THE NEW SONG.
Whence that sweet, inspiring strain,
Pealing on my ravished ear?
Hark! its thrilling notes again
From the courts of heaven I hear—
“Hallelujah to the Lamb,
Who hath bought us with His blood!
Honor, glory to His name,
We through Him are sons of God.”
Angels fain their notes would join
With that vast, triumphant song;
But their harps, though all divine,
Ne’er can reach that wondrous song
Learned on earth, and new in heaven,
Only they its chords can know
Who to God by grace are given,
Ransomed from the depths of wo.
Angels can not know or tell,
In their pure, unfallen bliss,
How a soul, redeemed from hell,
Sings the mystery of grace!
They the chosen, countless throng,
Ever round the throne above,
In their new and endless song,
Celebrate redeeming love.
THE CHINAMAN.
The Chinaman his life consumes,
On opium regaling—
The Yankee his tobacco fumes
With equal zest inhaling—
Though trembling nerves and fitful glooms
Warn them that health is failing.
For almost everything that’s done
Some reason wit supposes,
But for the smoker’s faith, not one
The keenest wit discloses;
’Tis filthy, vulgar, costly fun,
Hateful to all good noses.
AN INDIAN DANDY.
Well, isn’t that a funny dress?
You think he must be cruel,
With human bones set round his crown,
And skulls in place of jewels.
Yet in his countenance you see
Nothing severe or savage,
As if, with cannibal intent,
Our whole domain he’d ravage.
There’s no accounting for our tastes,
("De gustibus," and so forth;)
Some dote on very slender waists,
Some like hooped cisterns go forth.
Sneer not at Indian or Malay,
Nor get into a passion;
He does as you do day by day—
Follows the latest fashion.
White dandies strut in stove-pipe hats,
White women go bare-headed;
Which is most proper, red or white,
We leave in doubt deep shaded.
