The Epiphany.

The Virgin Mother waiting by

Your offering scans with earnest eye,
Angels and Saints with jealous heed
Watch if you bring your best indeed.

And He, the Holiest, Humblest One,
Making as though He could not see,—
Yet is His Eye all hearts upon.

O may He find some good in me !
A poor, weak, wayward soul is mine,
Yet own I, Lord, Thy saving sign.
Thou seest me daily, how before
Thy gracious footsteps I adore.

Fain would I there my stores unfold,

And of the gifts Thy Love hath given

One heart restore of virgin gold,

One prayer, like incense, seeking Heaven,

One drop of penitential Love,

Fragrant and dear to God above,

Yet bitter in the mouth as gall,

Fain would I bring Thee: 'tis mine all.

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O blessed, who with eyes so pure

Have watched Thy cradle day by day, Thy look may in their hearts endure, Brightening their dim and weary way! Blest, whom sweet thoughts of Christmas tide Through all the year may guard and guide, As on those sages journeying smiled

In dreams the Mother and the Child.

Holy Seasons and Days.

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5.

THE PURIFICATION.

"The time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land."

WHAT buds, what fragrant flowers are here!

Not yet are Christmas garlands sere,

The stern bleak months that lead the year

Are frowning still,

Yet forth they come, no stay, no fear,

And bloom at will.

Each nodding violet spray beneath

What troops of tender nurslings breathe,

Close set as gems in bridal wreath!

April's last day

No richer gift did e'er bequeath

To brightening May.

The snowdrops round the cottage door Are twinkling gay by tens or more,

The

merry children on the floor
As gay within:

The birds tell out their vernal lore

With joyous din.

As they prevent the matin prime,
So, might it seem, sweet nature's chime
Rings out to greet the holy time.

Heaven's softest airs

Wait on the Maid who now shall climb The Temple stairs.

Pure from her undefiled throes,

Her virgin matron arms inclose

The only Gift the wide earth knows

Not all unmeet

For the dread place where now she goes,

His mercy-seat.

The Purification.

See the Redeemer on His way

Himself to be redeemed to-day :
In humblest meekness see her lay
Before the shrine

Such offerings as poor matrons pay,
Want's lowly sign.

But soon the untimely vernal gleam
Must fade away like morning dream,

And ill winds blow, and cold mists stream

On flower and leaf:

So with the glad prophetic theme
Come tones of grief.

"The sword shall pierce thy very soul."
As on some gay glad hour might toll

The funeral knell, or thunders roll
O'er summer night,

So did that word thy joy controul,

Thou Virgin bright!

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