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Child of sin and sorrow,

Fill'd with dismay,
Wait not for to-morrow,

Yield thee to-day!

Heaven bids thee come

While yet there's room:
Child of sin and sorrow,

Hear, and obey!

Child of sin and sorrow,

Why wilt thou die?
Come, while thou canst borrow

Help from on high!

Grieve not that love

Which from above,
Child of sin and sorrow,

Would bring thee nigh.

T. Hastings


PRA YER A T MIDNIGHT The stars shine bright while earth is dark!

While all the woods are dumb, How clear those far-off silver chimes

From tower and turret come.

Chilly but sweet, the midnight air:

And lo! with every sound, Down from the ivy-leaf a drop

Falls glittering on the ground.

'Twas night when Christ was born on earth;

Night heard his first, faint cry; While angels caroll'd round the star

Of the Epiphany.

Alas! and is our love too weak

To meet Him on His way?
To pray for nations in their sleep?

For Love then let us pray.

Pray for the millions slumbering now;

The sick who cannot sleep; O may those sweet sounds waft them thoughts

As peaceful, and as deep.

Pray for th' unholy, and the vain:

O, may that pure-toned bell Disperse the demon powers of air,

And evil dreams dispel!

And ever let us wing our prayer

With praise: and ever say,
Glory to God who makes the night

Benignant as the day!

A. D. Vere

CXCVIII THE UNBELIEVER Behold yon wretch, by impious passion driven, Believes and trembles while he scoffs at Heaven; By weakness strong, and bold thro' fear alone, He dreads the sneer by shallow coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod; To man a coward, and a brave to God.

A. Pope

God scatters love on every side,
Freely among his children all,
And always hearts are lying open wide
Wherein some grains may fall.

There is no wind but soweth seeds
Of a more true and open life,
Which burst, unlook-d for, into high-soul'd deeds,
With wayside beauty rife.

We find within these souls of ours
Some wild germs of a higher birth,
Which in the poet's tropic heart bear flowers
Whose fragrance fills the earth.

Within the hearts of all men lie
Those promises of wider bliss,
Which blossom into hopes that cannot die,
In sunny hours like this.

J. R. Lowell


Deep on the convent-roof the snows

Are sparkling to the moon:
My breath to Heaven like vapour goes,

May my soul follow soon!
The shadows of the convent towers

Slant down the snowy sward,
Still creeping with the creeping hours

That lead me to my Lord:
Make thou my spirit pure and clear

As are the frosty skies,
Or this first snowdrop of the year

That in my bosom lies.

As these white robes are soil'd, and dark,

To yonder shining ground;
As this pale taper's earthly spark,

To yonder argent round;
So shows my soul before the Lamb,

My spirit before Thee,
So in mine earthly house I am

To that I hope to be.
Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,

Thro' all yon starlight keen,
Draw me, Thy bride, a glittering star

In raiment white, and clean.

He lifts me to the golden doors,

The flashes come, and go;
All heaven bursts her starry floors,

And strows her lights below,
And deepens on and up, the gates

Roll back, and far within
For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,

To make me pure of sin.
The sabbaths of eternity,

One Sabbath deep and wide— A light upon the shining sea,

The Bridegroom, and His bride.

A. Tennyson

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