Part 1 — EGYPT.

THE DISPERSAL AT SHINAR.

As mariner upon the rocky sea, Without a compass, helm, or heavenly hope, A part of Earth's great ancestry to be Upon the plains of Shinar; and they grope In nature's darkness; they have lost the way That leadeth to the Father, and can find No clue of that great Presence, once their stay, And still as near; but sin doth make us blind, And when it fastens on the soul, the Father fades away. How wholly lost, when man cannot descry One token of his Maker in the soul— One step remains, the animal must die; But death has superseded its control, Since the immortal "Ego" is no more, The spirit gone from its companion, dust— The ashes are but animate in vain When love, and light, have given place to lust And conscience gives no puncture for its pain. Thus were they gathered, in this day far gone, So near the causeway of the almighty past, That retrospect brings close, the thought of God— We wonder that a cloud could overcast, So primitive a people, that the Shepherd's voice Should leave no lingering echo, for the ear, so tokened and so choice. And they would build a city, and a tower Whose top would reach the very verge of Heaven;— The puniest arm, is puissent in power, When to its grasp supernal aid is given; But muscles may, like cordage, swell the arm, And arteries, like rills of mountains flow. Weak is the blood that breakers them to harm,— The fires of passion but a moment glow. They, as the infants play upon the rim Of ancient Ocean, had been rocked to sleep In the bare arms of Nature; she would trim Her lamps for them, and patient vigil keep Upon their slumbers; and Heaven, to them, Was but a brilliant, close-spread canopy, Or crystal dome, a sort of diadem Just out of easy reach, and they could see No reason why they might not build a tower Would intercept it; and their foolish pride Supposed this little caprice of the hour, Through all the after age, would witness of their power. They made them bricks, and steadily they reared The spiral column heavenward; the Great Eye Bent vigilantly on them, as they neared The upper ether, silent as the sky Draws round its garniture; into each soul Crept the first rootlets of an unknown tongue; Each household head placed under his control The elements of intercourse, first flung Together by the great Teacher; just before When they had dropped from their exulting hands The rough-made tools; they closed forevermore Their mutual labor, though in other lands They could resume their use, this was the last Of the poor monument that they had reared— The workmen stand in wonderment aghast, Though they had wrought together, and had cheered Each other in their task, each quivering lip Breathed but confusion to the other's ears, No more from common cup of thought they sip, But forced to strangerhood for many, many years. In what a school was fashioned our first thought. How the poor soul is dumbed, and quivering, When we conceive what the Great Master wrought. How are we littled, what a nameless thing "Is man, that thou art mindful" thus "of him." Thou settest up, and pullest down, and we— Our hearts are hushed, our vision is made dim— Mites in the balance of imponderate destiny. A camp in Central India, 'neath the palms, And where the lap of nature is so full, That all the world may beggar it of alms And drink of its repletion; a mere tool Of hungry Kingdoms, thirsty Dynasties— The finger-tips of Alexander's arm— The plethorite of the Augustan age— The gilt that margins all the tapestries Down through middle ages; and the charm That lends a mellow fragrance to the page Of her, the Island Queen, whose arm meets arm In the embrace of earth, her borders refuge from avenging harm. A journey into Egypt, with their flocks before, And peaceful conquests back, an opening door To vast historic truths, a Niobe Moaning her children's travail in advance, A restless nomad people, like the sea, Stirred by involuntary force, whose billows dance To music of the spheres, stern Autocrat, and yet a slave to its own mastery.

SOJOURN IN EGYPT.

O Egypt! how shall we approach thy face? How steal from thy dumb lips one scrap of song? Thou stand'st alone, and sendest from thy place One word, that human lips have shaped for thee, To seal thy mighty arch with "mystery." Time calls his children 'round him, and they each Give answer to their names; gray Troy and Greece Pour out the lesson their dumb lips would teach, Carthage, Phœnicia, Parthia and Rome Clothe death with all the eloquence of speech; And each form linklets of an unbroke chain. But they are youthful; in perspective dim As if unmoved with either joy or pain. With arms enfolded, and with eye all fixed, A silent portal in the track of time. In the rough surge of nations still unmixed, Where the great fathers left thee in the Sphinx, And heaped the sands upon thy broken links, Thou dost look down the ages to defy Tradition, inspiration, and all future progeny. She sleeps as they advance; their lowing kine And noisy herds before them, and with the flute And siren song, they win, as with old wine, Their way into the slumbering and the mute Endormir of old Nile; but Egypt wakes, And breast to breast, opposes their advance. In vain against the shepherd crew, she breaks Her ill-spent arrows, shattered every lance, And Mizraim's sons the rod of empire yield To sons of Lud; they spread their many tents On Nile's unequaled garniture of field, The one discordant note in her great eloquence. How Nature heals what man has thus laid waste, The stoic songsters of the worlds orchaste Sing the same song, for friend and foe alike, They lift no arm upon a world defaced With war's stern tread, but with one voice they strike The note of conquest or the requiem Of some o'ertoppled Realm, Nature moves on To shame the bugle blare, or sound of drum, And sets her thousand nestlings in the dust of the unnumbered nations that are gone. One after one, in stately march of time, Kings pass, like common people, to the dust; Unless by over-reaching, and the crime Of too much selfhood, they are rudely thrust A little sooner to their Maker's hands, And their succession made accelerate By that potention, which each scepter mans, To fix each calendar, with human date. No mortal is a law unto himself, And much less, he who holds the reins of power; For wisdom seldom is concentrated so, That one weak soul is master of the hour, Unquestioned arbiter of human fate, Free to subdue, to persecute, to kill The soul that reaches this enlarged estate, Meets with a giant in the human will, That soon or late, will crush him with its skill.

