YOUTH.

Raise thy hand again, O bard,—
Wake the chord of feeling;

But its tones with prudence guard,
Lest, 'mid Passion's pealing,

Reason's voice be drown'd!

Sing of virtue's sacred deeds,

Youth's fair brow adorning;

Plead, as only feeling pleads

When, with notes of warning,

All thy strings resound!

MANHOOD.

Strike, again, a loftier key—

Let thy numbers bolder flow:

Higher powers rest in thee

Man his erring ways must know ;—

Time cries out to thee,

"Give me spirits purged and chasten'd

By the light that in thee glows,

That the Age of Love' be hasten'd—

I am sick of human woes,

And would fain be free!"

AGE.

Touch the string that feebly trembled,
Ere thy faith in man was chill'd;
Sing a theme to worlds assembled,
Ere thy voice and harp be still'd-
Divine, unchanging love!—

Rouse the chord that deeply slumber'd
Whilst the little things of time

All thy thoughts and feelings cumber'd—

Be thy dying song sublime,

And thou shalt harp above!

HAGAR IN THE DESERT.

STRETCH'D, fainting, on the desert's waste, she wept,— Nor dared to look upon her dying child,

Whose bright young lip from burning thirst had paled,

Whose gladsome eye grew wildly, fiercely bright,
As straining from its fever'd orb it seem'd

To pierce the distant sky to ask for aid—

The aid which seem'd beyond the hope of thought;
For round them far a desert waste was spread,
Arid and scorching, silent, dread, and strange,
And wearied nature could no further seek
The kindly fount to ease its craving need:
The outcast mother turn'd her sicken'd eye
From her child's face, and lifted up her voice
And wept in desolate despair, then pray'd:-

"Let me not, God of Heaven, see him die;

Let not these eyes that watch'd his infant sport,
That measured with a mother's love his growth,
That first beholding bless'd his tiny form-
Let not these eyes his dying throes behold!—
He who should shield us cast us forth to die,
Though to his breast we gave the proud delight
The name of Father brings-Another now,
Alas, not mine! usurps thy place,

And thou art left to die,-my son ! my son !"

A Spirit-voice upon the silence came,

And Hagar heard it in her deep despair :

"Dark Daughter of the East! arise, and know
That I am God, and can thy breast sustain,
E'en in this bitter hour of man's deep wrong!
Poor outcast, raise thy child!—behold the stream,
That gushes forth, is glad to help thy need!—
Thy woman's heart shall be enough for thee—
Thy child shall prove its holy strength and faith;
For out of him a nation strong shall spring:

I thy affliction and thy love have seen,

And will uphold and multiply thy seed!—

Fear not! behold, I give thee strength and sight: Take up thy child, and he shall bless thy care!"

She rose and gave his lip the cooling draught,
And lived again in his returning life—
Sole parent she, and he her all on earth!
Poor mother! thy devotion shamed his sire;
And God beheld it, and preserved thy son
And made him lord o'er many tented plains,
Father of kings and countless multitudes,

And, best of all, gave him a heart that scorn'd
The paltry schemes of social pride and pomp,
But one which knew to cherish and to aid
The needy, and the weary, and the weak:
"The Arab, with a stranger for his guest,"
Remembers still thy famish'd lip and eye,
And bids him be refresh'd in faith and peace;
For from the outcast Ishmael sprang his race-
The proud, the free, the noble, and the true!