A valley,' desolate as Tophet, fill'd
With bones innumerable, sere and bleach'd,

As though the sudden pestilence of God
Had fallen on some mighty host, and men

Had left them in the sun and winds to rot.

Death brooded o'er them. But a voice from heaven

Startles the awful silence: and behold

A shaking, and the bones, bone to his bone,

Together framed the perfect skeleton;

And sinews cover'd them, and flesh and skin,
The very lineaments of life. Again

The prophet's voice falls on them: and the winds
Breathed like the quickening Spirit of the Lord
Above the lifeless slain: and lo, they rose
An army numberless, equipp'd for fight.

Hope rises from despair, and life from death.
Ha! the dense clouds are breaking: mighty winds
Have rent a pathway through their gloom, and far
Across the everlasting mountains gleam

The faint streaks of the morning. What if soon
One more prophetic vision scatters woe

1 Ezek. xxxvii. 1-14.

On Meshech and the prince of Tubal's host,1
The last stupendous sacrifice of war

Reeking to heaven from Armageddon's vale: —

It passes like a haggard dream away,
And in the far horizon (joy for thee,

Ezekiel, lonely watchman of the night)

Grow clearer and more clear the roseate hues

Of morning-land: and here and there peep forth
The stars in dewy paleness, soon to fade
Before the glory of the rising Sun,

Rising with healing in His wings. He comes,
And in the mellow light which ushers in
His advent, to thy searching ken, O seer,
Stand forth the turrets of His temple,2 built
Of goodlier stones, and bright with fairer light
Than Solomon in all his glory saw:

With holy courts, and incense clouds of praise,
And deep memorial rites. He comes, He comes,
With rushing wings, and calm crystalline throne:
The same who came to thee by Chebar's banks
And lighten'd thy lone exile: now the earth
Shines with the beauty of His countenance,

1 Ezek. xxxviii. xxxix.

2 Ezek. xl.

And heaven rings forth its welcome jubilee.

The hills have caught the tidings from the sky,

Which o'er them bends in brightness; and the glens

Repeat the promise to re-echoing glens;

The ocean with its music, myriad-voiced,

Bears on its heaving breast the rapturous sound

Of Hallelujah, and the morning stars

Sing welcome, and the sons of God again

Shout in their everlasting homes for joy.

Enough for thee, Ezekiel, to have caught
The echo of that music: when the harp
Of all creation, jarr'd too long by sin

And grating discords manifold, at last

Retuned and temper'd by the hand of God,

Shall yield to every breath of heaven, that sweeps

Across its countless and melodious strings,

Eternal songs of gratitude and love.

Hinton Martell, 1854.

JOHN BAPTIST.

ἀστὴρ πρὶν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνὶ ζώοισιν ἐῶος,

νῦν δὲ θανὼν λάμπεις ἕσπερος ἐν φθιμένοις.

SOFT the summer sun is sinking through the saffron sky to

rest:

Soft the veil of sultry vapor trembles on the desert's

breast;

Golden, crimson, purple, opal lights and shadows, warp and

woof,

Wrap the sands in change, and flush Machærus' battlemented roof.

Saying, ""Tis my last," a captive rose from the cold dungeon floor,

Clank'd the fetters with his rising, lean'd the grated lattice

o'er,

Gaunt albeit in manhood's prime, as he through bitter toils

had pass'd,

"One look more on earthly sunsets; my heart tells me,

'tis the last."

In his eye the fading sunlight linger'd on as loath to go, Light to light akin and kindling, brother-like; and to and

fro,

As the winds crept o'er the desert from the hills of Abarim, From his brow his unshorn tresses flutter'd in the twilight

dim.

Now and then a passing glory from the castle's banquet

hall,

Where a thousand lamps bade thousand guests to royal

festival,

Smote the topmost turret's ridges with a gleam of fitful

light,

As the woven purple hangings, sail-like, caught the gales

of night:

Now and then a gush of laughter; now and then a snatch

of song,

Seem'd to mock the prisoner's vigil, and to do his silence

wrong.

Never a word spake he; but, gazing on the hills and skies

and stars,