SUN WORSHIP.

Dread Guard! whose portal is another world, Thy mandate never can be circumscribed; Only that Hand thy car to being whirled, And set thy lips, forevermore unbribed, Can break the seal of silence; we look out, And over both eternities, and waste Our energies, to find some well-tried route Out of life's labyrinth, where we may taste The true nepenthe that disarms all doubt. Beyond all human ken the key is kept; Our prison is too strong, and will not break, Our Keeper's eyes are those that never slept, Yet never slept for love and our dear sake; Touched by God's hand, the bolts will always yield; We rule him; in our weakness, if we ask, Our asking turns the desert to a field, And shapes a coronal of every task. A pestilence has struck this favored land— Religion pleads in health; it now must take command. The gods of Egypt, all are impotent, The people beat the empty air in vain; No orgie gains the purchase of content, Their altars only mock the nation's pain. The King has called a council to discuss The best-laid methods of religious thought. Of counselors, there is an overplus, And many are the schemes that they have brought, All conjured since they lost their way. The years Had slowly passed, since God himself had spoke, And hearts are human things, and their hot tears, Melting their souls to harmony, in echoing murmur broke: O Soul! that is all song, O Heart! that is all love, O Right! that knows no wrong, O Arm! that is all strong, Upon our bosoms move. O Eye! that is all sight, O Voice! that is all sound, O Life! that is all might, O Wing! that is all flight, Where, where can you be found? O Ear! that only hears, O Voice! that only sings, O Eye! that knows no tears, O Time! that counts no years, Lend us thy gift of wings. O Faith! that wants no form, O Hope! all unafraid, O Sun! without a storm, O Summer! always warm, Where shall our hearts be stayed? O Spirit! infinite, O thou unchanging Word! Whose echoes round us flit, With all the past enlit, O make thee to be heard! So sang the gathered choral of the King, And so, with saddened hearts, responded all The gathered multitude; with what a spring Is set the chords of Nature; and the call From any searching soul a unit is Of universal and insatiate thirst. The longing story one may sing as his, Responsive hearts all echo with the first, Which shows how deep are all of our desires; How earnestly we peer out in the dark! How are we freighted, all, with latent fires! How, on our souls and in our hearts, the Master leaves His mark! There rose, from on the outskirts of the crowd, One bowed with lengthened years, yet nobly bent With the more potent weight of earnest thought; His massive brain and princely bearing lent A more than common strength to his clear eye, As, on his shepherd's staff, his form was bent; Near to the King, with faltering step he came, And spake, as if a master spake, with all his soul aflame. "Oh King, and sons of Lud! No pardon asks Old Kohen for the words that leap his lips; No earthly throne gives warrant to my voice; But he, the God, of whom our fathers told, The God of Noah; he, at whose command The patriarch bent to labor; and till twice A hundred harvest moons had waned, wrought on The ark, and saved the seed of man to earth, He, he, has spoken! and his words have sunk So deeply in my heart I must be heard.— "Thus saith the Lord: 'O truant sons of Lud, Why grope ye in the dark, why not return To the great Father's house? How have I called And waited for an answer to my suit! O sons of men, return! repent! believe! Where have ye wandered, that ye have not heard The voice of your Jehovah in the wind, And on the storm and tempest, when in wrath He thunders in the ears of men; repent! And on the desert in the hot simoom Writ fervent words to warn you of your way. "'I am the God, of whom your fathers spake; Out of all chaos did I call the earth, And out of dust, your great ancestor made; And hardly his clay swaddlings put on, Ere from his rib I called his helpmeet forth, "'Your mother Eve; I have bespoken wrath; Yet, on the threshold of your life I placed The ministry of love, and with my lips I kissed the clay to life. How have I longed To hold the race as I their fathers held, Encircled in the Everlasting Arms; But ye would not; ye are yourselves, a law, To your own beings in my image made, And ye must choose to live, to love, to learn. How great is my compassion, and how long I have kept watch, and waited for my lost! "'My very anger is the throne of love.— Because I could not lose the multitudes, The myriads of millions yet unborn, I spoke your father Noah into work, And set afloat the remnant of his loins, And oped the gates of Heaven to flood the earth. I saw the race go down to watery graves, In sorrow; and I saw a deeper wound Had I but spared; I struck the seedling off, Rather than smite the tree; I move in storms To purify; and in the tempest smite Only to save. I saw the impious hands Your fathers raised in Shinar, and I came And in the night, gave each another tongue, And scattered their device, and smote their lips That they raised not to mine. How could I see Their folly and not smite? I loved them so; Ye, who have children, look within your hearts, And in them see the miniatures of mine; More of the parent than your soul can feel. "'Behold in me the source and spring of love; I followed with paternal care to Ind, I saw, and I stood guard upon your steps; More than a father's love was in my soul, More than a mother's tenderness inurned. The mountains are the mole-hills of my strength; Yet am I weak in love; I would not send One single child to the eternal world All unprepared; but ye have gone astray; Ye are my flock, and I would turn you back Before the wolves shall fatten of your flesh. "'Bring offerings from your herds, the choicest