From the green sunny plains
Of the far land,
Where the bright Summer reigne
Ever and grand;
Crowning the hill and vale
With its rich bloom,
Scenting the pleasant gale
With its perfume:
Where the bright waters go
Dancing along,
Soft, in eternal flow,
Murmuring a song;
From the deep shadows there,
Morning and even;
Goeth a solemn prayer
Upward to heaven;
Bidding Jehovah rain
Down from his throne
Vengeance for wrong, again,
On the proud one.
Not in the guilty tones
Of the blasphemer,
Spurning the blood and groans
Of his Redeemer;—
Not in the language of
Passion and scorning,
Goeth that prayer above,
Even and morning:—
But it is rising up
In the deep wai!,
Swelling o'er mountain-top,
Woodland and vale;—
In the unkindled eye
Lustreless, gazing,
Where the soul's agony
Leaveth its tracing;—
In the lone mother's groan,
When her heart's yearning
Is for her stolen son
Never returning;—
‘Tis on the weary limb
Graven with links,
When the heart's fire is dim,
And the soul sinks.
‘Tis in the dyinggroan
Of the scourge-drive;—
And the Recording One
Writes it, in heaven:
And as the clouds of doom
Sweep the land over,
There shall an answer come
Down from Jehovah;
Still as the falling snow—
Fierce as the hail—
Strong as the river-flow—
Fast as the gale;—
Breathed in the silent ban
Dreadful and stern,
Poured on the soul of man,
Viewless to burn;—
Sent in the thunder-stroke
When the rocks nod,
And the strong mountain-oak
Bows to the sod;—
Spoke in the hurricane
On its wild track,
Fire, food, and sulphur-rain
Burning and black,
As when o'er Babylon,
Tyre and Gomorrah,
Came with the ruin on,
Howling and horror.
Dark shall the tempest roll-
On the hot air;
Deep shall the stricken soul
Sink in despair.
God, for thy Righteous' sake,
Turn the storm back,
Ere the dread thunders break
Fierce on our track:—
Set the sad captive free,
And his yoke sever,
Thine shall the glory be
Now and for ever.
George Shepard Burleigh
Sonnets