HELIODORUS IN THE TEMPLE.
A sound of woe in Salem!—mournful cries
Rose from her dwellings—youthful cheeks were pale,
Tears flowing fast from dim and aged eyes,
And voices mingling in tumultuous wail;
Hands raised to heaven in agony of prayer,
And powerless wrath, and terror, and despair.
Thy daughters, Judah! weeping, laid aside
The regal splendour of their fair array,
With the rude sackcloth girt their beauty's pride,
And throng'd the streets in hurrying, wild dismay;
While knelt thy priests before His awful shrine,
Who made, of old, renown and empire thine.
But on the spoiler moves—the temple's gate,
The bright, the beautiful, his guards unfold;
And all the scene reveals its solemn state,
Its courts and pillars, rich with sculptured gold;
And man, with eye unhallow'd, views th' abode,
The sever'd spot, the dwelling-place of God.
Where art thou, Mighty Presence! that of yore
Wert wont between the cherubim to rest,
Veil'd in a cloud of glory, shadowing o'er
Thy sanctuary the chosen and the blest?
Thou! that didst make fair Sion's ark thy throne,
And call the oracle's recess thine own!
Angel of God! that through the Assyrian host,
Clothed with the darkness of the midnight-hour,
To tame the proud, to hush th' invader's boast,
Didst pass triumphant in avenging power,
Till burst the day-spring on the silent scene,
And death alone reveal'd where thou hadst been
Wilt thou not wake, O Chastener! in thy might,
To guard thine ancient and majestic hill,
Where oft from heaven the full Shechinah's light
Hath stream'd the house of holiness to fill?
Oh! yet once more defend thy lov'd domain,
Eternal one! Deliverer! rise again!
Fearless of thee, the plunderer, undismay'd,
Hastes on, the sacred chambers to explore
Where the bright treasures of the fane are laid,
The orphan's portion, and the widow's store;
What recks his heart though age unsuccour'd die,
And want consume the cheek of infancy?
Away, intruders!—hark! a mighty sound!
Behold, a burst of light!—away, away!
A fearful glory fills the temple round,
A vision bright in terrible array!
And lo! a steed of no terrestrial frame,
His path a whirlwind, and his breath a flame!
His neck is clothed with thunder
—and his mane
Seems waving fire—the kindling of his eye
Is as a meteor—ardent with disdain
His glance—his gesture, fierce in majesty!
Instinct with light he seems, and formed to bear
Some dread archangel through the fields of air.
But who is he, in panoply of gold,
Throned on that burning charger? bright his form.
Yet in its brightness awful to behold,
And girt with all the terrors of the storm!
Lightning is on his helmet's crest—and fear
Shrinks from the splendour of his brow severe.
And by his side two radiant warriors stand
All-arm'd, and kingly in commanding grace—
Oh! more than kingly—godlike!—sternly grand
Their port indignant, and each dazzling face
Beams with the beauty to immortals given
Magnificent in all the wrath of heaven.
Then sinks each gazer's heart—each knee is bow'd
In trembling awe—but, as to fields of fight,
Th' unearthly war-steed, rushing through the crowd,
Bursts on their leader in terrific might;
And the stern angels of that dread abode
Pursue its plunderer with the scourge of God.
Darkness—thick darkness!—low on earth he lies,
Rash Heliodorus—motionless and pale—
Bloodless his cheek, and o'er his shrouded eyes
Mists, as of death, suspend their shadowy veil;
And thus th' oppressor, by his fear-struck train,
Is borne from that inviolable fane.
The light returns—the warriors of the sky
Have pass'd, with all their dreadful pomp, away;
Then wakes the timbrel, swells the song on high
Triumphant as in Judah's elder day;
Rejoice, O city of the sacred hill!
Salem, exult! thy God is with thee still.