bring, (Are they not also mine?) and altars build And offer them thereon, but further bring The contrite heart, and the unsullied hand, Bring, as your fathers told you, Abel brought, And I will meet you on the altar's brink, With fire from Heaven, and consume it all. Ask not again to look upon my face; Ye cannot look, and live; I only speak, As I now speak, through Kohen; he it is, Out from among you I have set apart "'To be my sponsor; listen to my words: Build up your altars, offer from your best; Am I not better than the best you have? When ye have builded, pray; pour out your hearts As ye pour out the blood; prayer is the key To my most inner soul; the voice of love Is prayer. It is the angel's wing that fell Never yet short of Paradise. The voice That trembles on the lips of infancy, When reaching out to reason, and the last That passes with the shadow of the sun When life's last slope is reached, and never yet Has the repentant spirit left unalmsed. "'Have ye not heard how "Enoch walked with God, And he was not," because I drew him up? He kept so closely locked in my embrace, That there was nothing left of him to die. So would I have you walk, and learn the way; For I am very near each human soul, And ye may blend your being into mine, And, losing self, be only found of me. Ye all through Adam sinned; but there will come A time when, in the second Adam, will the first Transgression be atoned; your altars then May all be turned to ashes; for I send My best beloved, my ever blessed Son, The Prince of Peace, to save the sin-cursed earth "'From the first great offense, and to prepare The creature for creation's judgment day; Himself, upon the altar will be placed, A final offering for the sins of men. "'Thus is our justice smothered o'er with love; The law is satisfied, when Love, made King, Bends down the neck to bear the ills of earth. Therefore return: And I will warm you back to perfect life, If you but follow me. Come in, and rest, I am your husbandman, and all I have Is on my table; feast, and fill yourselves. I am your vintner; here is wine, and here Is honey; satisfy your wants, I am Your garden, Eden is restored in me. O children that are lost! be found again; I am your Shepherd, and my arms shall bear The weak ones of the flock. Do any thirst? I am your Spring, your parched lips to cool; Come and be one with me! and I will be More than your souls could ever frame to ask. Come to my open arms, O sons of men! They are not full without you; in my heart Is loneliness, though from itself it draw Companionship. Had I but called to life The pliant clay of Adam, and not breathed My spirit in his nostrils, then could he "'Filled out his measure with a lesser life, Without the test of law; but how much more To live as he could lived, divinely great In mastery of earth, and only on The single test, obedience to our will; Yet, he fell short, and I foresaw it all And suffered it, that human eyes might see The glories of redemption, and behold The one Incarnate Son, the Soul of Love, The Second Self of Me. "'O sons of men, Fall down! behold his coming in a glass; Behold and see him, in the fire I send From Heaven upon your altars, and repent; And when the time is fully ripe, behold He cometh in the flesh! and ye shall see The very Son and Sanction of my heart. Oh! is it not enough? Can even I Do more? Your children shall behold my words Grown to fulfillment, and they all shall see The Son of God become the Son of Man; And ye may see, by faith, if ye implant The tree of your redemption, so its leaves May cover Egypt and the rest of earth. "'The pestilence that darkens at your door Came as a cry, from Mizraim in bonds; "'Strike off his chains! and I will lift you up. Love ye your neighbor, as ye love yourselves; His bruises and your pestilence shall pass Together from the land. Live ye pure lives, And all your blackness shall become as snow. Make room for me among you; in the morn Let rise your incense to the throne of grace; Bring me your noon oblation; in your thanks Let evening have its holicaust of love. When spring puts forth her promise, offer up; When summer comes, enladen with its growth, And when the harvest moon, with ripened sheaves, Measures the fullness of my great regard; Yea! when the winter brings the time of rest, Forget-me-not! forget-me-not! but pour Into each crevice, of the well filled year, The overflow of all your thankfulness. "'Come in the Spring and Summer of your lives, And in the yellow leaves of Autumn come, And in the snow and Winter of your age; Come any time, but come! stay not away! And I will give you rest; and ye shall not Go out again forever; but shall shine Bright as the brightest stars, and ye shall sing, As never angels sang; and every soul Be swallowed up in sunshine evermore." He ceased; and there arose from out the crowd The murmuring voice of question on the air; Some thought him moved of God, and long and loud Gave acclamation in his favor; "Where," Cried they, "can such authority be found? Whence come those gracious words, if not from God?— Power, wisdom, love, entripled in the sound A mother's tenderness, a father's rod." Then spake the unctious King; and through the King, The man; for he was but a tattered rag Of royalty: "What is this wondrous thing, Old Kohen, you propose? Make haste, let lag Your purpose; why is it, we cannot speak Face unto face with your great Deity?