Advent of Christ.

I.

REGINALD HEBER.

THE Lord will come! the earth shall quake,
The hills their fixed seat forsake;

And, withering, from the vault of night
The stars withdraw their feeble light.

KEBLE.

Awake-again the Gospel-trump is blown-
From year to year it swells with louder tone,
From year to year the signs of wrath

Are gathering round the Judge's path,

Strange words fulfill'd, and mighty works achiev'd,
And truth in all the world both hated and believ'd.

Awake! why linger in the gorgeous town,
Sworn liegemen of the Cross and thorny crown?
Up from your beds of sloth for shame,
Speed to the eastern mount like flame,
Nor wonder, should ye find your king in tears,
Even with the loud Hosanna ringing in his ears.

Alas! no need to rouse them: long ago

They are gone forth to swell Messiah's show:

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Advent of Christ.

The Lord will come! but not the same
As once in lowly form he came,

A silent lamb to slaughter led,

The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.

The Lord will come! a dreadful form,
With wreath of flame and robe of storm:
Master and slave alike shall find

An equal judge of human kind.

With glittering robes and garlands sweet
They strew the ground beneath his feet:

All but your hearts are there-O doom'd to prove
The arrows wing'd in Heaven for Faith that will not love!

Meanwhile He passes through the adoring crowd,
Calm as the march of some majestic cloud,

That o'er wild scenes of ocean-war

Holds its still course in heaven afar :

Even so, heart-searching Lord, as years roll on,
Thou keepest silent watch from thy triumphal throne:

Even so,

the world is thronging round to gaze

On the dread vision of the latter days,

Constrain'd to own Thee, but in heart
Prepar'd to take Barabbas' part:
'Hosanna' now, to morrow' crucify,'

The changeful burden still of their rude lawless cry.

Yet in that throng of selfish hearts untrue
Thy sad eye rests upon thy faithful few,

Children and childlike souls are there,
Blind Bartimeus' humble prayer,

Advent of Christ.

Can this be he who wont to stray

A pilgrim on the world's highway;
By power oppressed, and mocked by pride?
Oh God! is this the crucified ?

Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain !
Go, seek the mountain's cleft in vain:
But faith, victorious o'er the tomb,
Shall sing for joy-the Lord is come!

And Lazarus waken'd from his four days' sleep,
Enduring life again, that Passover to keep.

And fast beside the olive-border'd way
Stands the blest home, where Jesus deign'd to stay,
The peaceful home, to Zeal sincere
And heavenly Contemplation dear,

Where Martha lov'd to wait with reverence meet,
And wiser Mary linger'd at thy sacred feet.

Still through decaying ages as they glide,
Thou lov'st thy chosen remnant to divide;
Sprinkled along the waste of years
Full many a soft green isle appears:
Pause where we may upon the desert road,
Some shelter is in sight, some sacred, safe abode.

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Prayer for Universal Love.

II.

ELIZABETH M. CHANDLER.

OH Father, when the softened heart
Is lifted up in prayer to thee,
When earthly thoughts awhile depart,
And leave the mounting spirit free-

Then teach us that our love, like thine,
O'er all the realms of earth should flow,
A shoreless stream, a flood divine,

To bathe and heal the heart of wo.

Then shall the bondman hear no more The tyrant's, in the christian's name, Nor tears of wasting anguish pour, Unpitied o'er his life of shame.

But taught to love thee, by the love That bids his long-worn fetters break, He too shall lift his soul above,

And serve thee for thy mercy's sake.

Around the eternal throne,

Of every kindred, clime and land,

A multitude unknown.

Life's

poor distinctions vanish here;
To day the young, the old,
Our Saviour and his flock appear
One Shepherd and one fold.

Toil, trial, suffering still await
On earth the pilgrim's throng,
Yet learn we in our low estate
The church triumphant's song.

Worthy the Lamb for sinners slain,

Cry the redeemed above, Blessing and honor to obtain,

And everlasting love.

Worthy the Lamb, on earth we sing,
Who died our souls to save;

Henceforth, O Death! where is thy sting!
Thy victory, O Grave!