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So Joshua smote all the country, and all their kings; he left none remaining. Joshua x, 40.

WHERE is the land with milk and honey Aowing,

The promise of our God, our fancy's theme?
Here over shatter'd walls dank weeds are growing,
And blood and fire have run in mingled stream;

Like oaks and cedars all around

The giant corses strew the ground,
And haughty Jericho's cloud-piercing wall
Lies where it sank at Joshua's trumpet call.

These are not scenes for pastoral dance at even,

For moonlight rovings in the fragrant glades,
Soft slumbers in the open eye of heaven,

And all the listless joy of summer shades.

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We in the midst of ruins live,

Which every hour dread warning give, Nor may our household vine or figtree hide The broken arches of old Canaan's pride.

Where is the sweet repose of hearts repenting,

The deep calm sky, the sunshine of the soul, Now heaven and earth are to our bliss consenting, And all the Godhead joins to make us whole?

The triple crown of mercy now

Is ready for the suppliant's brow, By the Almighty Three for ever plann'd, And from behind the cloud held out by Jesus' hand.

“Now, Christians, hold your own—the land before ye

“ Is open-win your way, and take your rest.” So sounds our war-note; but our path of glory By many a cloud is darken'd and unblest :

And daily as we downward glide,

Life's ebbing stream on either side Shews at each turn some mouldering hope or joy, The Man seems following still the funeral of the Boy.

Open our eyes, thou Sun of life and gladness,

That we may see that glorious world of thine !

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