In kind ambush alway lying

He besets thy bed and path,
Fain would see thee hourly buying
Prayers against the time of wrath,
Prayers of thankful mourners here,
Prayers that in Love's might appear
With the offerings of the Blest,
At the shrine of perfect rest.
See, His undecaying treasure
Lies like dew upon the grass,
To be won and stored at pleasure
But its hour will quickly pass.

Christ before His Altar standing,
Priest of Priests, in His own Day,
Calls on thee, some fruit demanding
Of the week's heaven-guarded way.
See His Arm stretch'd out to bless :

Whoso nearest to Him

press,

Open-handed, eagle-eyed,

They may best that Arm abide,

When, the last dread lightnings wielding,

He shall lift it, and decree,

"Go, ye churls of soul unyielding, Where nor gift nor prayer shall be.”

JESUS in His babes abiding

Shames our cold ungentle ways,
Silently the young heart guiding
To unconscious love and praise.
See out-reached the fingers small,
Ever, at each playful call,
Ready to dispense around

Joys and treasures newly found.
Fearless they of waste or spoiling

Nought enjoy but what they share; Grudging thought and care and moiling Live not in their pure glad air.

Strange the law of Love's combining !— As with wild winds moaning round Tones from lute or harp entwining

Make

one thread of solemn sound ;

As calm eve's autumnal glow

As in landscape leaf or stone,

Cloud or flower, at random thrown, Helps the sadness or the glory ;

So the gift of playful child

May recall thy natal story,

Church of Salem undefiled!

How the new-born Saints, assembling
Daily 'neath the shower of fire,
To their Lord in hope and trembling
Brought the choice of earth's desire.
Never incense-cloud so sweet

As before the Apostles' feet
Rose, majestic Seer, from thee,
Type of royal hearts and free,

Son of holiest consolation,

When thou turn'dst thy land to gold,

And thy gold to strong salvation,
Leaving all, by Christ to hold :-

Type of Priest and Monarch, casting
All their crowns before the Throne,

And the treasure everlasting
Heaping in the world unknown.

And their names in blazonry,

And their forms from storied panes

Gleam athwart their own loved fanes,
Each his several radiance flinging
On the sacred Altar floor,

Whether great ones much are bringing,
Or their mite the mean and poor.

Bring thine all, thy choicest treasure,
Heap it high and hide it deep:
Thou shalt win o'erflowing measure,

Thou shalt climb where skies are steep.
For as Heaven's true only light
Quickens all those forms so bright,
So where Bounty never faints,
There the Lord is with His Saints,
Mercy's sweet contagion spreading
Far and wide from heart to heart,
From His Wounds atonement shedding
On the blessed widow's part.

16.

CHURCH BELLS.

"Let the hills hear thy voice."

"WAKE me to-night, my mother dear,
That I may hear

The Christmas Bells, so soft and clear,

To high and low glad tidings tell,

Came to undo what we had done,

How God the Paraclete,

Who in the chaste womb framed the Babe so sweet,

In

power and glory came, the birth to aid and greet.