— Our fathers say old Noah did—what leak Has sprung between us, that we cannot see The father as he is? as others did? Am I not greater than all earthly Kings? He spake our fathers, wherefore is he hid That I cannot behold him? Let his wings Be folded for a while, as he comes down, That we may see him as he is; we came To choose a god, whom we, indeed, can see; Or, if his face be burnished with a flame Too great for our uncovered eyes, then we Are satisfied to close them in the smile Of one so radiant; so we feel him near, "But we must know his presence for the while; Speak Kohen! why can ye not bring him here?" Then answered Kohen: "Urge me not, O King! Ye know not what ye ask, if ye do seek To see him as he is. A nameless thing, A brow-bedabbled man, upon whose cheek, Sheds everyday God's sunshine; shall he ask That a decree be broken, and presume To lift unhallowed voice? Though in a mask Jehovah hides his presence, yet, the bloom Of every flower, is but the blush he brings Upon the face of nature, as he looks Abroad upon his creatures; and she sings From her ten thousand voices in his praise. Wake to his chorus! 'Ancient of the Days,' Wake children! and your faith shall blossom into wings." "Prate ye to fools," the incensed Monarch cries, "Nor gabble longer of your hidden Lord; Who follows in his wake, this moment dies, And Isis and eternal keep my word. We have a score of hidden deities And yet, they leave us, without aid or thought, And pestilence comes in and blocks our ways And where can our dilverance be bought? Show the bare hand of infinite decree, Show us a present help in each distress, Show us the Master, we will bend the knee, "And we will follow on, in righteousness. Strike! strike the chords! while we invoke the gods, And with the music let our souls be blended, That we may find the one, before whom nods 'All stripling deities, and thus our strife be ended.'" Then rose a blast of sound upon the air And blended with it was the voice of song, The chime of music with the moan of prayer— A nation's thirst; deep, earnest and impassionately strong: O God of gods! be with us when we pray, And give us rest; List our entreaty, be not far away, Be near each breast. The gods of Mizraim, we have sought in vain,— They answer not; Our prayers are but an empty, aching pain,— We are forgot. Though Isis bless our fields and flocks with growth, And Thoth be heard; Upon the tongues of wisemen, yet, is wroth Some mighty lord. Some hidden power without us; in the dark We grope our way; From thine own glory, lend to us a spark, Be thou our day. O, make thee to be known, From thy unchanging throne, God of the trusting heart; Come take us by the hand, And be our sole command, And form with us a part. Give us, to look upon Thy form without a frown, Our doubts and fears displace; God of the universe, Remove from us, thy curse, Give us to see thy face. "Behold! behold, his face!" A hand is pointed to the sun; "Behold! and be ye not afraid, To-day, be life, once more begun; Look ye upon his face, and learn to live, Look ye upon his face and learn to die; His hand alone deliverance can give, His light, alone, can frame the soul's reply. 'Hear me! ye sons of men'; all eyes were turned; A stranger in their midst, whose dark eye burned With an unearthly gleam, yet black as night. It had no heavenly radiance, yet, was bright With a mysterious blaze, that pierced the soul As with an arrow to its inmost part, His form, in keeping with his face, made whole "A man well fitted to command; a heart That seemed to throb with some great passion; pent And seething into purpose; his black face Shone like a mirror-hood of his design. His words, and his strange presence in the place Gave him enraptured audience, that no one dared decline. "Hear me, ye sons of men: I am not come To woe ye to destruction; but, to save; The color of my face betrays my birth, I am Mizraim's race; but of mankind A brother, and I speak in soberness. Because our fathers wandered from the way, And left the shining pathway of the sun, Because they fell to seeking other gods, He suffered them to fall into your hands. I will not speak, as he has feigned to speak, Who claimed before me, sponsorship from God; But I will make it plain that he deceived. Our fathers tell of Noah and the ark, And also tell of Shinar, and the time Of the dispersal. It is not enough To come with empty declamation, come With platitudes of love, and softened terms Of parenthood, and then to dash it all— The yearning love of children, to the earth, By words that are icicled up from death: 'Ask not to look upon my face again, Ye cannot look and live.' "Shame! shame on the pretender thus to bring Your expectations to the pitch of pain, The summit of your hope, where, to move on Is only to descent and sorrow; thus To multiply his attributes of good, And to describe a god so like the true, The ever shining Sun, and then deny The precious boon of sight; what mockery! When there he stands, (eternity, as young,) The broad, full shining orb, to look upon; The ever radiant Arbiter of earth, The great 'I am' of love; the very soul Of tenderness; rising every morn To kiss his sleeping children from their beds, Enwrapping them, with all his piercing warmth; Wooing the fragrant flowers from the earth, And warming all existences to life. "How can the soul be blind, when such a pledge Stands in eternal witness of its love? The very rocks would break their raptured trance, If man find not his voice in fervent praise. How do the waters mirror up his face! And tremble into waves at his advance. The universe goes laughing into life Each morn at his approach, and all the world Forgets its wakefulness, when the tired wing Of day is folded, and himself withdraws "To teach us faith in him till he return; Thus every night his promise, and each morn His gracious fulfillment, filling the year With ripened sheaves of his remembrances. "We measure power by our necessities; Let him forget the dawning of one day, Or leave us through the circle of one moon, (Which were the same to him but for his love,) By what conception would we feel our loss? While yet the year is young, we scatter seed, And wait his fervid rays to fructify. The trees put forth their bloom, that his