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11.

OCTAVES OF FESTIVALS.

“Blessed are the people that know the joyful sound."

EVEN as the close of some grave melody, Hovering and lingering in the moon's still ray, Breathes o’er and o’er, reviving ere they die The notes that are the soul of the sweet lay, And hearts that own the music, loitering near, Drink the loved cadence with enchanted ear ;

So the bright holy days, as one by one
They pass, a glorious week behind them draw.
Nor will their echo cease till they outrun
Their Octave : such is heavenly Music's law.
Nor will Faith's ear grow weary of the strain,
But long for the glad note to sound again.

Whether the tones were pastoral, warbled low On Christmas Eve, but ere the bright sun rise,

From thousand Seraphs in harmonious flow
O’erspreading earth new-born and gladdened skies :
Or in high triumph from beside the tomb
The sudden anthem pierced the Paschal gloom:

Or cloudlike soared the long-drawn melody,
Still upward gliding where the Lord had gone :
Or in all tongues the Pentecostal cry
Rose from all lands in perfect unison :-
For each and all, seven happy nights and days,
The Church untiring holds her note of praise.

For each and all, the eighth mysterious morn
Doth of the first tell o'er the perfect tale.
Lo, from Heaven's deep again the lays are borne
That seem'd for ever past behind the veil.
(For Thy dread Hours, thou awful Trinity,
Are but the Whitsun airs, new set on high.)

'Tis only our dull hearts that tire so soon
Of Christ's repeated call ; while they in Heaven,
Unwearied basking in the eternal noon,
Still sound the note, by the first Seraph given,

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What time the Morning Stars around their King
Began for evermore to shine and sing.

And you, ye gentle babes, true image here
Of such as walk in white before the Throne,
Ye weary not of Love, how soft soe'er
Her yearnings she repeat in unchanged tone.
To tale familiar, to remembered strain,
To frolic ten times tried, ye cry, Again.

How have I seen you, when the unpleasing time
Came for some kindly guest to pass away,
Cling round his skirts ! how marked the playful chime
Of earnest voices, pledged to make him stay !
O deeply sink, and with a tearful spell,
The memories of such welcome and farewell.

Nor wants in elder love the like soft charm.
The Mother tires not of one little voice,
Even as she fain all day with patient arm
Would bear one burthen. O frail heart, rejoice!
Love trains thee now by repetition sweet
The unwasting and unvarying bliss to greet.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

Page 62

64

A CHRISTIAN child in pain
A fragment of a rainbow bright
A holy home, young Saint, was thine .
Alas ! that e'er the pangs of birth
All gorgeous hues are in the pure white beam
Alone, apart from Mother dear
And even the very walls of the dread place .

124

66 283 138 286

Behold, athwart our woodland nest
Behold me, Lord, a worthless Gibeonite
Behold the treasure of the nest
But what if Chrisom robes be sin-defild .

259 235 199 289

Christ before thy door is waiting
Christian Child, whoe'er thou be
Come, and with us by summer seas
Come hear with duteous mind
Come take a woodland walk with me
Come, ye

little revellers gay
Comrades, haste ! the tent's tall shading

. 301

237 . 168

266 . 212

176

229

Page Dear Child, to thee the tale is told

104 Didst thou not hear how soft the day-wind sighed 87 Down, slothful heart : how darest thou say . 92 Dread was the mystery on Moriah's hill

226

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275

Greatest art thou in least, O Lord
Great is the joy when leave is won .

181

Had I an infant, Lord, to rear
How fast these autumn leaves decay
How gaily seems the sun to rise .

39 210 328

I marked when vernal meads were bright

151

Live ever in my heart, sweet awful hour
Lo, cast at random on the wild sea sand
Look westward, pensive little one

91 240 112

Many the banners bright and fair
More and more stars, and ever as I gaze
Mother of Christ's children dear
My child, the counsels high attend .

94 221 97 99

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