The Lord is come. On Syrian soil
The child of poverty and toil,
The man of sorrows, born to know
Each varying shade of human woe,
His joy, his glory, to fulfil

In earth and heaven his Father's will;
On lonely mount, by festive board,
On bitter cross, despised, adored,

The Lord is come. Dull hearts to wake,
He speaks, as never man yet spake,
The truth which makes his servants free,
The royal law of liberty.

Though heaven and earth shall pass away,
His living words our spirits stay,
And from his treasures, new and old,
The eternal mysteries unfold.

The Lord is come. In every heart
Where truth and mercy claim a part,
In every land where right is might,
And deeds of darkness shun the light,
In every church where faith and love
Lift earthward thoughts to things above,
In every holy, happy home, -

We bless thee, Lord, that thou hast come.

ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, 1872.

197.

Thank we now the Lord of heaven
For the day-spring he has given;
For the light of truth and grace
Shining from the Master's face.
Years have come and years have gone,
Still that light is shining on:
Still the holy child is born

Every blessed Christmas morn.

Still his words of truth and grace
In a holier world we trace;
Where our hearts to love are stirred,
Still the angels' song is heard.
'Glory be to God on high!'
Sing, ye angels from the sky;
Mortals, raise the glad refrain,
'Peace on earth, good will to men.'

HENRY WARBURTON HAWKES.