One stands up close and treads on high,
  Where the other dares not lend his eye;

  One nearer to God’s altar trod,
  The other to the altar’s God.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

* * * * *

JEWISH HYMN IN BABYLON.

  God of the thunder! from whose cloudy seat
    The fiery winds of Desolation flow;
  Father of vengeance, that with purple feet
    Like a full wine-press tread’st the world below;
  The embattled armies wait thy sign to slay,
  Nor springs the beast of havoc on his prey,
  Nor withering Famine walks his blasted way,
    Till thou hast marked the guilty land for woe.

  God of the rainbow! at whose gracious sign
    The billows of the proud their rage suppress;
  Father of mercies! at one word of thine
    An Eden blooms in the waste wilderness,
  And fountains sparkle in the arid sands,
  And timbrels ring in maidens’ glancing hands,
  And marble cities crown the laughing lands,
    And pillared temples rise thy name to bless.

  O’er Judah’s land thy thunders broke, O Lord! 
    The chariots rattled o’er her sunken gate,
  Her sons were wasted by the Assyrian’s sword,
    Even her foes wept to see her fallen state;
  And heaps her ivory palaces became,
  Her princes wore the captive’s garb of shame,
  Her temples sank amid the smouldering flame,
    For thou didst ride the tempest cloud of fate.

  O’er Judah’s land thy rainbow, Lord, shall beam,
    And the sad City lift her crownless head,
  And songs shall wake and dancing footsteps gleam
    In streets where broods the silence of the dead. 
  The sun shall shine on Salem’s gilded towers,
  On Carmel’s side our maidens cull the flowers
  To deck at blushing eye their bridal bowers,
    And angel feet the glittering Sion tread.

  Thy vengeance gave us to the stranger’s hand,
    And Abraham’s children were led forth for slaves. 
  With fettered steps we left our pleasant land,
    Envying our fathers in their peaceful graves. 
  The strangers’ bread with bitter tears we steep,
  And when our weary eyes should sink to sleep,
  In the mute midnight we steal forth to weep. 
    Where the pale willows shade Euphrates’ waves.

  The born in sorrow shall bring forth in joy;
    Thy mercy, Lord, shall lead thy children home;
  He that went forth a tender prattling boy
    Yet, ere he die, to Salem’s streets shall come;
  And Canaan’s vines for us their fruit shall bear,
  And Hermon’s bees their honeyed stores prepare,
  And we shall kneel again in thankful prayer,
    Where o’er the cherub seated God full blazed the irradiate dome.

HENRY HART MILMAN.

* * * * *

EXAMPLE.

  We scatter seeds with careless hand,
    And dream we ne’er shall see them more;
      But for a thousand years
      Their fruit appears,
  In weeds that mar the land,
    Or healthful store.