Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/125

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fell no rain on Israel. The sad trees, Reft of their coronals, and the crisp vines, And flowers whose dewless bosoms sought the dust, Mourned the long drought. The miserable herds Pined on, and perished 'mid the scorching fields, And near the vanished fountains where they used Freely to slake their thirst, the moaning flocks Laid their parched mouths, and died. A holy man, Who saw high visions of unuttered things, Dwelt in deep-musing solitude apart Upon the banks of Cherith. Dark winged birds, Intractable and fierce, were strangely moved To shun the hoarse cries of their callow brood, And night and morning lay their gathered spoils Down at his feet. So, of the brook he drank, Till pitiless suns exhaled that slender rill Which singing, used to glide to Jordan's breast. Then, warned of God, he rose and went his way Unto the coast of Zidon. Near the gates Of Zerephath, he marked a lowly cell Where a pale, drooping widow, in the depth Of desolate and hopeless poverty, Prepared the last, scant morsel for her son, That he might eat and die. The man of God Entering, requested food. Whether that germ