embrace May ripen into fruit; and not a growth But climbs his rays to full development. When Nature points with her ten thousand hands To him, the almighty framer of it all, Shall man forget his duty and fly off On the unnumbered tangents of the brain? Rather let break our voices in his praise, And let each human soul, be safely borne, Back to his many-chambered paradise. "Down on his rays man rode into the world, And if we wander not, the same broad path Is open for our exit; there is room In his broad campus for the royal race. Our bodies are of dust, and will return; Only the vital spark, the shining way "Ere traversed; and that alone goes back To join the maker in the increate, The golden chambers of eternal light. Look on these eyes! have they not more than Earth In their deep glance? I know whereof I speak; For I was led, in trancehood to the sun, And in his very chambers have I walked, And at his very throne have I bent down To praise him; multitudes were there, who knelt As I did kneel, in rapturehood and prayer. "High in the midst, sole source of life and light, The glowing center of the shining orb Sat the unchanging god; his face was that Of manhood magnified; upon his cheek Was more than woman's beauty deified. O! once to look and live, is all the soul, Though it be triply strengthened, can endure, Till it do pass from this clay tenement Into the morrow of the upper world; But we may now and always climb the rays That spring from his own countenance, and see The reflex of his face; but of his form, But little can be printed on our sight. Enough, to know he lives, and is our life, And every morning he doth search us out, And lift the burden from our heavy lids, That we may rise with him and to our tasks! "Shall we be hushed, when every bird and flower Doth herald his approach? Convolvulus Waits for his coming with its lips apart, And Philomela will not close his note, Till he do answer with his smiling face; Thus the whole earth resolvent into song Waits for his footsteps—how can we be dumb! "There was a song Which flowed, untutored, from the lips of love, The ransomed ones that knelt before his throne, No earthly tongues its echo could repeat, So much there was of love, so much of joy, So much of tenderness and innocence; For they were without guile, and not a word But breathed of faith, dependency and peace. It praised him for his sufference of earth, That he did bear its sin, yet did not smite; And only once, in anger, hid his face, And oped the heavens, to wash out its filth; Yet, with his fervent rays, drank up the flood, And set his bow a witness that again Never should earth be flooded, while the years Melt into centuries, till the whole race, With aching hearts and scalding eyes shall come Back to his all-embracing fatherhood. "They thanked him for his witness-watch of man, That time and time, his face was partly hid, "To show the hazard of our wandering steps, That in the early, and the latter rain, He wept for our refreshment, till his tears Shut out his fervent glances from our eyes; And though he mourned our strangerhood of him, Yet would he teach us that in smiles and tears Are we begotten, and our lives are lost If we find not the blessings that are hid Beneath the rainbow tints of sorrowing. "Thus much, and more, that I will not essay; But I was led through fields and garden walks, And ornate grandeur, which the earth affords Nor pattern nor approach; and though the mind Be forced to utmost tension, it cannot Encompass the bewilderment of sight. Since my return, I cannot cast it off, It lingers with me like some raptured dream, And in my eyes and on my face is drawn The print of its unspeakable surmount; And I would call it dream, if I had not A talisman, that tells me of its truth. An angel led me to the central throne, An angel led me back to consciousness; But ere he passed the confines of the sun, He handed me a clear, transparent gem, And called me: 'Uri, thus it shall be said: The very god commands that it be done; "'Uri, my light, my fire upon the earth, Shall build again my altars and restore With his own hand, the priesthood of the sun. I will a hundredfold return the scorn Of Mizraim on himself, for his neglect; And from the sons of Lud I will raise up A kingdom that shall shine in righteousness.' "This said, he handed me the talisman; Which, when our altars shall have been prepared, And laden with the choicest of our flock, Shall claim the pledge of the eternal one, With fire from his own courts to burn it up. "I can not say how long, or short a time, I lingered thus entranced; I only know I waked to find it real. The precious gem Is proof of disenchantment; it is here. I lay no claim on priesthood, but have told The plain, uncumbered truth; when I did fall, Prone to the earth in trance, I had no thought, Of what would come of it; you have it all. I have the stone, and we will test its power. If yonder priest, with his enshrouded myth, Desires to measure lances with the sun, Then we will each build altars to our gods, And he that first draws fire from any source, Not of the earth, shall claim the forfeiture Of all the other's tenantry to teach. "I may have said too much; I can not more Than leave the rest with god, the changeless one, The bright, all-shining universe of love, The unfailing source, the broad, unvarying stream, The very oceanhood of deity." He ceased; and Kohen, rising to his feet, Gave back the challenge eagerly; as might The athlete spring his ready foe to meet; His, was the conscious power of fearless right: "Let him lift up his altars to the sun, And I will call upon the Uncreate, The hand, that shaped it from chaotic void, The face, whose look first taught it how to smile. He may call first, that it may vantage him; But other than the earth can no man bring, Fire from the distant