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.

129

III.-WHAT WENT YE OUT TO SEE?

(THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT.)

"What went ye out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken with the wind? . . . But what went ye out for to see? A prophet? yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophet."-ST. MATTHEW Xi. 7, 9.

THAT went ye out to see

WHAT

O'er the rude sandy lea,

Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm,

Or where Gennesaret's wave

Delights the flowers to lave,

That o'er her western slope breathe airs of balm.

All through the summer night,
Those blossoms red and bright

Spread their soft breasts, unheeding, to the breeze,
Like hermits watching still

Around the sacred hill,

Where erst our Saviour watched upon His knees.

A Paschal moon above

Seems like a saint to rove,

Left shining in the world with Christ alone;
Below, the lake's still face

Sleeps sweetly in th' embrace

Of mountains terrac'd high with mossy stone.

Here may we sit, and dream
Over the heavenly theme,

Till to our soul the former days return;
Till on the grassy bed,

Where thousands once He fed,

The world's incarnate Maker we discern.

O cross no more the main,

Wandering so wild and vain,

To count the reeds that tremble in the wind,
On listless dalliance bound,

Like children gazing round,

Who on God's works no seal of Godhead find.

Bask not in courtly bower,

Or sun-bright hall of power,

Pass Babel quick, and seek the holy land

From robes of Tyrian dye

Turn with undazzled eye

To Bethlehem's glade, or Carmel's haunted strand.

Or choose thee out a cell

In Kedron's storied dell,

Beside the springs of Love, that never die ;
Among the olives kneel

The chill night-blast to feel,

And watch the Moon that saw thy Master's agony.

Then rise at dawn of day,

And wind thy thoughtful way,

Where rested once the Temple's stately shade,
With due feet tracing round

The city's northern bound,

To th' other holy garden, where the Lord was laid.

Who thus alternate see

His death and victory,

Rising and falling as on angel wings,

They, while they seem to roam,

Draw daily nearer home,

Their heart untravell'd still adores the King of kings.

Or, if at home they stay,

Yet are they, day by day,

In spirit journeying through the glorious land,

Not for light Fancy's reed,

Nor Honour's purple meed,

Nor gifted Prophet's lore, nor Science' wondrous wand.

But more than Prophet, more

Than Angels can adore

With face unveiled, is He they go to seek ;

Blessed be God, Whose grace

Shows Him in every place

To homeliest hearts of pilgrims pure and meek.

IV.-SEE LUCIFER LIKE LIGHTNING FALL. (THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT.)

"When a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace; but when a stronger than he shall come upon him, and overcome him, he taketh from him all his armour wherein he trusted, and divideth his spoils. -ST. LUKE Xi. 21, 22.

EE Lucifer like lightning fall,

of pride;

While, answering Thy victorious call,

The Saints his spoils divide;

This world of Thine, by him usurped too long, Now opening all her stores to heal Thy servants' wrong.

So when the first-born of Thy foes
Dead in the darkness lay,

When Thy redeemed at midnight rose

And cast their bonds away,

The orphaned realm threw wide her gates, and told Into freed Israel's lap her jewels and her gold.

And when their wondrous march was o'er,
And they had won their homes,
Where Abraham fed his flock of yore,
Among their fathers' tombs;—

A land that drinks the rain of Heaven at will, Whose waters kiss the feet of many a vine-clad hill;—

Oft as they watched, at thoughtful eve,
A gale from bowers of balm

Sweep o'er the billowy corn, and heave
The tresses of the palm,

Just as the lingering Sun had touched with gold,
Far o'er the cedar shade, some tower of giants old;

It was a fearful joy, I ween,

To trace the Heathen's toil,

The limpid wells, the orchards green,
Left ready for the spoil,

The household stores untouched, the roses bright
Wreathed o'er the cottage walls in garlands of delight.

And now another Canaan yields
To Thine all-conquering ark:-
Fly from the "old poetic " fields,
Ye Paynim shadows dark!

Immortal Greece, dear land of glorious lays,
Lo! here the "unknown God" of thy unconscious praise.

The olive-wreath, the ivied wand,
"The sword in myrtles drest,"
Each legend of the shadowy strand
Now wakes a vision blest;

As little children lisp, and tell of Heaven,

So thoughts beyond their thought to those high Bards were given.