To the Constellation Lyra [pp. 676-677]

To the Constellation Lyda.
her. Perplexed and disappointed she knew not
what to do; but true to the principles that govern
her, she adds, " I believe they never could have
accomplished their intentions had my faith in prayer
remained unshaken." She was then led to exclaim what' shall I do?'-and a still small voice
seemed to reply-" Peace be unto thee-thou.shalt
go to Jerusalem." Accordingly we have before
us a letter from her dated on the confines of Judea.
Yes, twice has this, in many respects extraordinary
woman, visited the sepulchres of the prophets;
and now she says, "it is to die there."
Believe what we may, there is something simple, beautiful and affecting in all this: this unhesitating faith, this self-sacrificing obedience to the
dictates of duty. It is a spirit akin to the primitive Christians; a spirit, which the selfishness, the
expediency, the greediness of gain, and the matterof-fact character of the age in which we live, is
fast extinguishing from amidst us. It is akin to
that which swayed the good, ay, even the great
Oberlin, great with small means, the Pastor and
Legislator of the secluded Ban de la Roche. Miss
Livermore may accomplish nothing to be hereafter
blazoned on the roll of fame; but the simple love
of truth and duty paramount in her own mind will
bring to her its " own exceeding great reward."
At the date of her letter she had scarcely reached her place of destination, and it is accordingly
filled with details gratifying to her private friends,
but of hardly sufficient interest for the public eye.
It abounds with sentiments of the most ardent
piety, and faith in HIin who has hitherto protected
her in her solitary pilgrimage, and who has promised to "temper the wind to the shorn lamb."
Harp of the Heavens!-thy glittering strings
Ten thousand thousand years have told,
Since o'er thy frame the mystic wings
Of tim-e unwea r ied roll'd;
And still from that mysterious throne
Thy song, magnificent and lone,
Peals nightly as of old,
When Clhaldea's Shepherd bent his ear
To catch the music of each sphere.
How fondly gazed that old man round
The dread magnificence above,
Woo'd by the anthem's mellow sound, -~
Breathing of seraph love;
Whose brooding- wings shed deathless bliss
O'er pensile orb and star'd abyss,
Like Heaven's own holy doveFor he, on those high rocks, had caught
Beams from the Spirit-land of thought;
And heard thy ifusic, mighty Lyre,
Struck by the giant hand of Time,
Rolling amid yon worlds of fire,
Their choral march sublime.
How leap'd his heart-how swell'd his soulTo hear those awfill numbers roll
In one eternal chime;
And dream, that freed from Earth's dark sod,
Already he communed with God!
Bard of the stars! Thou led the dance
Of thrice ten thousand thousand spheres,
Wheeling in their delirious trance,
Through the unnumbered years.
Unmoved alike'mid life or deathThe storm's career-the tempest's breath,
Or folly-crime and tearsStill! Still behind those cloudy bars,
Glitters the Poet of the Stars!
It must be borne in mind, that she travels alone,
apparently unpatronised by any of our Missionary
boards.
At Gibraltar, she was hospitably entertained by
our worthy consul Mr. Sprague, who seems not
unmindful of the apostolic injunction to'entertain
strangers.' With a pleasure, highly creditable to
her heart, she dwells upon the many proofs of
kindness and benevolence she experienced in his
amiable family and the substantial comforts they
provided for her long and perilous journey.
While entering the bay of Malta, she- was saluted with the familiar air of " Hail Columbia,"
played bly a Maltese, who came along side, and
thus did honor to her country. She threw him
some coin, while her thoughts were far away with
the home and country she should see no more.
Wre trust to again hear from her, with particulars of the City made Holy by the footsteps of the
Saviour, and the witness of his death and resurrection. The remarkable aspect of the times, the
change of the seat of war between civilized communities, from Europe to the ancient Aceldama of
Asia, and the concurrent testimony of prophecy,
whether to be understood literally or otherwise,
I
676
[SFPTFmnrR,
seem to point out this portion of the earth as a
theatre on which great events are yet to be revealed. The circumstance of the Rothschilds holding
a mort(rage of the Holy City, which seems to be
well authenticated, adds not a little to the peculiar
interest with A,hich all eyes reg-.ixd this interesting
portion of the world.
TO Tf]E CONSTELLATION LYRA.
BY WILLIAM WALLACE.
4
Thou art alone!-At twilight diin,
And in the Night's transparent nooii,
Solemnly weaving thy wild hymn,
And solitary tune;Like some sad Hermit,-whose high heart
Would from all eai-tlily splendors part,
Lured by their glare too SOOI'I,
And'mid the Desert's silent gloom
Wait unco,-Dplaiiiiiigly its doom.
Alone! oh, sacred ONE,-dost thou
From that star-cinctur'd hall, behold
Sorrows which scattic the human brow,
An,l griefs that burn untold,
Save to the night-winds trooping byLike mourners Journeying from the sky Coldly and dark unroll'd?
Vaiiily we asl,,, or low, or loud,
Bright Minstrel of the star and cloiid.