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124
SARAH JOSEPHA HALE.

simplicity which invariably characterize Mr.s Hale's writings; while Iron, and a few others, display much strength of expression, and originality of thought.  In all, there is some good lesson inculcated; showing a healthiness of sentiment, and a soundness of heart, more valuable than the most brilliant imagination.  Harry Guy, a Story of the Sea, has recently appeared from her pen.  It is a poem printed in pamphlet form, and was written with the kind intention (which we trust will be fully realized) of doing something in the cause of the much-neglected sailor, "making his condition better understood, his character more highly appreciated."  This is another proof that in all the efforts of her industrious mind, the chief object in view is usefulness, the main-spring, benevolence.

IRON.

"Truth shall spring out of the earth." —PSALMS, lxxxv. 11.
As, in lonely thought, I ponder'd
On the marv'lous things of earth,
And, in fancy's dreaming, wonder'd
At their beauty, power, and worth,
Came, like words of prayer, the feeling —
Oh! that God would make me know,
Through the spirit's clear revealing —
What, of all his works below
Is to man a boon the greatest, 
Brightening on from age to age,
Serving truest, earliest, latest,
Through the world's long pilgrimage.

Soon vast mountains rose before me,
Shaggy, desolate and lone,
Their scarr'd heads were threat'ning o'er me,
Their dark shadows round me thrown;
Then a voice, from out the mountains,
As an earthquake shook the ground,
And like frighten'd fawns the fountains,
Leaping, fled before the sound;


SARAH JOSEPHA HALE.      125

And the Anak oaks bow'd lowly,
Quivering, aspen-like, with fear —
While the deep response came slowly,
Or it must have crush'd mine ear!

"Iron!  Iron!  Iron!"—crashing,
Like the battle-axe and shield;
Or the sword on helmet clashing,
Through a bloody battle-field:
"Iron!  Iron!  Iron!"—rolling,
Like the far-off cannon's boom;
Or the death-knell, slowly tolling,
Through a dungeon's charnel gloom
"Iron!  Iron!  Iron!"—swinging,
Like the summer winds at play;
Or as bells of Time were ringing
In the blest Millennial Day!

Then the clouds of ancient fable
Clear'd away before mine eyes;
Truth could tread a footing stable,
O'er the gulf of mysteries!
Words, the prophet bards had utter'd,
Signs, the oracle foretold,
Spells, the weird-like Sibyl mutter'd,
Through the twilight days of old,
Rightly read, beneath the splendour,
Shining now on history's page,
All their faithful witness render—
All portend a better age.

Sisyphus, for ever toiling,
Was the type of toiling men,
While the stone of power, recoiling,
Crush'd them back to earth again!

11*

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 12:21:12 ---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 16:23:15