THE SHUNAMITE.* It was a sultry day of summer time. Stood still, and the divided flock were all Of nature had run down, and ceas'd to beat. "Haste thee, my child!" the Syrian mother said, 2 Kings iv. 18-37. Thy father is athirst”—and from the depths She drew refreshing water, and with thoughts Lifted with watchful care, and o'er the hills, And through the light green hollows, where the lambs Childhood is restless ever, and the boy Cheering their labour on, till they forgot Closed as with dizzy pain, and with his hand He utter'd a faint murmur, and fell back They bore him to his mother, and he lay |