Thou the shame, the grief hast known; Though the sins were not Thine own, Thou hast deigned their load to bear: Gracious Son of Mary, hear! HENRY HART MILMAN. THE DEAD CHRIST. TAKE the dead Christ to my chamber- Over all the tossing ocean, He has reached His western home: Bear Him as in procession, And lay Him solemnly Where, through weary night and morning, He shall bear me company. The name I bear is other Than that I bore by birth; And I've given life to childrer Who'll grow and dwell on earth; But the time comes swiftly towards meNor do I bid it stay When the dead Christ will be more to me Than all I hold to-day. Lay the dead Christ beside me Oh, press Him on my heart; I would hold Him long and painfully, Heal me of self and sin, And the cold weight press wholly down The pulse that chokes within. Reproof and frost, they fret me; Towards the free, the sunny lands, From the chaos of existence, I stretch these feeble hands And, penitential, kneeling, Pray God would not be wroth, Who gave not the strength of feeling And strength of labor both. Thou 'rt but a wooden carving, Yet more to me Thou couldst not be Like the gem-bedizened baby Which, at the Twelfth-day noon, I ask of Thee no wonders- I seek through want and pain, JULIA WARD HOWE SONNET. In the desert of the Holy Land I strayed, Where Christ once lived, but seems to live no more; In Lebanon my lonely home I made; A HYMN. DROP, drop, slow tears, ANONYMOUS. And bathe those beauteous feet His mercies to entreat To cry for vengeance Sin doth never cease; In your deep floods Drown all my faults and fears; Nor let His eye See sin, but through my tears. PHINEAS FLETCHES A CHRISTMAS HYMN. IT was the calm and silent night! CHRISTMAS. Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing warsPeace brooded o'er the hushed domain: Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars Held undisturbed their ancient reign, 'Twas in the calm and silent night! The senator of haughty Rome, Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, From lordly revel rolling home; Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell A paltry province far away, Within that province far away Fallen through a half-shut stable-door Oh, strange indifference! low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares; The earth was still-but knew not why The world was listening, unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world for ever! To that still moment, none would heed, Man's doom was linked no more to severIn the solemn midnight, Centuries ago! It is the calm and solemn night! A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness-charmed and holy now! The night that erst no name had worn, 765 The peaceful prince of earth and heaven. In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago! ALFRED DOMMETT CHRISTMAS. RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night— Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new— Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, Ring out the want, the care, the sin, Ring out false pride in place and blood, Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the landRing in the Christ that is to be. ALFRED TENNYSON, THE LABORER'S NOONDAY HYMN. 767 THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. WHERE the remote Bermudas ride What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage. He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels every thing, And sends the fowls to us in care, On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet. But apples-plants of such a price No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars, chosen by His hand From Lebanon, He stores the land; And makes the hollow seas, that roar, Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The gospel's pearl upon our coast; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple, where to sound His name. Oh! let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at heaven's vault; Which, then, perhaps rebounding, may Echo beyond the Mexique bay. Thus song they, in the English boat, And all the way, to guide their chime, ANDREW MARVELL HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answered keen; And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice betwee No portents now our foes amaze Forsaken Israel wanders lone; And Thou hast left them to their own. But, present still, though now unseen, To temper the deceitful ray. In shade and storm the frequent night, Our harps we left by Babel's streams- And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. |