THE GOD-MAN.

Ράβδος ἐκ τῆς ρίζης.

ROD of the Root of Jesse,
Thou, Flower of Mary born,
From that thick shady mountain
Cam'st glorious forth this morn:
Of her, the Ever Virgin,
Incarnate wast Thou made,
The immaterial Essence,

The God by all obeyed!

Glory, Lord, Thy servants pay
To thy wondrous might to-day!

The Gentiles' expectation,

Whom Jacob's words foretell, Who Syria's pride shalt vanquish, Samaria's power shalt quell;

Thou from the Root of Judah

Like some fair plant dost spring,

To turn old Gentile error

To Thee, its God and King!

Glory, Lord, Thy servants pay
To Thy wondrous might to-day!

THE GOD-MAN.

In Balaam's ancient vision

The Eastern seers were skilled; They marked the constellations,

And joy their spirits filled: For Thou, bright Star of Jacob, Arising in Thy might,

Didst call these Gentile first-fruits

To worship in Thy light.

They, in holy reverence bent,
Gifts acceptable present.

As on a fleece descending
The gentle dews distil,
As drops the earth that water,
The Virgin didst Thou fill.
For Media, leagued with Sheba,
Falls down and worships Thee:
Tarshish and Ethiopia,

The Isles and Araby.

Glory, Lord, Thy servants pay
To Thy wondrous might to-day!

ST. COSMAS.

ART thou weary, art thou languid,

Art thou sore distrest?

Come to Me," saith One,-" and, coming,
Be at rest!"

ART THOU WEARY?

Hath He marks to lead me to Him,

If He be my Guide?

"In His Feet and Hands are Wound-prints, And His Side."

Is there Diadem, as Monarch,

That His Brow adorns?

"Yea, a Crown, in very surety,— But of Thorns !"

If I find Him, if I follow,
What His guerdon here?
"Many a sorrow, many a labor,
Many a tear."

If I still hold closely to Him,
What hath He at last?
"Sorrow vanquished, labor ended,
Jordan past!"

If I ask Him to receive me,

Will He say me nay?

"Not till earth, and not till heaven Pass away!"

Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
Is He sure to bless?

"Angels, Martyrs, Prophets, Virgins,
Answer, Yes!"

ST. STEPHEN THE SABAITE.

61

GOD BLESSED FOREVER.

οἱ παῖδες εὐσεβεία.

THE Holy Children boldly stand
Against the tyrant's dread command:
The kindled furnace they defy,—

No doom can shake their constancy :
They in the midmost flame confessed,
"God of our Fathers! Thou art blessed!"

The Shepherds keep their flocks by night;
The Heaven glows out with wondrous light;
The glory of the Lord is there,

The Angel-bands their King declare :
The watchers of the night confessed,

"God of our Fathers! Thou art blessed!"

The Angel ceased; and suddenly
Seraphic legions filled the sky:
Glory to God, they cry again:

Peace upon earth, good will to men:

Christ comes!—And they that heard confessed, "God of our Fathers! Thou art blessed!".