrong."

      "I forgive," said Hassan. "Yet we read,"

      So the prostrate slave went on to plead,

      "That a higher seat in glory still

      Waits the man who renders good for ill."

      "Slave, receive thy СКАЧАТЬ