The Christian Year Part 2

But chiefly ye should lift your gaze Above the world's uncertain haze, And look with calm unwavering eye On the bright fields beyond the sky, Ye, who your Lord's commission bear His way of mercy to prepare: Angels He calls ye: be your strife To lead on earth an Angel's life.

Think not of rest; though dreams be sweet, Start up, and ply your heavenward feet.

Is not G.o.d's oath upon your head, Ne'er to sink back on slothful bed, Never again your loans untie, Nor let your torches waste and die, Till, when the shadows thickest fall, Ye hear your Master's midnight call?

Third Sunday in Advent.

What went ye out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken with the wind? . . . But what went ye out for to see? A prophet? yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophet. _St. Matthew_ xi. 7, 9.

WHAT went ye out to see O'er the rude sandy lea, Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm, Or where Gennesaret's wave Delights the flowers to lave, That o'er her western slope breathe airs of balm.

All through the summer night, Those blossoms red and bright Spread their soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s, unheeding, to the breeze, Like hermits watching still Around the sacred hill, Where erst our Saviour watched upon His knees.

The Paschal moon above Seems like a saint to rove, Left s.h.i.+ning in the world with Christ alone; Below, the lake's still face Sleeps sweetly in th' embrace Of mountains terrac'd high with mossy stone.

Here may we sit, and dream Over the heavenly theme, Till to our soul the former days return; Till on the gra.s.sy bed, Where thousands once He fed, The world's incarnate Maker we discern.

O cross no more the main, Wandering so will and vain, To count the reeds that tremble in the wind, On listless dalliance bound, Like children gazing round, Who on G.o.d's works no seal of G.o.dhead find.

Bask not in courtly bower, Or sun-bright hall of power, Pa.s.s Babel quick, and seek the holy land- From robes of Tyrian dye Turn with undazzled eye To Bethlehem's glade, or Carmel's haunted strand.

Or choose thee out a cell In Kedron's storied dell, Beside the springs of Love, that never die; Among the olives kneel The chill night-blast to feel, And watch the Moon that saw thy Master's agony.

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.

Or, if at home they stay, Yet are they, day by day, In spirit journeying through the glorious land, Not for light Fancy's reed, Nor Honour's purple meed, Nor gifted Prophet's lore, nor Science' wondrous wand.

But more than Prophet, more Than Angels can adore With face unveiled, is He they go to seek: Blessed be G.o.d, Whose grace Shows Him in every place To homeliest hearts of pilgrims pure and meek.

Fourth Sunday in Advent.

The eyes of them that see shall not be dim, and the ears of them that hear shall hearken. _Isaiah_ x.x.xii. 3

OF the bright things in earth and air How little can the heart embrace!

Soft shades and gleaming lights are there- I know it well, but cannot trace.

Mine eye unworthy seems to read One page of Nature's beauteous book; It lies before me, fair outspread- I only cast a wishful look.

I cannot paint to Memory's eye The scene, the glance, I dearest love- Unchanged themselves, in me they die, Or faint or false their shadows prove.

In vain, with dull and tuneless ear, I linger by soft Music's cell, And in my heart of hearts would hear What to her own she deigns to tell.

'Tis misty all, both sight and sound- I only know 'tis fair and sweet- 'Tis wandering on enchanted ground With dizzy brow and tottering feet.

But patience! there may come a time When these dull ears shall scan aright Strains that outring Earth's drowsy chime, As Heaven outs.h.i.+nes the taper's light.

These eyes, that dazzled now and weak, At glancing motes in suns.h.i.+ne wink.

Shall see the Kings full glory break, Nor from the blissful vision shrink:

In fearless love and hope uncloyed For ever on that ocean bright Empowered to gaze; and undestroyed, Deeper and deeper plunge in light.

Though scarcely now their laggard glance Reach to an arrow's flight, that day They shall behold, and not in trance, The region "very far away."

If Memory sometimes at our spell Refuse to speak, or speak amiss, We shall not need her where we dwell Ever in sight of all our bliss.

Meanwhile, if over sea or sky Some tender lights unnoticed fleet, Or on loved features dawn and die, Unread, to us, their lesson sweet;

Yet are there saddening sights around, Which Heaven, in mercy, spares us too, And we see far in holy ground, If duly purged our mental view.

The distant landscape draws not nigh For all our gazing; but the soul, That upward looks, may still descry Nearer, each day, the brightening goal.

And thou, too curious ear, that fain Wouldst thread the maze of Harmony, Content thee with one simple strain, The lowlier, sure, the worthier thee;

Till thou art duly trained, and taught The concord sweet of Love divine: Then, with that inward Music fraught, For ever rise, and sing, and s.h.i.+ne.

Christmas Day.

And suddenly there was with the Angel a mult.i.tude of the heavenly host, praising G.o.d. _St. Luke_ ii. 13.

WHAT sudden blaze of song Spreads o'er th' expanse of Heaven?

In waves of light it thrills along, Th' angelic signal given- "Glory to G.o.d!" from yonder central fire Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry choir;

Like circles widening round Upon a clear blue river, Orb after orb, the wondrous sound Is echoed on for ever: "Glory to G.o.d on high, on earth be peace, And love towards men of love-salvation and release."

Yet stay, before thou dare To join that festal throng; Listen and mark what gentle air First stirred the tide of song; 'Tis not, "the Saviour born in David's home, To Whom for power and health obedient worlds should come:"-

'Tis not, "the Christ the Lord:"

With fixed 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.

Wrapped 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 smiled, Guests rudely went and came, where slept the royal Child.

But where Thou dwellest, Lord, No other thought should be, Once duly welcomed and adored, How should I part with Thee?

Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace The single heart to be Thy sure abiding-place.

Thee, on the bosom laid Of a pure virgin mind, In quiet ever, and in shade, Shepherd and sage may find; They, who have bowed untaught to Nature's sway, And they, who follow Truth along her star-paved way.

The pastoral spirits first Approach Thee, Babe divine, For they in lowly thoughts are nursed, Meet for Thy lowly shrine: Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell, Angela from Heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell.

Still, as the day comes round For Thee to be revealed, By wakeful shepherds Thou art found, Abiding in the field.