Poor Balaam, thy case is a hard one indeed;
Like a house that’s divided thou art;
Both thy Maker and Mammon thou gladly would’st serve,
But the former requires thy whole heart.

“Let me die the death of the righteous,” say’st thou, “And my last end like his let it be;” But if like the righteous unwilling to live, Never hope like the righteous to die.

March 24, 1853.

* * * * *

Though life is young, and spirits gay,
And hope thy fond heart cheers;
Though friends are kind, and health is firm,
And death far off appears,

Yet think not happiness like this,
Is destined long to last;
For ere to-morrow morn, perhaps,
Thy sky may be o’ercast.

Ah! let not pleasure blind thy eyes,
Or flattery lure thy heart;
But in the morning of thy life,
Secure the better part.

March 29, 1853.

THE GREAT PHYSICIAN.

    “And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so
    must the Son of man be lifted up.

    “That whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have
    eternal life.”

    St. John, 3:14, 15.

What means that cry of anguish,
That strikes the distant ear;
The loud and piercing wailing,
In desert wilds we hear?

From Israel’s camp it cometh,
For Israel hath rebelled;
And these are cries of anguish,
By wrath of God impelled.

It is no common sorrow,
Extorts that bitter groan;
’Tis from the broken hearted,
And caused by sin alone.

Lo! in the far off desert,
Upon that tented ground,
Are many hundred thousands
Of weary travellers found.

In desert of Arabia,
Near forty years they roam;
And soon they are to enter
“Canaan their happy home.”

But come with me and visit
A people so distressed;
They are the seed that Jacob
When dying pronounced blessed.

We’ll draw aside the curtain
Of tent that’s nearest by;
Ah! what a mournful picture
For stranger’s curious eye.

See on that couch reclining,
A young and lovely girl,
With brow and neck half shaded. 
By many a clustering curl.

She was an only daughter,
Nurtured with tenderest care;
The idol of her parents,
And fairest of the fair.

In bloom of youth and beauty,
But yesterday she shone;
And her fond parents thought her
A mine of wealth unknown.

She seems like one that sleepeth,
But there’s no sign of breath;
And coil’d ’neath her arm a serpent,
Whose bite is certain death.

Yet not alone the mourners
In this sad tent are found;
Shriek after shriek is echoed
For many miles around.

The mother, too, is bitten,
With infant in her arms;
And sire, in strength of manhood;
And bride, with all her charms.