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 Whether the tones were pastoral, warbled low Octaves of Festivals. From thousand Seraphs in harmonious flow Or cloudlike soared the long-drawn melody, For each and all, seven happy nights and days, For each and all, the eighth mysterious morn Lo, from Heaven's deep again the lays are borne 'Tis only our dull hearts that tire so soon Still sound the note, by the first Seraph given, A a 353 What time the Morning Stars around their King And you, ye gentle babes, true image here Her yearnings she repeat in unchanged tone. To frolic ten times tried, ye cry, Again. How have I seen you, when the unpleasing time 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 unwasting and unvarying bliss to greet. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Page A fragment of a rainbow bright Behold me, Lord, a worthless Gibeonite A CHRISTIAN child in pain A holy home, young Saint, was thine . All gorgeous hues are in the pure white beam And even the very walls of the dread place . Behold, athwart our woodland nest Behold the treasure of the nest But what if Chrisom robes be sin-defil'd Christ before thy door is waiting 62 64 124 66 . 283 138 . 286 259 235 . 199 289 301 237 Come, and with us by summer seas . 168 266 Come take a woodland walk with me Comrades, haste! the tent's tall shading 212 176 . 229 Page Dear Child, to thee the tale is told Didst thou not hear how soft the day-wind sighed Even as the close of some grave melody Five loving souls, each one as mine Greatest art thou in least, O Lord Had I an infant, Lord, to rear I marked when vernal meads were bright 104 87 92 226 . 352 1 102 275 181 39 210 . 328 151 91 240 . 112 Many the banners bright and fair 94 More and more stars, and ever as I gaze 221 Mother of Christ's children dear 97 99 Live ever in my heart, sweet awful hour |