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the way;

Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, “But now, beyond the things of sense,

Hope when all others die, fadeless and pure, Beyond occasions and events, Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name I know, through God's exceeding grace, saying,

Release from form and time and place. “ Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot “I listen, from no mortal tongue, cure!”

To hear the song the angels sung; Go, ask the infidel what boon he brings us,

And wait within myself to know What charm for aching hearts he can reveal The Christmas lilies bud and blow. Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings " The outward symbols disappear us:

From him whose inward sight is clear; “ Earth has no sorrows that God cannot And small must be the choice of days heal!"

To him who fills them all with praise!
THOMAS MOORE.

“Keep while you need it, brothers mine, THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS.

With honest zeal your Christmas sign,

But judge not him who, every morn, LL hail!” the bells of Christmas rang, Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born!" “ AR hail!" the monks at Christmas

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. sáng; The merry monks who kept with cheer I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY." The gladdest day of all their year.

(Job VII., 16.) But still apart, unmoved thereat,

WOULD not live alway; I ask not to stay A pious elder brother sat

Where storm after storm rises dark o'er Silent, in his accustomed place, With God's sweet peace upon his face. Where, seeking for rest, I but hover around,

Like the patriarch's bird, and no resting is * Why sitt'st thou thus ?” his brethren cried.

found; " It is the blessed Christmas-tide;

Where Hope, when she paints her gay bow The Christmas lights are all aglow,

in the air, The sacred lilies bud and blow.

Leaves her brilliance to fade in the night of “ Above our heads the joy-bells ring,

despair; Without the happy children sing,

And Joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glad And all God's creatures hail the morn

ray,

Save the gleam of the plumage that bears On which the holy Christ was born!

him away. "Rejoice with us; no more rebuke Our gladness with thy quiet look.”

I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin, The gray monk answered ; “Keep, I pray,

Temptation without, and corruption within; Even as ye list, the Lord's birthday.

In a moment of strength if I sever the chain,

Scarce the victory's mine ere I'm captive “Let heathen Yule fires flicker red

again. Where thronged refectory feasts are spread; E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with With mystery-play and masque and mime

fears, And wait-song speed the holy time!

And my cup of thanksgiving with penitent

tears. * The blindest faith may haply save;

The festival trump calls for jubilant songs, The Lord accepts the things we have;

But my spirit her own miserere prolongs. And reverence howso'er it strays, May find at last the shining ways.

I would not live alway; no, welcome the

tomb; “ They needs must grope who cannot see, Immortality's lamp burns there bright mid the The blade before the ear must be;

gloom; As ye are feeling I have felt,

There too is the pillow where Christ bowed And where ye dwelt I too have dwelt.

his head;

Oh, soft be my slumbers on that holy bed! While the anthems of rapture unceasingly And then the glad morn soon to follow that roll, night,

And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the When the sunrise of glory shall beam on my soul?

sight, When the full matin-song, as the sleepers arise That heavenly music! what is it I hear? To shout in the morning, shall peal through The notes of the harpers ring sweet on my the skies!

ear;

And see, soft unfolding, those portals of gold; Who,who would live alway, away from his God, The King, all arrayed in his beauty, behold! Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode, Oh give me, oh give me the wings of a dove! Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the Let me hasten my fight to those mansions bright plains,

above; And the noon-tide of glory eternally reigns; Ay, 'tis now that my soul on swift pinions Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet, would soar, Their Savior and brethren transported to And in ecstasy bid earth adieu evermore. greet;

WILLIAM AUGUSTUS MUHLENBERG.

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“From under the boughs in the snow-clad wood

The merle and mavis are peeping."

CHRISTMAS IN THE WOODS. OROM under the boughs in the snow-clad The merle and mavis are peeping. wood

Alike secure from the wind and the flood,

Yet a silent Christmas keeping.

Is the fruit-fraught bough.
Still happy are they,

And each to his love is near.
And their looks are gay,

Yes! under the boughs, scarce seen, nestle And they frisk it from bough to bough,

they,
Since berries bright red

Those children of song together,
Hang over their head,

As blissful by night, as joyous by day,
A right goodly feast, I trow.

'Mid the snows and the wintry weather. There under the boughs in their wintry dress,

For they dream of spring, Haps many a tender greeting;

And the songs they'll sing,
Blithe hearts have met, and the soft caress When the flowers bloom again in the mead;
Hath told the delight of meeting.

And mindful are they
Though winter hath come

Of those blossoms gay,
To his woodland home,

Which have brought them to-day
There is mirth with old Christmas cheer, Such help in their time of need!
For 'neath the light snow

HARRISON WEIR.

The jezo

Ite wmder of all.muling Brandence; ༧

& from celestial Merry
Stan binh lam ti puglich exullnu,

Ennoble and refine the native glow
The foch Lule - amb Athenae his best resource
To paint his feelings with oublimesa oferece.

April 23 1817
The flaen. Einglie Hothing
the Bible in the but book
for a poch to form his taste.

-by.
John Keato

THE BIBLE. *HE Bible is the treasure of the poor, the solace of the rich, and the support of the

dying; and while other books may amuse and instruct us in a leisure hour, it is the peculiar triumph of the Bible to create light in the midst of darkness, to alleviate the

SOITOw which admits of no other alleviation, to direct a beam of hope to the heart which no other topic of consolation can reach; while guilt, despair, and death vanish at the touch of its holy inspiration.

ROBERT HALL.

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