realms, except it be From God, Creator of the sun, the moon and stars. I am content that he do cry his god, Till he be hoarse with hardihood of prayer, This day shall judge between us and the right, And ye shall see the bare arm of the Lord." The crowd, impatient of his words, did shout In Uri's acclamation; as the sun, Full-faced and warm, gave back his witnesshood; His ready conquest had been well begun. How few there be, who see beyond their sight! Even in our day of peculence and power, The horizon of man has been his might, Beyond his ready reach he passes into night; The world is bounded by its present hour. No marvel that old Uri swept the field; His snare was baited for their ready sense, No effort theirs, a pleasure but to yield; Theirs but the open book, to them unsealed; They felt no weight of future recompense; And so they shouted, high and loud, his praise, 'Till he recalled them, with his magic voice: "Old Kohen seems in earnest; let us raise Our altars quickly, that we may rejoice This day, in our great father's warm embrace, That we may look unblushing in his face And call his fervent rays to their full test Ere he shall draw the curtain in the west." So said, so done; two altars were soon reared, Both prophets, in full confidence appeared; The offerings have been brought; and now they wait Only the word; the King must give command. Against gray Kohen, was the leveled fate Of his unsolaced anger; yet, his hand Was stayed by counsel, and he only said, "Uri calls first, let every breath Be hushed upon his calling. Let the dead From out their cerements beneath Bear witness with our spirits that we seek "A true solution to the psalm of life. Slay thou the offering, Uri, and then speak, Speak the charmed word, and close the strife." Uri comes forth and in one hand he brings The talisman with leathern circlet stayed, Enclosing surfaces convex; to this he clings As though the whole earth in the balance laid, Were mean in weight compared to such a gem. The other holds a knife, and with a stroke The offering is prepared; he looked at them, The thirsting, hungry eyes that watch, then broke The silence, turning full upon the sun: "Thy will, most radiant god! thy will be done. O shining face! of the unchanging one, Look, in the pity thou alone canst feel And lead us back to life, we claim thy pledge. A nation, lifts to thee their centered prayer; They see thy smile, they know thy heart of hearts. They hush them here, upon their altar's brink, For they can go no nearer; meet, thou, them, And, as we look upon thy face, may we Behold thy very presence in our midst; Come as a flame, to lick this offering up, And all our hearts shall melt into thy smile." He raised the gem before the flaming sun; The rays concentered, and the flames burst forth As leaping to their master. 'Twas enough. The multitude, in thought, became as one. And all, save Kohen, sank upon their knees; And whispers of relief, fell on the breeze. They were as pliant clay in Uri's hands, And hung upon the breath of his commands: "Pour forth your homage, chosen of the sun, Once more his warmth encloses; and we feel Responsive throbbings of his fatherhood. Rise and rejoice!" Their ready voices raise From lips, new touched in unison of praise. Old Kohen was confounded at the first. He had not thought it possible, to bring Fire from the sun, or any mortal thing; No shadow of its secret on him burst; But he had heard of sorcery and arts Among the sons of Mizraim, and not long Before the lion of his nature starts, In cold defiance of the clamorous throng, To slay his offering; and his lips poured out The very thunder-throe of earnest prayer; A fervency that would not harbor doubt, That ever is a stranger to despair. Long, earnest, loud and fervently, he prayed; And his gray locks ensilvering the breeze, Gave pathos, to the torrent thus unstayed; Yet, not for self, did he the angel seize; But wrestled for his people thus misled. "Unscale their eyes, O Father!" so he pled. "Unstop their ears, O thou, All Powerful One That they may hear thy footfall on the wind. Come in thy flame, and purge them with thy fire. Strike off the fetters from their prisoned souls! Make me an offering for their flagrant sins, And I will bare my bosom to the knife, And bend my neck in cheerfulness to thee, So thou wilt save my people from the hand Of this misguided witch of Mizraim!" His prayer had hardly ceased, ere shot the flame, From upper zenith, down, and in one glow, Pierced the whole altar with impetuous claim, And lapped the other with its overflow. The crowd, transfixed with wonder at the scene, Could hardly trust the witness of their eyes, And held divided counsels, till the King Quenching the current of their late surprise, Poured his recruited anger on Kohen. "Why longer parley, with a thing so plain? Old Kohen had no warrant for this deed; The palm was Uri's who did rightly gain Fire from the sun, to him alone, we plead; He drew it first, old Kohen must admit, And he should paid due homage to our god; And from what source did his become enlit? "We serve no phantom, with its hidden nod, But look upon the face of him we serve; The sun has kept his fire for us these years, And we, his children, never can deserve His untold blessings; though our prayers and tears, Should mingle with each altar that we raise In all the future ages, still our debt Will always be uncancelled by our praise And all our past be covered with regret. We want no juggling on this sacred day, That gives us back the father, we had lost. Bind old Kohen, and hasten him away, He shall repay his treachery with cost. To-morrow shall another altar grace This precious grove, made sacred to the sun, And Kohen shall be offered in this place, To pay the sacrilege he had begun." In thy own way our Father; we must wait So many