EASTER EVEN.

REST of the weary! Thou
Thyself art resting now,

Where lowly in Thy sepulchre Thou liest;
From out her deathly sleep

My soul doth start, to weep

So sad a wonder, that Thou, Saviour, diest!

Thy bitter anguish o'er,

To this dark tomb they bore

Thee, Life of life-Thee, Lord of all creation!
The hollow rocky cave

Must serve Thee for a grave,

Who wast Thyself the Rock of our salvation.

O Prince of Life! I know

That when I too lie low,

Thou wilt at last my soul from death awaken :
Wherefore I will not shrink

From the grave's awful brink;

The heart that trusts in Thee shall ne'er be shaken.

To me the darksome tomb

Is but a narrow room,

Where I may rest in peace, from sorrow free.

ADVENT SUNDAY.

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Thy death shall give me power
To cry, in that dark hour,

O Death, O Grave, where is your victory?

The grave can naught destroy,
Only the flesh can die,

And e'en the body triumphs o'er decay:
Clothed by Thy wondrous might

In robes of dazzling light,

This flesh shall burst the grave at that last day.

Beside the tomb where in my heart Thou'rt laid.

Thy bitter death shall be

My constant memory,

My guide at last into Death's awful shade.

FRANCK.

ADVENT SUNDAY.

AWAKE! again the Gospel trump is blown!
From year to year it swells with louder tone;
From year to year the signs of wrath

Are gathering round the Judge's path,

Strange words fulfilled, and mighty works achieved, And truth in all the world both hated and believed.

Awake! why linger in the gorgeous town,
Sworn liegemen of the Cross and thorny crown?
Up from your beds of sloth, for shame,

Speed to the eastern mount like flame,

Nor wonder should ye find your King in tears,
Even with the loud Hosanna ringing in His ears.

Alas! no need to rouse them: long ago
They are gone forth to swell Messiah's show:
With glittering robes and garlands sweet
They strew the ground beneath His feet:

All but your hearts are there-O doomed to prove
The arrows winged in Heaven for Faith that will not love.

Meanwhile He paces through the adoring crowd,

Calm as the march of some majestic cloud,

That o'er wild scenes of ocean-war

Holds its still course in heaven afar:

Even so, heart-searching Lord, as years roll on,

Thou keepest silent watch from Thy triumphal throne:

Even so, the world is thronging round to gaze
On the dread vision of the latter days,

Constrained to own Thee, but in heart
Prepared to take Barabbas' part:
"Hosanna" now, to-morrow "Crucify,"

The changeful burden still of their rude lawless cry.

Yet in that throng of selfish hearts untrue
Thy sad eye rests upon Thy faithful few;

ADVENT SUNDAY.

Children and childlike souls are there,

Blind Bartimeus' humble prayer,

And Lazarus wakened from his four days' sleep,
Enduring life again, that Passover to keep.

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And fast beside the olive-bordered way

Stands the blest home, where Jesus deigned to stay;

The peaceful home, to Zeal sincere

And heavenly Contemplation dear,