THE ECHOES OF THE ANGELS' SONG.

Fly open, hearts like mangers,

For Him no fitting inn;
Prepare ye for the Infant God;
Scourge out each brute-like sin;
Make ready gifts of innocence
To greet the coming morn:

Then o'er your hearts His star shall rest,
And there He shall be born.

H. COPPÉE.

THE ECHOES OF THE ANGELS' SONG.

"GLORY be to God on high!"

Such the wondrous story:
Hark! an earthly echo hears

And sends back-the "Glory!"

"Peace on earth! good will to men!"
Thus the song doth cease.
Stay one strain of angel music

Echoes back-the "Peace!"

H. COPPÉE.

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THE welcome flowers are blossoming,
In joyous troops revealed;
They lift their dewy buds and bells

In garden, mead, and field:
They lurk in every sunless path,

Where forest children tread;

THE FLOWERS OF GOD.

They dot, like stars, the sacred turf,
Which lies above the dead.

They sport with every playful wind
That stirs the blooming trees,
And laugh on every fragrant bush,
All full of toiling bees:

From the green marge of lake and stream,
Fresh vale and mountain sod,
They look in gentle glory forth,—
The pure sweet flowers of God.

They come, with genial airs and skies,
In summer's golden prime,

And to the stricken world give back
Lost Eden's blissful clime:
Outshining Solomon they come,

And go full soon away;

But yet, like him, they meekly breathe
True wisdom while they stay.

"If God," they whisper, "smiles on us,
And bids us bloom and shine,
Does He not mark, O faithless man!
Each wish and want of thine?
Think, too, what joys await in Heaven
The blest of human birth,

When rapture such as woos thee now
Can reach the bad on earth !"

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Redeemer of a fallen race,

Most merciful of kings,

Thy hallowed words have clothed with power
Those frail and beauteous things:

All taught by Thee, they yearly speak
Their message of deep love,
Bidding us fix, for life and death,

Our hearts and hopes above.

J. G. LYONS.

THE ROYAL BANNERS.

THE Royal Banners forward go;

The Cross shines forth in mystic glow;
Where He in flesh, our flesh Who made,
Our sentence bore, our ransom paid.

There whilst He hung, His sacred Side
By soldier's spear was opened wide,
To cleanse us in the precious flood
Of Water mingled with His Blood.

Fulfilled is now what David told
In true prophetic song of old,

How God the heathen's King should be;
For God is reigning from the tree.

THE ROYAL BANNERS.

O tree of glory, tree most fair,
Ordained those Holy Limbs to bear!
How bright in purple robe it stood,
The purple of a Saviour's Blood!

Upon its arms, like balance true,

He weighed the price for sinners due,-
The price which none but He could pay,-
And spoiled the spoiler of his prey.

To Thee, Eternal Three in One,
Let homage meet by all be done :
As by the Cross Thou dost restore,
So rule and guide us evermore.

O LIFE, O Death, O World, O Time,
O Grave, where all things flow,
'Tis yours to make our lot sublime
With your great weight of woe!

Though sharpest anguish hearts may wring,
Though bosoms torn may be,

Yet suffering is a holy thing:

Without it, what were we?

TRENCH.

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