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Then rise at dawn of day,
And wind thy thoughtful way,

Where rested once the Temple's stately shade,

With due feet tracing round
The city's northern bound,

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
Draw daily nearer home-

Their heart untravell'd still adores the King

of Kings.

Th' angelic signal given

Glory to God!" from yonder central fire

Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry

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CHRISTMAS DAY

What sudden blaze of song

Spreads o'er the expanse of Heaven? In waves of light it thrills along

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Like circles widening round

Upon a clear blue river,

Orb after orb, the wondrous sound
Is echoed on for ever:

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

home

To whom for power and health obedient worlds should come."

"the Christ the Lord

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'Tis not,
With fix'd adoring look

The choir of angels caught the word,
Nor yet their silence broke :

But when they heard the sign, where Christ should be,

In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony.

Wrapp'd in His swaddling bands,
And in His manger laid,

The hope and glory of all lands
Is come to the world's aid:

No peaceful home upon His cradle smil'd, Guests rudely went and came, where slept the royal child.

But where Thou dwellest, Lord,
No other thought should be,
Once duly welcom'd and ador'd,
How should I part with Thee?

Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace

The single-heart to be Thy sure abidingplace.

Thee, on the bosom laid
Of a pure virgin mind,

In quiet ever, and in shade,

Shepherd and sage may find ; They, who have bow'd untaught to Nature's

sway,

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
For Thee to be reveal'd,

By wakeful shepherds Thou art found,
Abiding in the field.

All through the wintry heaven and chill night air,

In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer.

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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
To dwell with hearts untrue:

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,
Thy tranc'd yet open gaze
Fix'd on the desert haze,

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

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To ruin

one by one

They tower and they are gone,

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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

dwell.

Chain'd as they are below

Our eyes may see it glow,

And as it mounts again, may track its brightness well.

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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.

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