Slowly o'er parched and dreary plains,
Fainting beneath the solar ray;
While hope of rescue scarce remains,
The weary pilgrim takes his way.
Around him, barren deserts lie,
Above him, bends a burning sky,
Or the dread Simoon's fatal breath,
Sweeps o'er his pathway, fraught with death.
THE DIAMOND OF THE DESERT.
"It is called in the Arabic language," answered the Saracen, "by a name which signifies, the 'Diamond of the Desert.'"
Scott.
Scott.
Slowly o'er parched and dreary plains,
Fainting beneath the solar ray;
While hope of rescue scarce remains,
The weary pilgrim takes his way.
Around him, barren deserts lie,
Above him, bends a burning sky,
Or the dread Simoon's fatal breath,
Sweeps o'er his pathway, fraught with death.
But now, to cheer his anxious eye,
Appears one little spot of green,
Sole vestige of fertility,
Amid that desolated scene.
And oh! how grateful none can know,
Is the cool fountain's silver flow,
Which brightly beams to cheer and bless,
In that wild waste of barrenness.
Appears one little spot of green,
Sole vestige of fertility,
Amid that desolated scene.
And oh! how grateful none can know,
Is the cool fountain's silver flow,
Which brightly beams to cheer and bless,
In that wild waste of barrenness.
To rest beside the bubbling fount,
Quaffing its waters as they glide,
And dangers of the way recount
To fellow pilgrims by his side;
How shall the wanderer leave its brink?
He stoops again,—again,—to drink,
And bears through all his desert way,
The memory of that fountain's play.
Quaffing its waters as they glide,
And dangers of the way recount
To fellow pilgrims by his side;
How shall the wanderer leave its brink?
He stoops again,—again,—to drink,
And bears through all his desert way,
The memory of that fountain's play.
So, 'mid the arid wastes of life,
Where panting pilgrims onward roam,
Wearied with earth, its toil, its strife,
Sighing to find some surer home;—
Religion, like the silver wave,
Pours its pure stream to bless and save;
And lies, like that bright fountain clear,
The "Diamond of the Desert" here.
Where panting pilgrims onward roam,
Wearied with earth, its toil, its strife,
Sighing to find some surer home;—
Religion, like the silver wave,
Pours its pure stream to bless and save;
And lies, like that bright fountain clear,
The "Diamond of the Desert" here.
And ye who vainly sigh for rest,
Who thirst for purer streams of joy
Here, with the living waters blessed,
Drink, deeply drink, without alloy.
Sparkling with light its waves flow on,
'Refreshing all they gleam upon,
And he who tastes the healing tide,
Will ask no other fount beside.
Who thirst for purer streams of joy
Here, with the living waters blessed,
Drink, deeply drink, without alloy.
Sparkling with light its waves flow on,
'Refreshing all they gleam upon,
And he who tastes the healing tide,
Will ask no other fount beside.