REFLECTIONS.

O freedom, must thy spirit now withdraw From earth, returning to its native heaven, There to dwell, till armed with sevenfold vengeance It comes again to earth with king Messiah, And all his marshalled hosts in glory bright, To tread the winepress of Almighty God, And none escape?—ye powers of heaven forbid;— Let freedom linger still on shores of time, And in the breasts of thine afflicted saints, Let freedom find a peaceful retirement,— A place of rest;—till o'er the troubled earth— Mercy, justice, and eternal truth, While journeying hand in hand to exalt the humble And debase the proud, shall find some nation Poor, oppressed, afflicted and despised, Cast out and trodden under foot of tyrants Proud, the hiss, the bye-word, and the scorn of knaves:— And there let freedom's spirit wide prevail. And grow, and flourish—'mid the humble poor, Exhalted and enriched by virtue, Knowledge, temperance, and love—till o'er the earth Messiah comes to reign;—the proud consumed. No more oppress the poor.— Let Freedom's eagle then, (forthcoming, like The Dove from Noah's Ark) on lofty pinions soar, And spread its wide domain from end to end, O'er all the vast expanse of this wide earth,— While freedom's Temple rears its lofty spires Amid the skies, and on its bosom rests! A cloud by day and flaming fire by night!! But stay, my spirit, though thou feign would'st soar On high; mid scenes of glory, peace and joy; From bondage free, and bid thy jail farewell:— Stop,—wait awhile,—let patience have her perfect work, Return again to suffering scenes through which The way to glory lies; and speak of things Around thee,—thou art in prison still. But spring has now returned, the wintry blasts Have ceased to howl through my prison crevices. The soft and gentle breezes of the south Are whistling gayly past; and incense sweet On zephyr's wing, with fragrance fills the air, Wafted from blooming flowrets of the spring; While round my lonely dungeon oft is heard Melodious strains as if the birds of spring In anthems sweet conspired to pity and Console the drooping spirits there confined. All things around me show that days, and weeks, And months have fled, although to me not mark'd By sabbaths—and but faintly mark'd by dim And sombre rays of light alternate mid The gloom of overhanging night which still Pervades my drear and solitary cell. Where now those helpless ones I left to mourn? Have they perished? no.—what then!—has some Elijah call'd and found them in the last Extreme, and multiplied their meal and oil? Yes, verily,—the Lord has fill'd the hearts Of his poor saints with everlasting love, Which, in proportion to their poverty, Increased with each increasing want, till all Reduced unto the widow's mite and then Like her, their living they put in, and thus O'erflowed the treasury of the Lord with more Abundant stores than all the wealth of kings. And thus supported, fed, and clothed; and moved From scenes of sorrow to a land of peace— They live!—and living still they do rejoice In tribulation deep: Well knowing their redemption draweth nigh!