Adown through the circling ages,
As threads of living gold, The tidings of that hallowed morn
Have spanned life's dreary world. Have touched, convinced, subdued the soul;
Till reason's twilight ray, Till vice, and dolesome ignorance
Give place to perfect day.
That voice which awed the angry wave
On deep, blue Galilee, Yet calms, and rules with mild control,
From nigh to further sea. Yet wakes to life the desert land,
Breaks superstition's hold; And, wanderers on the myriad paths,
Doth compass in one fold.
Ye seraphs! strike your golden harps,
Tuned with devotion high; With echoing pæans sweetly thrill
The arches of the sky. Whilst we, in noblest measures
Which earthly voices sing, Yield homage to our risen Lord
Our glorious Saviour—King.
THANKSGIVING.
In Tisri's holier season,
From City of the Palms To where onycha incense soared
Amid Hosanna psalms, Waved green from every housetop,
Gay plumes of laurel tree; Whilst silver trumpets pealed afar
The tones of victory. Since through atoning sacrifice
Had dawned the spirit's peace; And through earth's toil a rich reward
Was reaped, in earth's increase.
Though ruin marks where Tadmor reigned,
And Israel roameth far; No shoals may stem the mercy-tide;
No power Heaven's largess bar. Then through the great Atonement's dawn,
Be lit our sin-dimmed eyes; Till grateful accents pierce the mist,
Into rejoicing skies. Till garnered fruit, and aftermath;
Till Autumn's tender shine With farewell tones of woodland song,
Reflect the Love Divine.
CHRISTMAS EVE.
I.