dumb;

Scourged, but without complaint. Ye know

And let thy soul, whose sins his sorrows

wrought,

MILMAN.

For thou didst bear away from earth
But one of human birth,
The dying felon by thy side, to be
In Paradise with thee.

Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake;

A little while the conscious earth did shake At that foul deed by her fierce children done; A few dim hours of day

The world in darkness lay;

Then bask'd in bright repose beneath the

cloudless sun :

The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kist,

Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the
charmed wave.

The stars with deep amaze,
Stand fix'd in stedfast gaze,

Bending one way their precious influence;
And will not take their flight,
For all the morning light,

Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence;

Ere yet the white-rob'd angel shone Upon the sealed stone.

And when thou didst arise, thou didst not stand

With devastation in thy red right hand, Plaguing the guilty city's murtherous crew;

But thou didst haste to meet

Thy mother's coming feet,

And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few.

Then calmly, slowly, didst thou rise

Into thy native skies,

Thy human form dissolved on high
In its own radiancy.

THE NATIVITY.

MILTON.

No war, or battle's sound,

Was heard the world around:

The idle spear and shield were high up

hung;

The hooked chariot stood

Unstain'd with hostile blood;

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng:

And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.

But peaceful was the night,
Wherein the Prince of Light

His reign of peace upon the earth began:

Until the Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.

And, though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,

The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame,

As his inferior flame

The new-enlighten'd world no more should

need:

He saw a greater sun appear

Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear.

The shepherds on the lawn,

Or ere the point of dawn,

Sat simply chatting in a rustic row;

Full little thought they then,

That the mighty Pan

Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.

CARRINGTON.

"TWAS not the moon in glory streaming,
As she swam forth from cloud concealing;
It was not meteor glance, nor lightning,
The gorgeous concave instant bright'ning,
That rushing on the shepherd's eye,
Illumin'd heaven's vast canopy!
But, sailing down the radiant sky,
From bowers of bliss, from worlds on high

Appear'd, upborne on wings of fire, A seraph host-an angel quire!

It came that glorious embassy,
To hail the Incarnate Mystery!
For this awoke the extatic hymn,
From glowing lips of seraphim!

Ne'er flow'd such strains on earthly gale,
O'er breezy hill, or list'ning vale,
Before; nor shall such sounds again
Break on the raptur'd ear of man,
Till, rising to his native sky,
He put on Immortality.

For this, too, flam'd o'er Bethlehem, The brightest in night's diadem, That herald star whose pilot ray Illum'd the magi's doubtful way; Bright wanderer through the fields of air, Which led the enquiring sages where, Cradled within a worthless manger, Slept on that morn the immortal stranger.

He might have come in regal pomp,
With pealing of archangel trump,—
An angel blast as loud and dread;
As that which shall awake the dead!
His lightning might have scar'd the night,
Streaming insufferable light;

His thunder, deep'ning, peal on peal,
Have made earth to her centre reel,
Deep voices such as shook with fear,
At Sinai's base, the favour'd seer;

The wing of whirlwind might have borne him;

The trampling earthquake gone before him :
He might have come, that Holy One,
With millions round his awful throne,
Countless as are the sands that lie
On burning plains of Araby,
And arm'd for vengeance, who could stand
Before each conq'ring red right hand?

He came not thus, no earthquake shock Shiver'd the everlasting rock; No trumpet blast, nor thunder peal, Made earth through all her regions reel; And but for the mysterious voicing Of that unearthly quire rejoicing: And but for that strange herald gem, The star which burn'd o'er Bethlehem,

The shepherds, on his natal morn,
Had known not that the God was born.
There were no terrors, for the song
Of peace rose from the seraph throng;
On wings of love he came,-to save,
To pluck pale terror from the grave,
And, on the blood-stain'd Calvary,
He won for Man the victory!

H. K. WHITE.

YET once more, and once more, awake, my harp,

From silence and neglect-one lofty strain; Lofty, yet wilder than the winds of Heaven, And speaking mysteries, more than words can tell,

I ask of thee; for I, with hymnings high, Would join the dirge of the departing year. Yet with no wintry garland from the woods, Wrought of the leafless branch, or ivy sear, Wreathe I thy tresses, dark December! now; Me higher quarrel calls, with loudest song, And tearful joy, to celebrate the day

Of the Redeemer.-Near two thousand suns Have set their seals upon the rolling lapse Of generations, since the day-spring first Beamed from on high !-Now to the mighty

mass

Of that increasing aggregate, we add
One unit more. Space, in comparison,
How small, yet mark'd with how much
misery;

Wars, famines, and the fury, Pestilence,
Over the nations hanging her dread scourge;
The oppressed, too, in silent bitterness,
Weeping their sufferance; and the arm of
wrong

Forcing the scanty portion from the weak, And steeping the lone widow's couch with

tears.

So has the year been character'd with wo In Christian land, and mark'd with wrongs and crimes;

Yet 'twas not thus He taught not thus He liv'd,

Whose birth we this day celebrate with prayer,