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Would keep unshorn till death, had strained him close

In his unblemish'd beauty to her breast;

And now she girded the new vestments

on,

Which, to his frolic infancy, were strange;

Smoothing the knots of the uneven threads,

And half caressing him as to his form Of symmetry she shap'd each spotless fold;

Smiling her sweet assurances the while, In answer to his lisp of wondering words;

Until, as rose the sun, her fair boy stood Brave in his new apparel at her kneeOnly the little feet as yet left bare That press'd their rosy dimples to the ground.

This, and no more, of mother's tasks to do!

But, as she stoop'd to bind the sandals

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Forth where the Tabernacle's vail, of blue,

Purple and scarlet, hung beneath the sky,

With hooks of silver on its brazen posts, Girding the altar in. The cleansing priests

Laid the slain bullocks on the burning coals;

The wine and oil were brought; and spices rare

Were swung in golden censers, to and fro,

While blood was sprinkled on the hallow'd ground.

And tow'rd the ark - (holding the Aaron's rod,

The golden pot of manna, and the Book Of Moses' law-that Ark of many vails; Its ten of fine-twin'd linen loop'd with gold,

Its ten of goats'-hair with the loops of brass,

Its guarding leather of the hide of beasts,

Its rams'-skins scarlet-dyed, and, round them all,

The many-colored vail of outer work)— Toward this Ark, made fearful by the cloud

That floated high betwixt the cherubim, Whose wings, miraculously still, reveal'd The place where dwelt the presence of the Lord

Turn'd ELI with his prayer.

The blessing sought, Uprose the High Priest in his sacred robe;

And took the boy, who, by his mother's hand,

Was led before the altar; and, with oil From out the brazen laver and with blood

From the burnt-offering, he anointed there

The tiny fingers of the chosen childThe fingers that should trim the sacred lamps

And lay the show-bread on the golden stands,

And in the temple minister with oilThus hallowing for God those infant hands!

But lo! as o'er his beautiful young head
The "linen ephod" sacredly was thrown-
The garment in whose spotless folds
there lay

The symbol of his service for the LORD-
The HOLY SPIRIT enter'd to the child!
As ELI's blessing died upon the lip,
Lo! with the uplifted hands, the child
at prayer!

'Twas to be told, that such are heard in Heaven.

'Twas to be written in the Holy Book, And read by mothers till the world should end,

That, on the day when consecrated first, AN INFANT "WORSHIPP'D GOD!"

And HANNAH look'd On her lov'd child, as, in his prayer, he knelt,

ACCEPTED OF THE LORD. The morrow's

sun

Would see her on her journey to the home

Which his bright playfulness would light

no more

The silken curls, so dear to her awaking, Missed from the pressure of her cheek

at morn

His tiny footfall listened for in vainHis voice, his laugh, his murmur, silent all.

And for her lord-who loved her, before ev'n

Her womanhood's reproach had passed

away,

But who, in happier days, she knew so well,

Loved more to see the mother of his boy

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Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep

That weighed their dark fringe down, to sit and watch

The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose,

As at a red flower's heart.-And where a fount

Lay like a twilight-star 'midst palmy shades,

Making its banks green gems along the wild,

There too she lingered, from the diamond wave

Drawing bright water for his rosy lips, And softly parting clusters of jet curls To bathe his brow. At last the Fane was reached

The Earth's One Sanctuary-and rapture hushed

Her bosom, as before her, through the day

It rose, a mountain of white marble, steeped

In light, like floating gold. But when that hour

Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy

Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye

Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm

Clung as the ivy clings-the deep springtide

Of Nature then swelled high, and o'er her child

Bending, her soul broke forth; in mingled sounds

Of weeping and sad song.-"Alas," she cried,

"Alas! my boy, thy gentle grasp is on

me,

The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes,

And now fond thoughts arise,

And silver cords again to earth have

won me;

And like a vine thou claspest my full heart

How shall I hence depart?

"How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing

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Oh! give me Samuel's heart,
A lovely heart, that waits.
Where in thy house Thou art,

Or watches at Thy gates,
By day and night, a heart that still
Moves at the breathing of Thy will.

Oh! give me Samuel's mind,

A sweet, unmurmuring faith, Obedient and resign'd,

To Thee in life and death; That I may read with child-like eyes Truths that are hidden from the wise.

JAMES DRUMMOND BORTHWICK. [Also attributed to several other authors.]

SAMUEL.

WHY that look of wondering awe?
Why that posture of surprise?
What the glory that he saw?

Whose the form that filled his eyes?
Nearer through the dark it came,
And it called him by his name.

On the child's attentive ear,

Through the stillness slowly fell Accents musical and clear,

Twice repeated-Samuel! And the color left his cheek

As he answered, "Speak, Lord, speak!"

See him, innocent as fair,

Sitting on his lowly bed, Gazing on God's glory there, Drinking in the words He said, As the Lord, in mercy mild, Communed with a little child;

Far removed from mother dear, But to God his Father near.

Thus, a living sacrifice,

He upon God's altar lay;

Prayer and praise by night arise,
Works of love are done by day;

Till the Lord from heaven called down,
A child's piety to crown!

RICHARD WILTON (1827-).

THE CALL OF DAVID.

And the Lord said, “Arise, anoint him.
for this is he."-I. Sam. xvi. 12.
LATEST born of Jesse's race,
Wonder lights thy bashful face,
While the prophet's gifted oil
Seals thee for a path of toil.
We, thy angels circling round thee,
Ne'er shall find thee as we found thee,
When thy faith first brought us near,
In thy lion-fight severe.

Go! and mid thy flocks awhile
At thy doom of greatness smile;
Bold to bear God's heaviest load,
Dimly guessing of the road,—
Rocky road, and scarce ascended,
Though thy foot be angel-tended!

Twofold praise thou shalt attain
In royal court and battle-plain :
Then come heart-ache, care, distress,
Blighted hope and loneliness,

Wounds from friend, and gifts from foe,
Dizzied faith, and guilt and woe,
Loftiest aims by earth defiled,
Gleams of wisdom, sin-beguiled,

Sated power's tyrannic mood,

Counsels shared with men of blood.
Sad success, parental tears,
And a dreary gift of years.

Strange that guileless face and form, To lavish on the scarring storm! Yet we take thee in thy blindness, And we buffet thee in kindness; Little chary of thy fame,

Dust unborn may bless or blame,—

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