times, because we cannot see; Yet thou alone canst bring us to the gate, How slowly do we learn to trust in thee! Yet, in withholding, are the blessings hid, As frequent as in giving; all our prayers If they result in doing but thy bid, Will scatter diamond dust above our cares. The gray old Prophet murmured: "Let God's will Be done, and in abeyance I will bare my breast, "I will not doubt him though indeed he kill, His chosen way must surely be the best." The morrow came and at the King's command The multitude assembled, and the guard Brought forth the Prophet, looking proudly grand As some great warrior claiming his reward Of beys and laurels, wreathed into a crown; They rear the pile and he awaits his doom Without a menace, and without a frown. Then turning to the press: "I will assume Your hearts are mine, my sons, I know it well; Your eyes beheld the witness of our God, And greatly were ye moved; but 'tis his will That I should join my fathers in that land, Where canker and corruption never comes, The why, and wherefore of it, is his own; I bow my head in thankfulness to him, That he has deemed me worthy to exchange A life of sorrow for a crown of love. "Ye are the servants of an earthly King, And God has suffered him to lead you off, His will be done; but I must tell you now Your future as I read it in the glass Of my illumined death: "I see the black Of Mizraim, sweep the brown of Lud from off The face of Egypt; and I also see A wandering race, go northward, and to east; I see a bitter wintering of snow; I see the sun hide back his face from them; I see a boisterous buffeting at sea; I see a journey southward—a new world." "And centuries flow swiftly on my sight. A people proudly resting in their wealth; The Son of God, in the full flight of years; The conquest of the nations in his name. A proud and prosperous people cross the sea And swoop upon this nation of the sun; Their temples crumble in the hand of God And he takes back his own. All this I see As what cannot avert; it is God's way, And wisdom is the wastage of his throne. He cannot order wrongly; I submit My wasting image to his waiting hands: "Come Father! I am ready." He raised him to the pile; with look divine, He prone himself upon it; at the sign The Prophet Uri raised the crystal stone; The sun threw down its rays, and shot the flame Full to the center; as the altar shone, Each eye was turned, and every voice was tame, As down the chancel of the deep blue sky, A flaming chariot sped, and came a cry: "It is enough, come higher up; thou shalt Not suffer death." A hand, not human, caught The grand old Prophet; his recumbent form Rose on their dazzled sight as rainbow in the storm. Thus was the error fixed; and it is well We leave them to their blindness for a while. Misguided worship, left alone, will tell Its own pathetic story: there is guile To underlie each sorrow of the race. Fruit comes alone from seed; somewhere is sown The germ of every grief, and nature on its face Bears no repentant feature; as we plant, so shall the tree be grown.

EXPULSION FROM EGYPT.

The seasons pass, till on their hands they count Four palms, and to the third, a score and three In life's meridian how the circles mount That measure our existence, if there be No canker worm that clogs the ready wheel; If care hangs not upon the skirts of time; And if, like most mankind, we only feel Its gentle passing, by the hills we climb In ambling, easy way, and retrospect Surprises into thought, and we wake up To feel how swift we journey. We reflect After reflection barrens of its fruit, the cup Which we have mixed we drink; if it be gall We gulp it down the same; we cannot change The current of our lives, and useless is the call On any but the hand of God. 'Tis strange The miracle of life should ever pass And print no letters deep into the soul! The years go by, and, but the tuft of grass More reverent than we, tells o'er our dust its rosary, in deep green scroll.

MIZRAIM AND LUD.

Near the rim of Karoun, where the pyramids drink the dew that should dampen the soil; And the Nilus pours over its green level banks, its annual freightage of spoil; Where the date ripens dark to the child of the sun, and the pomegranate colors for fruit; The ibis is sounding the damps of the land, and earth in its plethory mute. The fat of the fields husks the voice of the morn, while Demeter is weighing her sheaves; The lotus has honied its lips for the kiss, "and the turtle in mockery grieves." What is that, where the Orient gathers her gold, and the eye wanders back to the sea? What cloud on the horizon's breach can be seen? What wakens the vulture's rude glee? 'Tis the shock of the battle that burdens the air, and the armies that burden the eye; They have met (could Elysian give landscape more fair?), have met to embrace and to die. The Prophet still lives, and has led to the sun all Egypt; and gathered as one The people to hallow the harvest-moon feast, ere the work of the year is done. But Mizraim outnumbers the children of Lud, and the shepherd kings, crafty and weak, Have laid tasks on their shoulders too heavy to bear, till the voice of their burden must speak. In vain the gray Prophet lifts up to his god his winglet of prayer for peace; The tempest of war has broke over the plain, and his altars can bring no surcease. The black and the bronze, the iron and brass; how they struggle and grip for the field! The spear and the arrow, the halbert and lance, and who shall be first to yield? Not the iron; it is strong and resistless in weight. Not the brass; it is beaten and firm. What a hecate of agony burdens the plain! what a banquet for vulture and worm! But the iron is too heavy, the brass is too thin, and under the weight it gives way, As a wall, that is breached and toppled by time; and Mizraim gains the day.

