Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/101

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SACRED MUSIC.

"Thou son of Jesse, bring the harp,
    And wake its melody."

He thought upon his father's flock,
    Which long, in pastures green,
He led, while flow'd, with silver sound,
    Clear rivulets between.

He thought of Bethlehem's star-lit skies,
    Beneath whose liquid rays
He gazed upon the glorious arch,
    And sang its Maker's praise.

Then boldly o'er the sacred harp
    He pour'd, in thrilling strain,
The prompting of a joyous heart,
    That knew nor care nor pain.

The monarch, leaning on his hand,
    Drank long the wondrous lay,
And clouds were lifted from his brow,
    As when the sunbeams play.

The purple o'er his heaving breast,
    That throbb'd so wild, grew still,
And Saul's clear eye glanced out, as when
    He did Jehovah's will.

O ye who feel the poison-fumes
    Of earth's fermenting care
Steal o'er the sky of hope, and dim
    What Heaven created fair,