God, by his bow, vouchsafes to write

This truth in heaven above;
As every lovely hue is light,
So every grace is love.

ANGELIC VISITANTS.

CHARLES MACKAY.

ON Mamre's plain, beside the Patriarch's door The ministering angels sat; the world was

young,

And men beheld what they behold no more. Ah no! the harps of heaven are not unstrung!

The angelic visitants may yet appear

To those who seek them! Lo! at Virtue's

side,

Its friend, its prop, its solace, and its guide, Walks FAITH, with upturned eyes and voice of

cheer,

A visible angel. Lo, at Sorrow's call,

HOPE hastens down, an angel fair and kind, And whispers comfort whatsoe'er befall; While CHARITY, the seraph of the mind, White-robed and pure, becomes each good man's guest,

And makes this earth a heaven to all who love

her best.

SONG OF THE MANNA-GATHERERS.

47

SONG OF THE MANNA-GATHERERS.

KEBLE. LYRA INNOCENTIUM.

"This is the bread which the Lord hath given you to eat.'

COMRADES, haste! the tent's tall shading
Lies along the level sand

Far and faint: the stars are fading
O'er the gleaming western strand.
Airs of morning

Freshen the bleak, burning land.

Haste, or ere the third hour glowing
With its eager thirst prevail
O'er the moist pearls, now bestrowing
Thymy slope and rushy vale, -

Dews celestial,

Left when earthly dews exhale.

Ere the bright good hour be wasted,
Glean, not ravening, nor in sloth:
To your tent bring all untasted; —
To thy father, nothing loth,

Bring thy treasure:

Trust thy God, and keep thy troth.

Trust him: care not for the morrow;
Should thine omer overflow,

And some poorer seek to borrow,
Be thy gift nor scant nor slow.
Wouldst thou store it?

Ope thine hand and let it go.

Trust his daily work of wonder,
Wrought in all his people's sight:
Think on yon high place of thunder,
Think upon the unearthly light
Brought from Sinai,

When the prophet's face grew bright.

Think, the glory yet is nigh thee,
Power unfelt arrests thine arm,
Love aye watching to deny thee
Stores abounding to thy harm.
Rich and needy

All are levelled by love's charm.

Sing we thus our songs of labor
At our harvest in the wild,

For our God and for our neighbor,

Till six times the morn have smiled,

For that one, that heavenly morrow,

We may care and toil to-day: Other thrift is loss and sorrow,

Savings are but thrown away.

SONG OF THE MANNA-GATHERERS.

Hoarded manna !

Moths and worms shall on it prey.

While the faithless and unstable
Mars with work the season blest,
We around thy heaven-sent table
Praise thee, Lord, with all our best.
Signs prophetic

Fill our week, both toil and rest.

Comrades, what our sires have told us,

Watch and wait, for it will come;
Smiling vale shall soon enfold us
In a new and vernal home:
Earth will feed us

From her own benignant womb.

We beside the wondrous river

In the appointed hour shall stand, Following, as from Egypt ever,

The bright cloud and outstretched hand:

In thy shadow

We shall rest, on Abraham's land.

Not by manna-showers at morning

Shall our board be then supplied,

But a strange pale gold, adorning
Many a tufted mountain-side,
Yearly feed us,

Year by year our murmurings chide.

49

There, no prophet's touch awaiting,
From each cool, deep cavern start
Rills, that since their first creating
Ne'er have ceased to sing their part.
Oft we hear them

In our dreams, with thirsty heart.

O, when travel-toils are over,
When above our tranquil nest
All our guardian angels hover,
Will our hearts be quite at rest?
Nay, fair Canaan

Is not heavenly Mercy's best.

Know ye not, our glorious Leader

Salem may but see, and die? Israel's guide and nurse and feeder Israel's hope from far must eye,

Then, departing,

Find a worthier throne on high.

Dimly shall fond fancy trace him,

Dim, though sweet, her dreams shall prove, Wondering what high powers embrace him, Where in light he walks above,

Where, in silence

Sleeping, hallows heath or grove.

Deeps of blessing are before us:
Only, while the desert sky