The Christian Year | Page 5

the less in unison with theirs, for every note is true, and wins us by its purity. His also are melodies of the everlasting chime.
"And be ye sure that Love can bless?E'en in this crowded loneliness,?Where ever moving myriads seem to say,?Go--thou art nought to us, nor we to thee--away!"
"There are in this loud stunning tide
Of human care and crime,?With whom the melodies abide
Of the everlasting chime;?Who carry music in their heart
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,?Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."
With a peal, then, of such music let us ring in the New Year for our Library; and for our lives.
January 1, 1887. H. M.
DEDICATION.
When in my silent solitary walk,
I sought a strain not all unworthy Thee,?My heart, still ringing with wild worldly talk,
Gave forth no note of holier minstrelsy.
Prayer is the secret, to myself I said,
Strong supplication must call down the charm,?And thus with untuned heart I feebly prayed,
Knocking at Heaven's gate with earth-palsied arm.
Fountain of Harmony! Thou Spirit blest,
By whom the troubled waves of earthly sound?Are gathered into order, such as best
Some high-souled bard in his enchanted round
May compass, Power divine! Oh, spread Thy wing,
Thy dovelike wing that makes confusion fly,?Over my dark, void spirit, summoning
New worlds of music, strains that may not die.
Oh, happiest who before thine altar wait,
With pure hands ever holding up on high?The guiding Star of all who seek Thy gate,
The undying lamp of heavenly Poesy.
Too weak, too wavering, for such holy task
Is my frail arm, O Lord; but I would fain?Track to its source the brightness, I would bask
In the clear ray that makes Thy pathway plain.
I dare not hope with David's harp to chase
The evil spirit from the troubled breast;?Enough for me if I can find such grace
To listen to the strain, and be at rest.
THE CHRISTIAN YEAR.
MORNING
His compassions fail not. They are new every morning. Lament. iii. 22, 23.
Hues of the rich unfolding morn,?That, ere the glorious sun be born,?By some soft touch invisible?Around his path are taught to swell; -
Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay,?That dancest forth at opening day,?And brushing by with joyous wing,?Wakenest each little leaf to sing; -
Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,?By which deep grove and tangled stream?Pay, for soft rains in season given,?Their tribute to the genial heaven; -
Why waste your treasures of delight?Upon our thankless, joyless sight;?Who day by day to sin awake,?Seldom of Heaven and you partake?
Oh, timely happy, timely wise,?Hearts that with rising morn arise!?Eyes that the beam celestial view,?Which evermore makes all things new!
New every morning is the love?Our wakening and uprising prove;?Through sleep and darkness safely brought,?Restored to life, and power, and thought.
New mercies, each returning day,?Hover around us while we pray;?New perils past, new sins forgiven,?New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.
If on our daily course our mind?Be set to hallow all we find,?New treasures still, of countless price,?God will provide for sacrifice.
Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be,?As more of Heaven in each we see:?Some softening gleam of love and prayer?Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain?Untired we ask, and ask again,?Ever, in its melodious store,?Finding a spell unheard before;
Such is the bliss of souls serene,?When they have sworn, and stedfast mean,?Counting the cost, in all t' espy?Their God, in all themselves deny.
Oh, could we learn that sacrifice,?What lights would all around us rise!?How would our hearts with wisdom talk?Along Life's dullest, dreariest walk!
We need not bid, for cloistered cell,?Our neighbour and our work farewell,?Nor strive to wind ourselves too high?For sinful man beneath the sky:
The trivial round, the common task,?Would furnish all we ought to ask;?Room to deny ourselves; a road?To bring us daily nearer God.
Seek we no more; content with these,?Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease,?As Heaven shall bid them, come and go:-?The secret this of Rest below.
Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love?Fit us for perfect Rest above;?And help us, this and every day,?To live more nearly as we pray.
EVENING
Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent.--St. Luke xxiv. 29.
'Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze,?Fast fading from our wistful gaze;?You mantling cloud has hid from sight?The last faint pulse of quivering light.
In darkness and in weariness?The traveller on his way must press,?No gleam to watch on tree or tower,?Whiling away the lonesome hour.
Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,?It is not night if Thou be near:?Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise?To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes!
When round Thy wondrous works below?My searching rapturous glance I throw,?Tracing out Wisdom, Power and Love,?In earth or sky, in stream or grove; -
Or by the light Thy words disclose?Watch Time's full river as it flows,?Scanning Thy gracious Providence,?Where not too deep for mortal sense:-
When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,?And all the flowers of life