The Other World

And, in the hush of rest they bring,

'Tis easy now to see

How lovely and how sweet a pass
The hour of death may be;-

To close the eye and close the ear,
Wrapped in a trance of bliss,
And, gently drawn in loving arms,
To swoon from that to this:-

Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are,

To feel all evil sink away,

All sorrow and all care!

Sweet souls around us! watch us still, Press nearer to our side;

Into our thoughts, into our prayers, With gentle helping glide.

Let death between us be as naught, A dried and vanished stream;

Your joy be the reality,

Our suffering life the dream.

I

IO VICTIS

William Wetmore Story

SING the hymn of the conquered, who fell in the Battle of Life,

The hymn of the wounded, the beaten, who died overwhelmed in the strife;

Not the jubilant song of the victors, for whom the resounding acclaim

Of nations was lifted in chorus, whose brows wore the chaplet of fame,

But the hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in heart,

Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part;

Whose youth bore no flowers on its branches, whose hopes burned in ashes away,

From whose hands slipped the prize they had grasped at, who stood at the dying of day

With the wreck of their life all around them, unpitied,

unheeded, alone,

With Death swooping down o'er their failure, and all but their faith overthrown.

While the voice of the world shouts its chorus, -its paean for those who have won;

While the trumpet is sounding triumphant, and high

to the breeze and the sun

Io Victis

Glad banners are waving, hands clapping, and hurrying feet

Thronging after the laurel-crowned victors, I stand

on the field of defeat,

In the shadow, with those who have fallen, are wounded, and dying, and there

Chant a requiem low, place my hand on their painknitted brows, breathe a prayer,

Hold the hand that is helpless, and whisper, "They only the victory win

Who have fought the good fight, and have vanquished the demon that tempts us within;

Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the world holds on high;

Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight, if need be, to die."

Speak, History! who are Life's victors? Unroll thy long annals and say,

Are they those whom the world called the victorswho won the success of a day?

The martyrs or Nero? The Spartans, who fell at Thermopylae's tryst,

Or the Persians or Xerxes? His judges or Socrates? Pilate or Christ?

O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM

Phillips Brooks

LITTLE town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by,

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting Light.

The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee to-night,

For Christ is born of Mary,

And, gathered all above,

While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth!

And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.

O Little Town of Bethlehem

No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.