« ZurückWeiter »
Then rise at dawn of day,
Where rested once the Temple's stately shade,
With due feet tracing round
To th' other holy garden, where the Lord was laid.
Who thus alternate see
His death and victory,
Rising and falling as on angel wings
They, while they seem to roam
Their heart untravell'd still adores the King
Th' angelic signal given
Glory to God!" from yonder central fire
Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry
What sudden blaze of song
Spreads o'er the expanse of Heaven? In waves of light it thrills along
Like circles widening round
Upon a clear blue river,
Orb after orb, the wondrous sound
Glory to God on high, on earth be peace,
"And love towards men of love-salvation and release."
Yet stay, before you dare
To join that festal throng ; Listen and mark what gentle air First stirr'd the tide of song: 'Tis not, "the Saviour born in David's
To whom for power and health obedient worlds should come."
"the Christ the Lord
The choir of angels caught the word,
But when they heard the sign, where Christ should be,
In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony.
Wrapp'd in His swaddling bands,
The hope and glory of all lands
No peaceful home upon His cradle smil'd, Guests rudely went and came, where slept the royal child.
But where Thou dwellest, Lord,
Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace
The single-heart to be Thy sure abidingplace.
Thee, on the bosom laid
In quiet ever, and in shade,
Shepherd and sage may find ; They, who have bow'd untaught to Nature's
And they, who follow Truth along her starpav'd way.
The pastoral spirits first
Approach Thee, Babe Divine,
For they in lowly thoughts are nurs'd, Meet for Thy lowly shrine :
Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell,
Angels from Heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell.
Still, as the day comes round
By wakeful shepherds Thou art found,
All through the wintry heaven and chill night air,
In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer.
O faint not ye for fear
What though your wandering sheep, Reckless of what they see and hear, Lie lost in wilful sleep?
High Heaven in mercy to your sad annoy Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy.
Think on th' eternal home,
The Saviour left for you;
Think on the Lord most holy, come
So shall ye tread untir'd His pastoral ways, And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise.
SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER
O for a sculptor's hand
That thou might'st take thý stand,
Thy wild hair floating on the eastern breeze,
As one who deep in heaven some airy pageant sees.
In outline, dim and vast,
Their fearful shadows cast
The giant forms of empires on their way
one by one
They tower and they are gone,
Yet in the prophet's soul the dreams of avarice stay.
No sun or star so bright
In all the world of light.
That they should draw to heaven his downward eye;
He hears th' Almighty's word,
He sees the angel's sword,
Yet low upon the earth his heart and treasure lie.
Lo, from yon argent field,
To him and us reveal'd,
One gentle star glides down, on earth to
Chain'd as they are below
Our eyes may see it glow,
And as it mounts again, may track its brightness well.
To him 't glar'd afar
A token of wild war,
The banner of his Lord's victorious wrath ; But close to us it gleams.
Its soothing lustre streams
Around our home's green walls, and on our churchway path.