Thou drownest Nature's sweet and kindly | All is so quiet; the troubled breast, voices, And jarrest the celestial harmonies? Were half the power that fills the world with terror, The wounded spirit, the heart oppressed, See, how the ivy climbs and expands And seems to caress with its little hands Were half the wealth bestow'd on camps The rough, gray stones, as a child that and courts, Down the dark future, through long generations, The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, stands Caressing the wrinkled cheeks of age! You cross the threshold; and dim and small Is the space that serves for the Shep- The narrow aisle, the bare, white wall, Hardly more spacious is than this; That lowly and holy edifice. It is not the wall of stone without That makes the building small or great, But the soul's light shining round about, I hear once more the voice of Christ And the faith that overcometh doubt, "Peace!" say, And the love that stronger is than hate. Peace and no longer from its brazen Were I a pilgrim in search of peace, The blast of War's great organ shakes More than a bishop's diocese Grire in grace, & Savinir, 4. Cleusand foxe M "PSALMS AND HYMNS AND SPIRITUAL SONGS." EPH. V. 19. WATCHMAN, TELL US OF THE NIGHT. | That He our deadly forfeit should release, WATCHMAN, tell us of the night— Watchman, tell us of the night— Peace and truth, its course portends. Watchman, will its beams alone Gild the spot that gave them birth? Traveller, ages are its own See, it bursts o'er all the earth! And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. II. That glorious form, that light unsufferable, To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, III. Say, heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred. vein Afford a present to the Infant God? ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. I. IV. See how from far upon the eastern road The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet: THIS is the month, and this the happy Oh run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at His blessed feet; The idle spear and shield were high up Or e'er the point of dawn, hung, The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood, The trumpet spake not to the armèd throng, And kings sat still with awful eye, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they then That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, As if they surely knew their sov'reign Lord Was all that did their silly thoughts so |