OII, HOW WONDROUS IS THE STORY! 71

Had He come, the glorious Stranger,
Decked with all the world calls great;
Had He lived in pomp and grandeur,
Crowned with more than royal state,

Still our tongues, with praise o'erflowing,
On such boundless love would dwell;
Still our hearts, with rapture glowing,
Feel what words could never tell.

But what wonder should it raise,

Thus our lowest state to borrow!

Oh, the high mysterious ways,—
God's own Son a child of sorrow!

'Twas to bring us endless pleasure
He our suffering nature bore;
'Twas to give us heavenly treasure
He was willing to be poor.

Come, ye rich, survey the stable
Where your infant Saviour lies;
From your full, o'erflowing table,

Send the hungry good supplies.

Boast not your ennobled stations;
Boast not that you're highly fed;
Jesus hear it, all ye nations! —

Had not where to lay His head.

Learn of me, thus cries the Saviour,

If my kingdom you'd inherit; Sinner, quit your proud behavior, Learn my meek and lowly spirit.

Come, ye servants, see your station
Freed from all reproach and shame :
He who purchased your salvation
Bore a servant's humble name.

Come, ye poor, some comfort gather;
Faint not in the race you run :
Hard the lot your gracious Father
Gave His dear, His only Son.

Think that, if your humbler stations
Less of worldly good bestow,
You escape those strong temptations.
Which from wealth and grandeur flow.

See, your Saviour is ascended;

See, He looks with pity down:

Trust Him, all will soon be mended;

Bear His cross, you'll share His crown.

WHEN JORDAN HUSHED HIS WATERS STILL. 73

WHEN JORDAN HUSHED HIS WATERS STILL.

THOMAS CAMPBELL; born at Glasgow, 1777; died 1844, and interred in the Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey.

WH

HEN Jordan hushed his waters still,
And silence slept on Zion's hill;

When Salem's shepherds through the night
Watched o'er their flocks by starry light,

Hark! from the midnight hills around,
A voice, of more than mortal sound,
In distant hallelujahs stole,

Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul.

Then swift to every startled eye,
New streams of glory gild the sky;

Heaven bursts her azure gates, to pour
Her spirits to the midnight hour.

On wheels of light, on wings of flame,
The glorious hosts to Zion came;

High heaven with songs of triumph rung,

While thus they smote their harps and sung:

O Zion! lift thy raptured eye:
The long-expected hour is nigh;
The joys of nature rise again;
The Prince of Salem comes to reign.

See Mercy, from her golden urn,

Pours rich stream to them that mourn;
Behold, she binds, with tender care,
The bleeding bosom of Despair.

He comes to cheer the trembling heart,
Bids Satan and his host depart;
Again the day-star gilds the gloom,
Again the bowers of Eden bloom.

O Zion! lift thy raptured eye:
The long-expected hour is nigh;
The joys of nature rise again;
The Prince of Salem comes to reign.

HARK! WHAT MEAN THOSE HOLY VOICES? 75

HARK! WHAT MEAN THOSE HOLY VOICES?

Rev. JOHN CAWOOD (born at Matlock, in Derbyshire, 1775; died 1852). From the author's MS., furnished by his son for ROGERS's Lyra Britannica, Lond. 1867. In the usual collections, the Hallelujah and the last stanza are omitted. Cawood wrote also, as a counterpart, a missionary hymn commencing, "Hark! what mean those lamentations, Rolling sadly through the sky? 'Tis the cry of heathen nations, — 'Come and help us, or we die!'"

HARK! what mean those holy voices
Sweetly warbling in the skies?

Sure the angelic host rejoices,
Loudest hallelujahs rise.
Hallelujah!

Listen to the wondrous story,

Which they chant in hymns of joy :

"Glory in the highest, glory,

Glory be to God most high!

Hallelujah!

"Peace on earth, good will from heaven,
Reaching far as man is found;

Souls redeemed, and sins forgiven,

Loud our golden harps shall sound.

Hallelujah!