 | [Sonnet. - The last of the race, in] The Odd-fellows' offering, for 1848 |  |
236
SONNET.—THE LAST OF THE RACE.
BY C. F. HOFFMAN.
Not thus the Hebrew leader from the heightGazed on the promised land that stretched below,
When, going up to meet the morning light,
In the far east, he saw its fresh rays glow
With glorious increase, like his People's might!
Child of the Setting Sun! from yon lone steep
Thou seest the orb, that cheered thy course thus far,
Desert thee for some unknown realm of night;
Awhile for thee—for thee no Bethlehem star
Rays out, to guide thee o'er the untried deep,
Where, now, no Blesséd Islands of Delight,
Believed in fondly, greet thine aching sight—
No spirit-voices from the waters sweep
To tell where rest thy race, and where thou too mayst sleep.
New York, July, 1847.
| [Sonnet. - The last of the race, in] The Odd-fellows' offering, for 1848 | |