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 cloister'd 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.

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56

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.

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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.

1827.

EVENING

John Keble.

T IS gone, that bright and orbed blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.

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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

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Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.

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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:

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Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without thee I dare not die.

Thou Framer of 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 spurn'd, 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.

1827.

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John Keble.

A CHRISTMAS HYMN

It was the calm and silent night!

Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might,

And now was Queen of land and sea.
No sound was heard of clashing wars;
Peace brooded o'er the hush'd domain,
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars,

Held undisturb'd their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

'T was in the calm and silent night!
The senator of haughty Rome
Impatient urged his chariot's flight,
From lordly revel rolling home.
Triumphal arches gleaming swell

His breast with thoughts of boundless sway: What reck'd the Roman what befell

A paltry province far away,

In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

Within that province far away

Went plodding home a weary boor:
A streak of light before him lay,
Fall'n through a half-shut stable door

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Across his path. He pass'd-for nought
Told what was going on within;
How keen the stars! his only thought;
The air how calm and cold and thin,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago!

O strange indifference!-low and high
Drows'd over common joys and cares:
The earth was still-but knew not why;

The world was listening-unawares.
How calm a moment may precede

One that shall thrill the world for ever! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was link'd, no more to sever, In the solemn midnight

Centuries ago!

It is the calm and silent night!

A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite

The darkness, charm'd and holy now. The night that erst no name had worn,

To it a happy name is given;

For in that stable lay new-born

The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, In the solemn midnight

1837.

Centuries ago!

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Alfred Domett.