Thy voice is heard, and anguish dies, Not unworthily writes Dean Milman of THE INCARNATION OF CHRIST. For thou wert born of woman! Thou didst come, Was Thy tempestuous road; Nor indignation burned before Thee on Thy way. But Thee a soft and naked child, Thy mother undefiled, In the rude manger laid to rest From off her virgin breast. The heavens were not commanded to prepare A gorgeous canopy of golden air: Nor stoop'd their lamps th' enthroned fires on high: A single silent star Came wandering from afar, Gliding uncheck'd and calm along the liquid sky; The Eastern sages leading on, As at a kingly throne, To lay their gold and odours sweet The earth and ocean were not hushed to hear And seraph's burning lyres Pour'd through the host of Heaven the charmèd clouds along. One angel troop the strain began, By simple shepherds heard alone, Well would it be for us all, if lyrics like Bishop Heber's musical stanzas on "The Shepherds Adoring," might be sung with heart and soul in every English home on Christmas Day : Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid! Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid! Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining, Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall! Angels adore Him in slumber reclining, Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all! Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion, Vainly we offer each ample oblation, Vainly with gifts would His favour secure ; Richer by far is the heart's adoration, Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid! Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. Many a soul that has been tempest-tossed and almost shipwrecked, and has found after all a safe harbour, finds its joyful experience truthfully and earnestly described in Kirke White's Christmas verses THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. When, marshall'd on the nightly plain, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks Once on the raging seas I rode, The storm was loud, the night was dark, The wind that toss'd my foundering bark: Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem, It was the star of Bethlehem. It was my guide, my light, my all; Now safely moor'd, my perils o'er, The star, the star of Bethlehem! Alfred Tennyson has struck few, but stirring, notes for Christmas : THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. The time draws near the birth of Christ: Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Were shut between me and the sound. Each voice four changes on the wind, Rise happy morn! rise, holy morn! Archbishop Trench teaches us well what should be the true spirit of our Christmas offerings in LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF THE ADORATION OF THE MAGIANS. Little pomp or earthly state On the Saviour's way might wait; C Few the homages, and small, To her King and hidden Lord. On those few, and prize them more: Is the glory of the Mount, When bright beams of light did spring Rays of glory found their way With which, as with a cloak, He had |