The Christian Year | Page 9

your sad annoy

Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy.
Think on th' eternal home,
The Saviour left for you;
Think on the Lord most holy, come
To dwell with hearts untrue:
So shall ye tread untired His pastoral
ways,
And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise.
ST. STEPHEN'S DAY
He, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly into heaven,
and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God.
Acts vii. 55
As rays around the source of light
Stream upward ere he glow in sight,

And watching by his future flight
Set the clear heavens on fire;
So on the King of Martyrs wait
Three
chosen bands, in royal state,
And all earth owns, of good and great,
Is gather'd in that choir.
One presses on, and welcomes death:
One calmly yields his willing
breath,
Nor slow, nor hurrying, but in faith

Content to die or live:
And some, the darlings of their Lord,
Play
smiling with the flame and sword,
And, ere they speak, to His sure
word
Unconscious witness give.
Foremost and nearest to His throne,
By perfect robes of triumph
known,
And likest Him in look and tone,
The holy Stephen kneels,
With stedfast gaze, as when the sky
Flew
open to his fainting eye,
Which, like a fading lamp, flash'd high,
Seeing what death conceals.
Well might you guess what vision bright
Was present to his raptured
sight,
E'en as reflected streams of light
Their solar source betray -
The glory which our God surrounds,
The
Son of Man, the atoning wounds -
He sees them all; and earth's dull
bounds
Are melting fast away.
He sees them all--no other view
Could stamp the Saviour's likeness
true,
Or with His love so deep embrue
Man's sullen heart and gross -
"Jesus, do Thou my soul receive:

Jesu, do Thou my foes forgive;"
He who would learn that prayer must
live
Under the holy Cross.
He, though he seem on earth to move,
Must glide in air like gentle
dove,
From yon unclouded depths above
Must draw his purer breath;
Till men behold his angel face
All

radiant with celestial grace,
Martyr all o'er, and meet to trace
The lines of Jesus' death.
ST. JOHN'S DAY
Peter seeing him, saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do?
Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to
thee? follow thou Me. St. John xxi. 21, 22.
"Lord, and what shall this man do?"
Ask'st thou, Christian, for thy friend?
If his love for Christ be true,
Christ hath told thee of his end:
This is he whom God approves,

This is he whom Jesus loves.
Ask not of him more than this,
Leave it in his Saviour's breast,
Whether, early called to bliss,
He in youth shall find his rest,
Or armed in his station wait
Till his
Lord be at the gate:
Whether in his lonely course
(Lonely, not forlorn) he stay,
Or with Love's supporting force
Cheat the toil, and cheer the way:
Leave it all in His high hand,

Who doth hearts as streams command.
Gales from Heaven, if so He will,
Sweeter melodies can wake
On the lonely mountain rill
Than the meeting waters make.
Who hath the Father and the Son,

May be left, but not alone.

Sick or healthful, slave or free,
Wealthy, or despised and poor -
What is that to him or thee,
So his love to Christ endure?
When the shore is won at last,
Who
will count the billows past?
Only, since our souls will shrink
At the touch of natural grief,
When our earthly loved ones sink,
Lend us, Lord, Thy sure relief;
Patient hearts, their pain to see,
And
Thy grace, to follow Thee.
THE HOLY INNOCENTS
These were redeemed from among men, being the firstfruits unto God
and to the Lamb. Rev. xiv. 4.
Say, ye celestial guards, who wait
In Bethlehem, round the Saviour's
palace gate,
Say, who are these on golden wings,
That hover o'er the new-born
King of kings,
Their palms and garlands telling plain
That they are of the glorious
martyr-train,
Next to yourselves ordained to praise
His Name, and brighten as on
Him they gaze?
But where their spoils and trophies? where
The glorious dint a
martyr's shield should bear?
How chance no cheek among them wears
The deep-worn trace of
penitential tears,

But all is bright and smiling love,
As if, fresh-borne from Eden's
happy grove,
They had flown here, their King to see,
Nor ever had been heirs of
dark mortality?
Ask, and some angel will reply,
"These, like yourselves, were born to
sin and die,
But ere the poison root was grown,
God set His seal, and marked
them for His own.
Baptised its blood for Jesus' sake,
Now underneath the Cross their
bed they make,
Not to be scared from that sure rest
By frightened mother's shriek, or
warrior's waving crest."
Mindful of these, the firstfruits sweet
Borne by this suffering Church
her Lord to greet;
Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace
The "innocent brightness" of an
infant's face.
He raised them