Soothing their drunken masters with a song, Or dancing in their golden tinkling gyves: Accurst if they remember through the long Estrangement of their exile, twice accursed If they forget and join the accursed throng. 60 How doth my heart that is so wrung not burst When I remember that my way was plain, And that God's candle lit me at the first, Whilst now I grope in darkness, grope in vain, Desiring but to find Him Who is lost, To find Him once again, but once again. His wrath came on us to the uttermost, His covenanted and most righteous wrath: Yet this is He of Whom we made our boast, Who lit the Fiery Pillar in our path, 70 Who swept the Red Sea dry before our feet, Who in His jealousy smote kings, and hath Sworn once to David: One shall fill thy seat Born of thy body, as the sun and moon 'Stablished for aye in sovereignty complete. O Lord, remember David, and that soon. The Glory hath departed, Ichabod! Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon, Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod, Before we go down quick into the pit, 80 Remember us for good, O God, our God:-- Thy Name will I remember, praising it, Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face, And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ; Thy Name will I remember in my praise And call to mind Thy faithfulness of old, Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days, And end me as a tale ends that is told. SEASONS (_Macmillan's Magazine_, Dec. 1866.) Oh the cheerful Budding-time! When thorn-hedges turn to green, When new leaves of elm and lime Cleave and shed their winter screen; Tender lambs are born and 'baa,' North wind finds no snow to bring, Vigorous Nature laughs 'Ha, ha,' In the miracle of spring. Oh the gorgeous Blossom-days! When broad flag-flowers drink and blow, 10 In and out in summer-blaze Dragon-flies flash to and fro; Ashen branches hang out keys, Oaks put forth the rosy shoot, Wandering herds wax sleek at ease, Lovely blossoms end in fruit. Oh the shouting Harvest-weeks! Mother earth grown fat with sheaves Thrifty gleaner finds who seeks; Russet-golden pomp of leaves 20 Crowns the woods, to fall at length; Bracing winds are felt to stir, Ocean gathers up her strength, Beasts renew their dwindled fur. Oh the starving Winter-lapse! Ice-bound, hunger-pinched and dim; Dormant roots recall their saps, Empty nests show black and grim, Short-lived sunshine gives no heat, Undue buds are nipped by frost, 30 Snow sets forth a winding-sheet, And all hope of life seems lost. MOTHER COUNTRY (_Macmillan's Magazine_, March 1868.) Oh what is that country And where can it be, Not mine own country, But dearer far to me? Yet mine own country, If I one day may see Its spices and cedars, Its gold and ivory.