THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky; One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem:
But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the Star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud, the night was dark,

The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed

The wind that tossed my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze,
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to

stem;

When suddenly a star arose,

It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my dark forebodings cease;

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But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom,

The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? O, no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away;

For, see! they would pin him below,

In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay,

To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? ah, no!-she forgets The charms which she wielded before— Nor knows the foul worm that he frets

The skin which but yesterday fools could adore,

For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.

Shall we build to the purple of
Pride-

The trappings which dizen the proud?
Alas! they are all laid aside;
And here's neither dress nor adornment
allowed,

thrall,

It led me to the port of peace.

of the shroud.

grieve;

Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve!

Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, nor fear,

Peace, peace is the watchword, the only one here!

Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow?

Ah, no! for his empire is known,

And here there are trophies enow!

the dark stone,

Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown!

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build,

And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith, which insures it fulfilled;

And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice,

Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies.

By night or day,

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep,

No more shall grief of mine the season

wrong:

I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,

The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,

And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday;

Thou child of joy,

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy shepherd boy!

see no more.

The rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the rose;

The moon doth with delight

My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal,

bare;

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth:
But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous

song,

And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of

grief;

A timely utterance gave that thought relief,

And I again am strong.