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He came not thus; no earthquake shock
Shivered the everlasting rock;

No trumpet blast, nor thunder peal,
Made earth through all her regions reel;
And but for the mysterious voicing
Of that unearthly quire rejoicing;
And but for that strange herald-gem,
The star which burn'd o'er Bethlehem,
The shepherds, on His natal morn,
Had known not that their God was born.
There were no terrors, for the song

peace rose from the seraph throng;
On wings of love He came, to save,
To pluck pale terror from the grave;
And on the bloodstain'd Calvary
He won for man the victory.



O DAY most calm, most bright,
The indorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a Friend, and with His blood;
The couch of time; care's balm and bay;
The week were dark but for thy light:
Thy torch doth shew the way.


The other days and thou

Make up one man, whose face thou art,
Knocking at heaven with thy brow;
The working days are the back part;
The burden of the week lies there,
Making the whole to stoop and bow,
Till thy release appear.

The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on time's string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal glorious King.
On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,
More plentiful than hope.

The rest of our creation
Our great Redeemer did remove

With the same shake which, at His passion,
Did the earth and all things with it move.
As Samson bore the doors away,


Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation,

And did unhinge that day.

The brightness of that day We sullied by our foul offence: Wherefore that robe we cast away,

Having a new at His expense,

Whose drops of blood paid the full price,

That was required to make us gay,

And fit for paradise.

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Thou art a day of mirth;

And where the week-days trail on ground,
Thy flight is higher, as thy birth;
Oh, let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from seven to seven,
Till that we both, being toss'd from earth,
Fly hand in hand to heaven!



AND is there care in heaven? and is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move? There is :-else much more wretched were the


Of men than beasts: but, oh, the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves His creatures so, And all His works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels He sends to and fro, To serve the wicked man, to serve his wicked foe! How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succour us that succour want! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us plant; And all for love, and nothing for reward:

Oh, why should heavenly God to men have such




THEY that are merry, let them sing,
And let the sad hearts pray :
Let those still ply their cheerful wing,
And these their sober lay.

So mounts the early warbling lark
Still upward to the skies;
So sits the turtle in the dark,
Amidst her plaintive cries.

And yet the lark, and yet the dove,
Both sing, though different parts;
And so should we, howe'er we move,
With light or heavy hearts.

Or rather, we should each essay,

And our cross notes unite;

Both grief and joy should sing and pray,
Since both such hopes invite,-

Hopes that all present sorrow heal,
All present joy transcend;

Hopes to possess, and taste, and feel
Delights that never end.



By the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood, There we sate, and there we wept ;



Our harps, that now no music understood,
Nodding on the willows, slept;
While unhappy, captiv'd we,
Lovely Sion, thought on thee.

They, they that snatch'd us from our country's breast,

Would have a song carv'd to their ears, In Hebrew numbers, then, (O cruel jest!)

When harps and hearts were drown'd in


"Come," they cried, "come, sing and play One of Sion's songs to-day!"

Sing!-Play!-to whom, ah! shall we sing and play,

If not, Jerusalem, to thee?
Ah, thee, Jerusalem! Ah, sooner may
This hand forget the mastery
Of music's dainty touch, than I

The music of thy memory.



YE who dwell above the skies
Free from human miseries,

You whom highest heaven embowers,
Praise the Lord with all your powers.
Angels, your clear voices raise,
Him your heavenly armies praise;

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