A throne, the ark’s dread cherubim between,
So let thy presence brood, though now unseen,
O’er those two powers by whom the harp is strung,
Feeling and Thought! till the rekindled chords
Give the long-buried tone back to immortal words.
TO A FAMILY BIBLE.
What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,
Cling reverently? Of anxious looks beguiled,
My mother’s eyes upon thy page divine
Each day were bent—her accents, gravely mild,