Oppression, when reversed, is double weight; The Slave pours lead into the lash he bore; And, as the Master adds recruited hate To blows, that he has learned to feel before, The soul its letters of forgiveness learns From only one great Master, in all time; Revenge is human, and forever burns Upon the trackway of retreating crime. The text and testwork of their lives was lost; And when the King was slain, and they o'erthrown, His people paid their tyranny with cost. Only the Prophet, with his magic stone, Could purchase their withdrawal; they must leave (They were the early jewels of the sun) And Uri pledged their fortunes to retrieve, If they would journey, where the day begun, And seek the closer presence of their god, In paths where human feet had never trod. They must divide with Egypt; but go out Well laden for the journey; should they dare To turn, the heavy hand of Mizraim would not spare. Ægyptus! thou above thy gates hath writ So many times the monosylbic "when." We, weary of conjecture; round us flit The phantoms of the past; and we again Pass in review thy pages, black with mold; Intemporate within a crumbling earth, Against the char of empires thou dost hold The charms that emulate immortal birth. We write mutation on the brow of Time; Thou art the changeless one of all the world— Thou hast no brotherhood in any clime; All mortal barbets have in vain been hurled. "Time conquers all things?" Thou giv'st back the lie; Above its ruins, thou dost stand, serene— Eternity!—Must thou, perforce, then die? What tragedy hast thou, indeed, not seen? Must thou, too, look on death? thou wilt not dim; But in impassive slumber, thou wilt fall As sinks the sun, beneath the horizon's rim, And answer only the Archangel's call. We leave thee loathely, for our souls are wed To thy enchanted gardenhood of lore. "The morning stars sang joy" above thy bed, The nations, in their cerements, shall pass thy door, And earth be wrapped in ashes ere thy brow shall bear the fatal legend, "Nevermore."

THE MOURNING SHEPHERDS

The tambour' is silent, O god of the Nile! The harp has been hung in acacian shade. We are bowed to the earth, we are broken and bent, And the blade of our fathers in dust has been laid. We came, as the simoom creeps over the plain; We came, as the tiger its covert forsakes; As the hurricane brushes the dust from the brakes; As the lightning leaps out and the thunder-god shakes. We are shorn of our strength as with plague we are smote; The axe has been wrenched from the hands that are brawn, And the arms whose strong sinews till now were unbent Have been broken as brittles; our prowess is gone. O! thou bright shining god! with thy scintles of gold; If thy children have gathered the glow of thy face, If thy kisses, ere warmed to the lips that are cold, O we pray! let us feel thy impassioned embrace. We are journeying forth to the cradle of morn, Where thy lids feel the weight of their slumbering still; We would kneel at thy bed where the seasons are born, And learn from thy lips the whole law of thy will. Have we sinned in thy sight? have we slackened our pace? Are we paying the forfeit in wormwood of shame? We draw nearer to thee, and our lives we would place In the hands of the Maker, that out of thy flame We may gather that fire that shall glow with thy love; And will never grow dim through the future of years, That shall make us like thee, and our fealty prove 'Till we learn to forget this dark trackhood of tears. As we turn to the East, wilt thou smile on our way? Wilt thou lessen the distance between us and thee? Or our hearts remain hungry, the shadow still stay With its wizard arm lifted to smite as we flee. We doubt thee no longer—we know thou wilt aid; We turn to the path where thy morning rays shine; We will seek thy first footfall, and all unafraid, We feel thee, we love thee, we know we are thine. We leave the old life, with the graves of our kin, We turn from the sunset of dampness and death, We turn where the light with its god doth begin, And the praise of the day-king embalms every breath; Where the sun slakes his thirst with the dew of the flowers, Where the night flees before him far into the west, Where the honey-dew clings to the fruit-laden hours, Where the soul sets its table, with Joy as its guest. So does our faith stand out against our grief; So does our hope grow up into belief. One God? Yes, Father, Thou! and only One. We praise thee; yet, our praise is only done, When we extol thee for the gift of faith. Not every one can name thee; but each breath May be enladen with the thought of praise And all adore thy attributes—the ways That they adore thee are not always thine; Yet, do they bend to thy great thoroughfare and shine With light from the Eternal throne; 'tis well, Nor otherwise than good—it can but swell The choral of thy praise; and in the end These thousand thoughts of Deity, in thee, not fail to blend.

THE JOURNEY.