O Jonathan, thou wast slain.

Alas! my brother Jonathan,
I am sore distressed for thee;
For thou hast been very pleasant,
Very pleasant to me.

Beyond the love of woman
Was the love that for me you bore.
How are the mighty fallen
And perished the weapons of war!





THE FIERY FURNACE


Bound into the furnace blazing
They have cast the Children Three;
But oh! miracle amazing,
They arise, unscathed and free;
While through paths of fire, to guide them,
Paths no other foot has trod--
Lo! A Fourth is seen beside them,
Shining like the Son of God.

Ah! not ours their saintly measure,
Yet 'tis still our heart's desire,