SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL. MIRIAM'S SONG. (AIR.-AVISON.) "And Miriam the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances."-Exod. xv. 20. SOUND the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave- Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the LORD! Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; JEHOVAH has triumph'd-his people are free! WEEP not for those whom the veil of the tomb, Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain'd it, 'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has unchain'd it, In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale, And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her brow. From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknownAnd the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own. Weep not for her-in her spring-time she flew To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd; And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world. COME NOT, OH LORD. (AIR.—HAYDN.) COME not, oh LORD, in the dread robe of splendour LORD, thou rememb'rest the night, when thy Nation While Israel bask'd all the night in its beam. So, when the dread clouds of anger enfold Thee, AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS. (AIR-HAYDN.) As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean, Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, Pure, warm, silent, to Thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, COME, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, Come, at GOD's altar fervently kneel; Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish— Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us, Он fair! oh purest! be thou the dove That flies alone to some sunny grove, And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, All vestal white, in the limpid spring. There, if the hov'ring hawk be near, That limpid spring in its mirror clear Reflects him, ere he reach his prey, Fairest, purest, be thou this dove. The sacred pages of GOD's own book Fairest, purest, be thou that dove. BUT WHO SHALL SEE. (AIR. STEVENSON.) BUT who shall see the glorious day When pain shall cease, and every tear Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn Thy days of splendour shall return, And all be new again. The Fount of Life shall then be quaff'd In peace, by all who come; And every wind that blows shall waft Some long-lost exile home. |