To children of Adam glad tidings I bring,
Of joy to the guilty, the lost, the forlorn;
In the city of David a Saviour, a King,

The Messiah-the hope of the nations is born.

From the heaven of heavens He comes in His love, Where the armies of God strike their harps to

His praise:

That the chiefest of sinners may join them above, Their Captain appears as an Infant of days.

He comes, like the sun from the gates of the east,
To pour upon man immortality's day;
He comes, that the wanderers from Eden may rest,
And rejoice when life's flowers are fading away.

He comes, the commands of the law to obey,

And die by its sentence, that thus He may ope To His brethren (long prisoners of death and dismay) The temple of life and the stronghold of hope.

Hail Thou whom the isles and the Gentiles shall trust!

Believing the record, the works of my pride
I renounce I am silent, and humbled in dust-
In Thy finished salvation alone I confide.

My destinies all I confide to Thy hand;

My hopes on Thy righteousness only I place; On this pedestal, Lord, I for ever would stand, A pillar inscribed to the praise of Thy grace.

Happy they who rest for ever. 153

HAPPY THEY WHO REST FOR EVER.

APPY are they who rest for ever,

Where waves the harebell and the heather,

And waters stray—

Happy are those who thus repose,
Ere yet the dew from off life's rose
Has passed away.

Happy are those who perish young,

Ere yet remorse the heart has wrung,

Or grief or sorrow;

Who only take of life a sip,

And slumber with a smiling lip,
Dreading no morrow.

Happy are they, to know no thought
Of pleasure, by pain dearly bought,
On the world's stage:

"The fever-heat of hope and fear,"
The thousand ills all mortals bear,
Not them engage.

Their being passes as the tone

When on the harp the hand is thrown

In idle mood;

Or as the sweet, cool breeze of heaven,

In tropic climes at sunset given,

Else vainly wooed.

Happy are they, thus early blest,
Sinking so young to dreamless rest,
To wake no more;

Save where, all earthly trouble past,
The eternal home is theirs at last,
·Beyond Time's shore.

VIRTUE.

HE sturdy rock, for all his strength,
By raging seas is rent in twain ;
The marble stone is pierced at length,
With little drops of drizzling rain ;`

The ox doth yield unto the yoke,
The steel obeys the hammer's stroke.

The stately stag, that seems so stout,
By yelping hounds at bay is set;
The swiftest bird that flies about

Is caught at length in fowler's net;
The greatest fish, in deepest brook,
Is soon deceived by subtle hook.

Yea, man himself, unto whose will

All things are bounden to obey, For all his wit, and worthy skill,

Doth fade at length and fall away ;There nothing is but Time doth waste; The heavens, the earth, consume at last.

Invocation.

But Virtue sits, triumphant still,

Upon the throne of glorious fame;
Though spiteful death man's body kill,
Yet hurts he not his virtuous name:
By life or death, what so betides,
The state of Virtue never slides.

INVOCATION.

155

M

Y daughter, go and pray! See, night is

come:

One golden planet pierces through the gloom;

The misty outline trembles on the hill. Listen! the distant wheels in darkness glideAll else is hushed; the tree by the roadside Shakes in the wind its dust-strewn branches still.

Day bears its evil, weariness, and pain.

Let us to prayer! calm night is come again :

The wind among the ruined towers so bare Sighs mournfully: the herds, the flocks, the streams, All suffer, all complain; worn Nature seems

Longing for peace, for slumber, and for prayer.

This is the hour when babes with angels speak.
While we are rushing to our pleasures weak

And sinful, all young children, with bent knees,
Eyes raised to heaven, and small hands folded fair,
Say at the self-same hour the self-same prayer
On our behalf, to Him who all things sees.

And then they sleep. Oh, peaceful cradle-sleep!
Oh, childhood's hallowed prayer! religion deep
Of love, not fear, in happiness expressed!
So the young bird, when done its twilight lay
Of praise, folds peacefully at shut of day

Its head beneath its wing, and sinks to rest.

Pray thou for all who living tread
Upon this earth of graves;
For all whose weary pathways lead
Among the winds and waves;
For him who madly takes delight
In pomp of silken mantle bright,
Or swiftness of a horse;
For those who, labouring, suffer still;
Coming or going-doing ill-

Or on their heavenward course.

Pray thou for him who nightly sins
Until the day dawns bright-
Who at eve's hour of prayer begins
His dance and banquet light;