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And men, at war with men, hear not
O! hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And ye, beneath life's crushing load
Whose forms are bending low,
With painful steps and slow;
Come swiftly on the wing:
And hear the angels sing!
For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold, When with the ever-circling years
Comes round the age of gold; When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendours fling, And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.
E. H. Sears
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM When, marshall'd on the nightly plain,
The glittering hosts bestud the sky; One star alone of all the train
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks
But one alone the Saviour speaks,
Once on the raging seas I rode,
The ocean yawn'd—and rudely blow'd
Deep horror then my vitals froze,
When suddenly a star arose,
It was my guide, my light, my all;
It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm, and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.
Now safely moor'd, my perils o'er,
I'll sing first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore,
The star! the star of Bethlehem!
H. Kirke White
THE SEA OF GALILEE
How pleasant to me thy deep blue wave,
O sea of Galilee!
Has often stood by thee.
Fair are the lakes in the land I love,
But thou hast loveliness far above
It is not that the wild gazelle
But He that was pierced to save from hell
It is not that the fig-tree grows,
And palm, in thy soft air;
Once spread its fragrance there.
Graceful round thee the mountains meet,
Thou calm, reposing sea;
Of Jesus walk'd o'er thee.
Those days are past—Bethsaida, where?
Chorazin, where art thou?
The wild reeds shade thy brow.
Tell me, ye mould'ring fragments, tell,
Was the Saviour's city here? Lifted to heaven, has it sunk to hell,
With none to shed a tear?
Ah! would my flock from thee might learn
How days of grace will flee;
Shall mourn, at last, like thee.
And was it beside this very sea
The new-risen Saviour said Three times to Simon, " Lovest thou Me?
My lambs and sheep then feed?"
O Saviour! gone to God's right hand!
Yet the same Saviour still, Graved on Thy heart is this lovely strand,
And every fragrant hill.
O give me, Lord, by this sacred wave,
Threefold Thy love divine,
Thy flock—both Thine and mine.
R. M. McCheyne
When brothers part for manhood's race,
To keep fond memory in her place,
'Tis true, bright hours together told,
Serene or solemn, gay or bold,
E'en round the death-bed of the good
And haunt us with no vexing mood,
But yet our craving spirits feel
And seek a surer pledge,—a seal
Who art thou that wouldst grave thy name
Look on this saint, and learn to frame
First seek thy Saviour out, and dwell
Till thou have scann'd His features well,
Such proof as they are sure to find
Clean hands, and a self-ruling mind,
Thus, potent with the spell of Heaven,
Entice him home to be forgiven,
Or, if before thee in the race,
Urge him with thine advancing tread,
Till, like twin stars, with even pace,
No fading frail memorial give
But wreaths of hope for ay to live,
That so, before the judgment seat,
Not unremember'd ye may meet