'Tis said, of yore some child of pride Would vaunt him how his empire wide The bright sun never left. So in the Name of our dread King We never are bereft. 'Tis morning here, 'tis evening there, And prayer must vary ; But evermore through silent air, Nor dull nor weary, From earth, the footstool of His feet, He gave upon the Cross, and we Give daily, earth's release to be From daily woe and thrall. Thus to Heaven's Bride, so chaste and sweet, A voice is granted, The notes untiring to repeat In high Heaven chanted. Continual Services. Then mourn we not with drooping heart, T Though half the globe may seem to part Our prayers from home and friends. And the dread Offering, all day long, The Eucharist of God's dear Son, Like Him undying, Is mighty, worlds and hearts in one Wherefore in solemn cheer we pass (Now that the Church hath turned her glass) From year to dawning year. All years to Him are one: and thou, In virtue of thy first dread vow Signing thyself in fear, Make haste, dear child, and onward press To high Communion :— Thy fragments He will glean, and bless With perfect union. 317 318 差。 Holy Seasons and Days. 1. CHRISTMAS EVE: VESPERS. "If it bear fruit, well: if not, then after that Thou shalt cut it down." THE duteous sun hath ceased to keep The sun is set, the stars begin Their stations in His watch on high, As once around that Bethlehem inn ; The vesper hour is nigh. Christmas Eve: Vespers. A little maid with eager gaze Comes hurrying to the House of Prayer, Shaping in heart a wild green maze Of woodland branches there. One look,-a cloud comes o'er her dream : What if that little maiden's Lord, "Where are the fruits I yearly seek, As holy seasons pass away, Eyes turned from ill, lips pure and meek, "Where are the glad and artless smiles, Like clustering hollies, seen afar At eve along the o'ershaded aisles, With the first twilight star ?" 319 Spare, gracious Saviour, me and mine: Ere we again that glimmering view, By winter frosts and summer heats, And dare we ask for one year more? If He in Heaven repeat our vow, We copying here His pure dread Will,O dream of joy !-the withered bough May blush with fruitage still. |