The Christian Year Part 4

Thou smil'st on us in wrath, and we, E'en in remorse, would smile on Thee, The tears that bathe our offered hearts, We would not have them stained and dim, But dropped from wings of seraphim, All glowing with the light accepted love imparts.

Time's waters will not ebb, nor stay; Power cannot change them, but Love may; What cannot be, Love counts it done.

Deep in the heart, her searching view Can read where Faith is fixed and true, Through shades of setting life can see Heaven's work begun.

O Thou, who keep'st the Key of Love, Open Thy fount, eternal Dove, And overflow this heart of mine, Enlarging as it fills with Thee, Till in one blaze of charity Care and remorse are lost, like motes in light divine;

Till as each moment wafts us higher, By every gush of pure desire, And high-breathed hope of joys above, By every secret sigh we heave, Whole years of folly we outlive, In His unerring sight, who measures Life by Love.

The Circ.u.mcision of Christ.

In whom also ye are circ.u.mcised with the circ.u.mcision made without hands. _Coloss._ ii. 11.

THE year begins with Thee, And Thou beginn'st with woe, To let the world of sinners see That blood for sin must flow.

Thine infant cries, O Lord, Thy tears upon the breast, Are not enough-the legal sword Must do its stern behest.

Like sacrificial wine Poured on a victim's head Are those few precious drops of Thine, Now first to offering led.

They are the pledge and seal Of Christ's unswerving faith Given to His Sire, our souls to heal, Although it cost His death.

They to His Church of old, To each true Jewish heart, In Gospel graces manifold Communion blest impart.

Now of Thy love we deem As of an ocean vast, Mounting in tides against the stream Of ages gone and past.

Both theirs and ours Thou art, As we and they are Thine; Kings, Prophets, Patriarchs-all have part Along the sacred line.

By blood and water too G.o.d's mark is set on Thee, That in Thee every faithful view Both covenants might see.

O bond of union, dear And strong as is Thy grace!

Saints, parted by a thousand year, May thus in heart embrace.

Is there a mourner true, Who fallen on faithless days, Sighs for the heart-consoling view Of those Heaven deigned to praise?

In spirit may'st thou meet With faithful Abraham here, Whom soon in Eden thou shalt greet A nursing Father dear.

Would'st thou a poet be?

And would thy dull heart fain Borrow of Israel's minstrelsy One high enraptured strain?

Come here thy soul to tune, Here set thy feeble chant, Here, if at all beneath the moon, Is holy David's haunt.

Art thou a child of tears, Cradled in care and woe?

And seems it hard, thy vernal years Few vernal joys can show?

And fall the sounds of mirth Sad on thy lonely heart, From all the hopes and charms of earth Untimely called to part?

Look here, and hold thy peace: The Giver of all good E'en from the womb takes no release From suffering, tears, and blood.

If thou would'st reap in love, First sow in holy fear: So life a winter's morn may prove To a bright endless year.

Second Sunday after Christmas.

When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, I the G.o.d of Israel will not forsake them. _Isaiah_, xli. 17.

AND wilt thou hear the fevered heart To Thee in silence cry?

And as th' inconstant wildfires dart Out of the restless eye, Wilt thou forgive the wayward though By kindly woes yet half untaught A Saviours right, so dearly bought, That Hope should never die?

Thou wilt: for many a languid prayer Has reached Thee from the wild, Since the lorn mother, wandering there, Cast down her fainting child, Then stole apart to weep and die, Nor knew an angel form was nigh, To show soft waters gushing by, And dewy shadows mild.

Thou wilt-for Thou art Israel's G.o.d, And Thine unwearied arm Is ready yet with Moses' rod, The hidden rill to charm Out of the dry unfathomed deep Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep, Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap Their waves in rude alarm.

These moments of wild wrath are Thine- Thine, too, the drearier hour When o'er th' horizon's silent line Fond hopeless fancies cower, And on the traveller's listless way Rises and sets th' unchanging day, No cloud in heaven to slake its ray, On earth no sheltering bower.

Thou wilt be there, and not forsake, To turn the bitter pool Into a bright and breezy lake, This throbbing brow to cool: Till loft awhile with Thee alone The wilful heart be fain to own That He, by whom our bright hours shone, Our darkness best may rule.

The scent of water far away Upon the breeze is flung; The desert pelican to-day Securely leaves her young, Reproving thankless man, who fears To journey on a few lone years, Where on the sand Thy step appears, Thy crown in sight is hung.

Thou, who did sit on Jacob's well The weary hour of noon, The languid pulses Thou canst tell, The nerveless spirit tune.

Thou from Whose cross in anguish burst The cry that owned Thy dying thirst, To Thee we turn, our Last and First, Our Sun and soothing Moon.

From darkness, here, and dreariness We ask not full repose, Only be Thou at hand, to bless Our trial hour of woes.

Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid By the clear rill and palmy shade?

And see we not, up Earth's dark glade, The gate of Heaven unclose?

The Epiphany.

And lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young Child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. _St. Matthew_ ii. 9, 10.

STAR of the East, how sweet art Thou, Seen in life's early morning sky, Ere yet a cloud has dimmed the brow, While yet we gaze with childish eye;

When father, mother, nursing friend, Most dearly loved, and loving best, First bid us from their arms ascend, Pointing to Thee, in Thy sure rest.

Too soon the glare of earthly day Buries, to us, Thy brightness keen, And we are left to find our way By faith and hope in Thee unseen.

What matter? if the waymarks sure On every side are round us set, Soon overleaped, but not obscure?

'Tis ours to mark them or forget.

What matter? if in calm old age Our childhood's star again arise, Crowning our lonely pilgrimage With all that cheers a wanderer's eyes?

Ne'er may we lose it from our sight, Till all our hopes and thoughts are led To where it stays its lucid flight Over our Saviour's lowly bed.