The Swallows' Lesson.

BEN. HAWORTH-BOOTH.

I DEEMED, before mine eyes beheld the light,—
When life was young, when I believed the story
Of wise incompetence and darkened sight,—
That He, the Lord of love, the God of glory,
Was even a tyrant, terrible and gory,
Eager to hurl His foolish children hence,
As rocks by Cyclops off their promontory,
Into the foul abyss of hatred, whence
Is no return, no hope, no prayer, no penitence.

Was this the Lord and King who bids us love
Our fellow-babes, and says, Forget, forgive
Your enemies? who came as holy Dove
When John baptized? Does earthly father live,
Would hurl his child to such a doom, would drive
His own to such perdition? Hush, ye vain,
Ye worldly-wise! The swallows safe arrive
From sacred sands of Nile to-night again,
A thousand miles of flight beyond the boundless main!

I hear them sing, "Praise to the guiding hand
That holds the swallows on their wondrous way
Beneath the pilot stars by sea or land;
He points them where the rainbow fountains play,
He loves and leads the birds." Then who shall say
He could consign to ruthless punishment
The weak and erring ones that weep and pray?
To Him each head shall bow, each knee be bent,
Each heart shall turn, contrite, converted, and content.