When the waters divide, and they walk on dry land;
And the cloud that to Egypt is darkness all night,
To the children of Israel, is a bright shining light.
And now have the Hebrews all safely passed through
The Red Sea, which Pharaoh assaying to do
Is destroyed with his host, every one of them drowned,
Not a man saved alive, not a single man found
To return to lone Egypt, the sad news to bear
To the widows and orphans made desolate there.
But list! hear the rescued their glad voices raise,
And to timbrel and dance add the sweet song of praise,
For Pharaoh hath perished beneath the dark sea,
And the long enslaved Hebrews are happy and free.
July 14, 1852.
SUNG AT THE ORDINATION OF THE REV. HENRY ALLEN.
We meet to-day as ne’er before,
To greet a pastor of our choice,
Without a single jarring note,
And without one dissenting voice.
Oh thou who art enthroned on high,
Before whom holy angels bow,
Be pleased to hear us when we sing,
Accept the praises offered now.
Let no one present, dare to give,
The service of the lip alone;
Or think if they the heart withhold,
’Twill find acceptance at thy throne.
But with united heart and voice,
A grateful tribute we would raise;
Oh bless us all assembled now,
Help us to pray, and help to praise.
Thou great Immanuel, who didst lead
Thy Israel all the desert through;
Like them we’re weak and helpless quite,
Oh! condescend to lead us too.
And when our Shepherd with his flock
Before thy throne shall re-appear,
May every one acceptance find,
And ceaseless praises offer there.
My beautiful steed,
’Tis painful indeed
To think we are parted forever;
That on no sunny day,
With light spirits and gay,
Over hills far away,
We shall joyously travel together.
Thy soft glossy mane
I shall ne’er see again,
Nor thy proudly arched neck ’gain behold;
Nor admire that in thee,
Which so seldom we see,
A kind, gentle spirit, yet bold.
Thou wert pleasant indeed
My darling grey steed,
“In my mind’s eye” thou’rt beautiful still;
For when thou wert old
Thy heart grew not cold,
Its warm current time never could chill.
Not a stone marks the spot
Where they laid thee, Lightfoot,
And no fence to enclose thee around;
But what if there’s not,
Deep engraved on my heart
Thy loved image may ever be found.