Sapphires, whose azure emulates the skies, And dust of gold. Yet there's a curtain'd path Which the unfettered denizens of air Have not descried, nor even the piercing eye Of the black vulture seen. The lion's whelps In their wide roaming, nor their fiercer sire Have never trod it. There's a Hand that bares The roots of mountains at its will, and cuts Through rifted rocks a channel, where the streams And rivers freely flow--an Eye that scans Each precious thing. But where doth Wisdom dwell? And in what curtain'd chamber was the birth Of Understanding? The great Sea uplifts Its hand in adjuration, and declares "_'Tis not with me,_" and its unfathom'd deep In subterranean thunders, echoing cry "_No, not with me._" Offer ye not for them Silver, or Ophir's gold, nor think to exchange Onyx, or sapphire, or the coral branch Or crystal gem where hides imprison'd light, Nor make ye mention of the precious pearl Or Ethiopian topaz, for their price Transcendeth rubies, or the dazzling ray Of concentrated jewels. In what place Are found these wondrous treasures? Who will show Their habitation? which alike defies The ken of those who soar, or those who delve In cells profound. Death and destruction say, From their hoarse caverns, "We have heard their fame But know them not." Lo! He who weighs the winds Measures the floods, controls the surging sea And points the forked lightnings where to play, He, unto whom all mysteries are plain All secrets open, all disguises clear, Saith unto man the questioner,-- "Behold The fear of God is wisdom, and to break The sway of evil and depart from sin Is understanding." Anguish wrings my soul As in my hours of musing I restore The picture of my lost prosperity, When round my side my loving children drew And from my happy home my steps were hail'd Where'er I went. The fatherless and poor, And he who had no helper, welcomed me As one to right their wrongs, and pluck the spoil From the oppressor's teeth. Pale widows raised The glistening eye of gratitude, and they Whose sight was quench'd, at my remembered tones Pour'd blessings on me. Overflowing wealth Brought me no titles that I held so dear As father of the poor, and comforter Of all who mourn. When in the gate I sate The nobles did me honor, and the wise Sought counsel of me. To my words the young Gave earnest heed, the white-hair'd men stood up, And princes waited for my speech, as wait The fields in summer for the latter rain. But now, the children of base men spring up And push away my feet, and make my name A bye-word and a mockery, which was erst Set to the harp in song. Because my wealth God hath resumed, they who ne'er dared to claim Equality with even the lowest ones Who watch'd my flock, they whom my menials scorned,