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RABBI BEN EZRA.

ΙΟΙ

So, take and use Thy work!

Amend what flaws may lurk,

What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim !

My times be in Thy hand!

Perfect the cup as planned!

Let age approve of youth, and death complete the

same!

ROBERT BROWNING.

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HY should a man raise stone and wood
Between him and the sky?

Why should he fear the brotherhood

Of all things from on high?

Why should a man not raise his form

As shelterless and free

As stands in sunshine or in storm
The mountain and the tree?

Or if we thus, as creatures frail,
Before our time should die,
And courage and endurance fail,
Weak Nature to supply ;-

Let us at least a dwelling choose,
The simplest that can keep

THE TENT.

From parching heat and noxious dews
Our pleasure and our sleep.

The Fathers of our mortal race,

While still remembrance nursed Traditions of the glorious place

Whence Adam fled accursed,

Rested in tents, as best became

Children, whose mother earth Had overspread with sinful shame The beauty of her birth.

In cold they sought the sheltered nook,

In heat the airy shade,

And oft their casual home forsook

The morrow it was made; Diverging many separate roads,

They wandered, fancy-driven, Nor thought of other fixed abodes Than Paradise or Heaven.

And while this holy sense remained,

'Mid easy shepherd cares,

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In tents they often entertained

The angels unawares:

And to their spirits' fervid gaze

The myst'ry was revealed,

How the world's wound in future days
Should by God's love be healed.

Thus we, so late and far a link

Of generation's chain,

Delight to dwell in tents and think

The old world young again;

With Faith as wide and Thought as narrow
As theirs, who little more
From life demanded than the sparrow

Gay-chirping by the door.

The Tent! how easily it stands,

Almost as if it rose

Spontaneous from the green or sand,

Express for our repose:

Or, rather, it is we who plant

This root, where'er we roam,

And hold, and can to others grant,
The comforts of a home.

THE TENT.

Make the divan-the carpets spread,
The ready cushions pile;

Rest, weary heart! rest, weary head!
From pain and pride awhile;
And all your happiest memories woo,
And mingle with your dreams

The yellow desert glimm'ring through

The subtle veil of beams.

We all have much we would forget-
Be that forgotten now!

And placid Hope, instead, shall set
Her seal upon your brow:
Imagination's prophet eye

By her shall view unfurled
The future greatnesses that lie

Hid in the Eastern world.

To slavish tyrannies their term

Of terror she foretells;

She brings to bloom the faith whose germ

In Islam deeply dwells;

Accomplishing each mighty birth

That shall one day be born

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