Dancing up the Orient?
Shall we name you kings indeed,
Or is this our idle creed?-
Kings of Seba, with the gold
And the incense long foretold?
Would the Gentile world by you
First-fruits pay of tribute due?
Or have Israel's scattered race,
From their unknown hiding-place,
Sent to claim their part and right
In the child new-born to-night?
But although we may not guess
Of your lineage, not the less
We the self-same gifts would bring,
For a spiritual offering.
May the frankincense, in air
As it climbs, instruct our prayer,
That it ever upward tend,
Ever struggle to ascend,
Leaving earth, yet ere it go
Fragrance rich diffuse below.
As the myrrh is bitter-sweet,
So in us may such things meet,
As unto the mortal taste
Bitter seeming, yet at last
Shall to them who try be known
To have sweetness of their own
Tears for sin, which sweeter far
Than the world's mad laughters are ;
Desires, that in their dying give
Pain, but die that we may live.
And the gold from Araby-
Fitter symbol who could see
Of the love which, thrice refined,
Love to God and to our kind,
Duly tendered, he will call
Choices sacrifice of all?
Thus so soon as far apart
From the proud world, in our heart,
As in stable dark defiled,
There is born the Eternal Child,
May to Him, the spirit's Kings
Yield their choicest offerings;
May the Affections, Reason, Will,
Wait upon Him to fulfil
His behests, and early pay
Homage to His natal day.
"He went out into a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God." St. Luke vi. 12.
HOU didst love the evening hours,
Saviour of the world and me,
And the closing of the flowers
Brought welcome rest to Thee,
As the hireling gladly sees
The long shadows of the trees.
Rest, but not on beds of down,
Curtained close in soft repose;
Thou didst seek the mountain's crown;
Where the shady olive grows,
Thou didst find a place of prayer,
Commune with Thy Father there.
Ah, methinks I see Thee now,
Climbing, late, the mountain side;
Cool night-breezes fan Thy brow,
Days long cares in shadows hide:
Far below the eastern steep
Salem lies in double sleep!
All day long those hands of Thine
Mercy's almoners have been;
All day long those eyes Divine
Sights of want and woe have seen; All day long those ears have heard Many a harsh and sinful word.
Rest Thee, Saviour, rest Thee now!
Let Thy weary eyelids close;
On the lonely mountain's brow
Nought shall break Thy calm repose;
Of Thy slumbers shall be born
Strength for toil with coming morn.
Angel hands Thy couch shall spread
On the green and mossy sward;
At Thy feet and at Thy head
Cherubim keep watch and ward :
Bright, like his at Luz shall be
Midnight visions unto Thee!
Nay-He rests not-see Him there,
Kneeling low upon the sod,
All the burden of His prayer
Pouring forth as man to God;
Far away from earthly jars,
In the clear, calm light of stars.
For Himself He prays awhile,-
Strength to do His will on earth;
He whose spirit knew no guile,
Bore no taint of sinful birth;
Strength to bear His Father's frown,
Grace to spurn the proffered crown.
Then for those few simple sheep,
Earnest of His future fold,
Fervent yearnings upward leap,
Faith and Hope for them grow bold;
Angel censors through the air
Waft the perfume of His prayer.
But the first gray light of morning
Pierces now the Olive shade;
Early birds with gentle warning,
Carol through the leafy glade;
All unrested, save by prayer,
Jesus drinks the morning air.
Saviour! let Thy evening hours
Dear to us, Thy children, be;
With clasped hands, as folded flowers,
Praying earnestly to Thee,
Let our vesper-worship rise
Incense-like before Thine eyes ;—
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