Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/73

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that wheel above our crests, Say to the storms that round us blow, They cannot harm our gnarled breasts Firm rooted as we are, below. Their utmost efforts we defy! They lift the sea-waves to the sky, But when they wrestle with our arms Nervous and gaunt, or lift our hair, Balanced within its cradle fair The tiniest bird has no alarms.

Sons of the rock, no mortal hand Here planted us; God-sown we grew. We're the diadem green and grand On Eden's summit that He threw. When waters in a deluge rose Our hollow flanks could well enclose Awhile, the whole of Adam's race; And children of the patriarch Within our forest built the Ark Of covenant, foreshadowing grace.

We saw the tribes as captives led, We saw them back return anon; As rafters have our branches dead Covered the porch of Solomon.