The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask ;
Room to deny ourselves; a road
To bring us, daily, nearer God.

Seek we no more; content with thefe,
Let prefent Rapture, Comfort, Ease,
As Heaven fhall bid them, come and go:
The fecret this of Reft below.

Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love,
Fit us for perfect Reft above;
And help us, this and every day,

To live more nearly as we pray.

KEBLE.

XIX.

CHRISTMAS.

HAT fudden blaze of fong,

Spreads o'er the expanfe of Heaven? In waves of light it thrills along,

Th' angelic fignal given.

"Glory to God!" from yonder cen

tral fire,

Flows out the echoing lay beyond the ftarry quire;

Like circles widening round

Upon a clear blue river,

Orb after orb, the wondrous found

Is echoed on for ever:

"Glory to God on high, on earth be peace, And love towards men of love, falvation and release."

Yet stay, before thou dare

To join that feftal throng,

Liften, and mark what gentle air
First stirred the tide of fong;

'Tis not,

"the Saviour born in David's home,

To whom for power and health obedient worlds should come:".

"Tis not "the Chrift the Lord: ".

With fix'd adoring look

The choir of Angels caught the word,

Nor yet their filence broke ;

But when they heard the fign, where Christ should be, In fudden light they shone and heavenly harmony.

Wrapped in his fwaddling bands,

And in his manger laid,

The hope and glory of all lands,

Is come to the world's aid;

No peaceful home upon His cradle smil'd,

Guests rudely went and came, where flept the royal Child.

But where Thou dwelleft, Lord,

No other thought should be,

Once duly welcom'd and ador'd,

How fhould I part with Thee?

Bethlehem muft lose Thee foon, but Thou wilt grace

The fingle heart to be thy fure abiding-place.

O faint ye not for fear

What though your wandering sheep,
Reckless of what they fee and hear,
Lie loft in wilful fleep?

High Heaven, in mercy to your fad annoy,

Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy.

Think on th' eternal home,

The Saviour left for you;

Think on the Lord most holy, come
To dwell with hearts untrue :

So fhall ye tread untir'd His pastoral ways,

And in the darkness fing your carol of high praise.

Star of the Eaft, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are fhining,

Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;

Angels adore Him, in flumber reclining,

Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all.

H

Say, fhall we yield Him, in coftly devotion,
Odours of Edom and offerings divine,

Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the foreft, or gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation;
Vainly with gifts would His favour fecure;
Richer by far is the heart's adoration,

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Crufh and kill each fecret fin,
That would reign our hearts within;
Let our hearts Thy temple be,

Pure to praise and worship Thee.

Jefus at Thy lateft feast,

John once leaned upon Thy breaft;
Fill'd like him, with love divine,
Let us on Thy breast recline.

G

More than to parched land soft showers,
More than dews to drooping flowers,
Precious be to us Thy grace,

Till we fee Thee face to face.