The Christian Year | Page 6

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
unfold;
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee
discern.
When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,

Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's
breast.

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live:

Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.
Thou Framer of the light and dark,
Steer through the tempest Thine
own ark:
Amid the howling wintry sea
We are in port if we have
Thee.
The Rulers of this Christian land,
'Twixt Thee and us ordained to
stand, -
Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright,
Let all do all as in
Thy sight.
Oh! by Thine own sad burthen, borne
So meekly up the hill of scorn,

Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross
To bear as Thine, nor
count it loss!
If some poor wandering child of Thine
Have spurned to-day the voice
divine,
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;
Let him no more lie
down in sin.
Watch by the sick: enrich the poor
With blessings from Thy
boundless store:
Be every mourner's sleep to-night,
Like infants'
slumbers, pure and light.
Come near and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our
way we take;
Till in the ocean of Thy love
We lose ourselves, in
Heaven above.
ADVENT SUNDAY
Now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our
salvation
nearer than when we believed.--Romans xiii 11.
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 fulfilled, and mighty works achieved,
And
truth in all the world both hated and believed.
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,
E'en
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:
With glittering robes and garlands sweet
They strew the ground
beneath His feet:
All but your hearts are there--O doomed to prove

The arrows winged in Heaven for Faith that will not love!
Meanwhile He passes through th' 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:
E'en so, heart-searching Lord, as years roll on,
Thou keepest
silent watch from Thy triumphal throne:
E'en so, the world is thronging round to gaze
On the dread vision of
the latter days,
Constrained to own Thee, but in heart
Prepared 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,
And Lazarus wakened from his four days' sleep,
Enduring

life again, that Passover to keep.
And fast beside the olive-bordered way
Stands the blessed home
where Jesus deigned to stay,
The peaceful home, to Zeal sincere
And heavenly Contemplation dear,

Where Martha loved to wait with reverence meet,
And wiser Mary
lingered 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.
When withering blasts of error swept the sky,
And Love's last flower
seemed fain to droop and die,
How sweet, how lone the ray benign
On sheltered nooks of Palestine!

Then to his early home did Love repair,
And cheered his sickening
heart with his own native air.
Years roll away: again the tide of crime
Has swept Thy footsteps
from the favoured clime
Where shall the holy Cross find rest?
On a crowned monarch's mailed
breast:
Like some bright angel o'er the darkling scene,
Through
court and camp he holds his heavenward course serene.
A fouler vision yet; an age of light,
Light without love, glares on the
aching sight:
Oh, who can tell how calm and sweet,
Meek Walton, shows thy green
retreat,
When wearied with the tale thy