LEWIS MORRIS.

OH, SNOWS SO PURE!

Oн, snows so pure! oh, peaks so high!
I lift to you a hopeless eye.

I see your icy ramparts drawn
Between the sleepers and the dawn.

I see you, when the sun has set,
Flush with the dying daylight yet.

I see you, passionless and pure,
Above the lightnings stand secure ;-
But may not climb, for now the hours
Are spring's, and earth a maze of flowers.
And now, 'mid summer's dust and heat,
I stay my steps for childish feet.

And now, when autumn glows, I fear
To lose the harvest of the year.

Now winter frowns, and life runs slow;
Even on the plains I tread through snow:

While you are veiled, or, dimly seen,
Only reveal what might have been;

gloom,

Lead Thou me on!

Rest, calm and sweet, for which I pine: From Thee I came, to Thee I comeHow shall thy dwelling-place be mine?

Ah! who is this that takes my hand? That lifts me from the pit and mire? That heals, consoles, and makes me stand, And gives the rest that I desire?

Dear Son of God! Thy blessed face

Shows where the hungry soul may flee. Thy heart is home and dwelling-place, And I am satisfied with Thee?

PHILLIPS BROOKS.

[U. S. A.]

O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM.

O LITTLE town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent hours go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light;

The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night.

For Christ is born of Mary,
And, gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together

Proclaim the holy birth!
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,

The wondrous gift is given ! So God imparts to human hearts The blessings of His heaven. No ear may hear His coming; But in this world of sin, Where meek souls will receive him still The dear Christ enters in.

O holy Child of Bethlehem,

Descend to us, we pray! Cast out our sin and enter in ; Be born in us to-day.

864

We hear the Christmas angels

The great glad tidings tell: Oh, come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel!

SHALL the mole, from his night underground, call the beasts from the day-glare to flee!

Shall the owl charge the birds: "I am wise. Come, dwell in the shadows with me?"

Shall a man bind his eyes and exclaim: "It is vain that men weary to see?"

Let him walk in the gloom whoso will. Peace be with him! But whence is his right

To assert that the world is in darkness, because he has turned from the light? Or to seek to o'ershadow my day with the pall of his self-chosen night?

I have listened, like David's great son, to the voice of the beast and the bird; To the voice of the trees and the grass; yea, a voice from the stones I have heard ;

And the sun and the moon, and the stars in their courses, reëcho the word!

And one word speak the bird and the beast, and the hyssop that springs in the wall,

And the cedar that lifts its proud head upon Lebanon, stately and tall, And the rocks, and the sea, and the stars, and "Know!" is the message of all.

For the answer has ever been nigh unto him who would question and learn How to bring the stars near to his gaze; in what orbits the planets must turn; Why the apple must fall from the bough; what the fuel that sun-fires burn.

Whence came life? In the rocks is it writ, and no Finger hath graven it there?

IN the bitter waves of woe,

Beaten and tossed about
By the sullen winds that blow

From the desolate shores of doubt,

When the anchors that faith had cast Are dragging in the gale,

I am quietly holding fast

To the things that cannot fail.

CHARLOTTE M. PACKARD.

And that somewhere beyond the stars,
Is a Love that is better than fate:
When the Night unlocks her bars
I shall see Him, and I will wait.

CHARLOTTE M. PACKARD.

[U. S. A.]

VESPERS.

O SHADOW in a sultry land!

The tenderest and best, Whose love, unfolding like the night Brings quietude and rest Glimpse of the fairer life to be,

In foretaste here possessed.

From aimless wanderings we come ;
From driftings to and fro:
The wave of being mingles deep
Amid its ebb and flow;

The grander sweep of tides serene
Our spirits yearn to know.

That which the garish day had lost,
The twilight vigil brings,
While softlier the vesper bell

Its silver cadence rings;
The sense of an immortal trust!
The brush of angel-wings!

Drop down behind the solemn hills,

O Day, with golden skies! Serene above its fading glow, Night, starry-crowned, arise! So beautiful may heaven be, When life's last sunbeam dies!

MARGARET ELIZABETH

SANGSTER.

[U. s. A.]

IN COMMON DAYS.

IN days supreme, of fond delight,

Who time their footsteps by the swell Of sweet-voiced bells upon the air, Then have we least the need for prayer.

In days obscured by veiling folds

Of grief, or clouded o'er with dread,

[U. s. A.] LOVE NOW

THE sanctity that is about the dead

To make us love them more than late when here.