The pale moon hurrying to the west
Paus'd at a mortal's call, to aid

The' avenging storm of war, that laid Seven guilty realms at once on earth's defiled breast. But can it be, one suppliant tear Should stay the ever-moving sphere?

*

A sick man's lowly breathed sigh,
When from the world he turns away,'
And hides his weary eyes to pray,
Should change your mystic dance, ye wanderers
of the sky?

We too, O Lord, would fain command,
As then, Thy wonder-working hand,

And backward force the waves of Time,
That now so swift and silent bear

Our restless bark from year to year;

Help us to pause and mourn to Thee our tale of crime.

Bright hopes, that erst the bosom warm'd,
And vows, too pure to be perform'd,

And prayers blown wide by gales of care:These, and such faint half-waking dreams, Like stormy lights on mountain streams, Wavering and broken all, athwart the conscience glare.

How shall we 'scape th' o'erwhelming Past?
Can spirits broken, joys o'ercast,

And eyes that never more may smile-
Can these th' avenging bolt delay,

Or win us back one little day

The bitterness of death to soften and beguile ?

And Hezekiah turned his face towards the wall, and prayed

unto the Lord.

Father and Lover of our souls!

Though darkly round Thine anger rolls,
The sunshine smiles beneath the gloom,
Thou seek'st to warn us, not confound,
Thy showers would pierce the harden'd
ground,

And win it to give out its brightness and perfume.

Thou smil'st on us in wrath, and we, Even in remorse, would smile on Thee; The tears that bathe our offer'd hearts, We would not have them stain'd and dim, But dropp'd from wings of Seraphim, All glowing with the light accepted Love imparts.

Time's waters will not ebb nor stay,
Power cannot change them, but Love may;
What cannot be, Love counts it done.
Deep in the heart, her searching view
Can read where Faith is fixed and true,
Through shades of setting life can see Heaven's
work begun.

O Thou, who keep'st the Key of Love,
Open Thy fount, eternal Dove,

And overflow this heart of mine,
Enlarging as it fills with Thee,

Till in one blaze of charity

Care and remorse are lost, like motes in light divine:

Till, as each moment wafts us higher,

By every gush of pure desire,

And high-breath'd hope of joys above, By every sacred sigh we heave,

Whole years of folly we outlive,

In His unerring sight, who measures Life by Love.

The Circumcision of Christ.

in whom also ye are circumcised with the circumcision made without hands.-Colossians ii. 11.

THE year begins with Thee,
And Thou beginn'st with woe,
To let the world of sinners see
That blood for sin must flow.

Thine infant cries, O Lord,
Thy tears upon the breast,
Are not enough-the legal sword
Must do its stern behest.

Like sacrificial wine

Pour'd on a victim's head

Are those few precious drops of Thine,
Now first to offering led.

They are the pledge and seal
Of Christ's unswerving faith
Given to His Sire, our souls to heal,
Although it cost His death.

They to His Church of old,
To each true Jewish heart,
In Gospel graces manifold
Communion blest impart.

Now of Thy love we deem
As of an ocean vast,

Mounting in tides against the stream
Of ages gone and past.

Both theirs and ours Thou art,
As we and they are Thine;

Kings, Prophets, Patriarchs-all have part
Along the sacred line.

By blood and water too
God's mark is set on Thee,
That in Thee every faithful view
Both covenants might see.

O bond of union, dear
And strong as is Thy grace!
Saints, parted by a thousand year,
May thus in heart embrace.

Is there a mourner true,
Who, fallen on faithless days,
Sighs for the heart-consoling view
Of those Heaven deign'd to praise?

In spirit may'st thou meet
With faithful Abraham here,
Whom soon in Eden thou shalt greet,
A nursing father dear.

Wouldst thou a Poet be?

And would thy dull heart fain

Borrow of Israel's minstrelsy

One high enraptur'd strain?

Come here thy soul to tune,
Here set thy feeble chant,
Here, if at all beneath the moon,
Is holy David's haunt.

Art thou a child of tears,

Cradled in care and woe?

And seems it hard, thy vernal years

Few vernal joys can shew?

And fall the sounds of mirth
Sad on thy lonely heart,

From all the hopes and charms of earth
Untimely call'd to part?

Look here, and hold thy peace :
The Giver of all good

Even from the womb takes no release
From suffering, tears, and blood.

If thou wouldst reap in love,
First sow in holy fear :

So life a winter's morn may prove
To a bright endless year.

Second Sunday after Christmas.

When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them.-Isaiah xli. 17.

AND wilt Thou hear the fever'd heart
To Thee in silence cry?

And as th' inconstant wildfires dart
Out of the restless eye,

Wilt Thou forgive the wayward thought,
By kindly woes yet half untaught
A Saviour's right, so dearly bought,
That Hope should never die?

Thou wilt for many a languid prayer
Has reach'd Thee from the wild,
Since the 'lorn mother, wandering there,
Cast down her fainting child,*

* Hagar. See Gen. xxi. 15.