Star of Bethlehem.

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STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

When marshalled on the nightly plain
The glitt'ring 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 ev'ry host, from ev'ry 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 blew
The wind that tossed my found'ring 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;
And through the storm and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.
Now safely moored, my perils o'er,
I'll sing first in night's diadem,
Forever and forever more,-

The Star, the Star of Bethlehem !

Henry Kirke White.

NO ROOM.

Foot-sore and weary, Mary tried Some rest to seek, but was denied. "There is no room," the blind ones cried.

Meekly the Virgin turned away,
No voice entreating her to stay;

There was no room for God that day.

No room for her, round whose tired feet Angels are bowed in transport sweet The mother of their God to greet.

No room for Him in whose small hand
The troubled sea and mighty land
Lie cradled like a grain of sand;

No room, O Babe Divine! for Thee That Christmas night; and even we Dare shut our hearts and turn the key.

In vain Thy pleading baby cry
Strikes our deaf souls; we pass Thee by,
Unsheltered 'neath the wintry sky.

No Room.

No room for God! O Christ, that we
Should bar our doors, nor ever see
Our Saviour waiting patiently.

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Fling wide the doors! Dear Christ, turn back!

The ashes on my hearth lie black—
Of light and warmth a total lack.

How can I bid Thee enter here
Amid the desolation drear

Of lukewarm love and craven fear?

What bleaker shelter can there be
Than my cold heart's tepidity-
Chilled, wind-tossed, as the winter sca?

Dear Lord, I shrink from Thy pure eye,
No home to offer Thee have I;
Yet in Thy mercy pass not by.

Agnes Repplier.

ON CHRISTMAS DAY.

Assist me, Muse divine! to Sing the Morn
On which the Saviour of Mankind was born;
But oh! what Numbers to the Theme can rise?
Unless kind Angels aid me from the Skies!
Methinks I see the tunefull Host descend,
And with officious Joy the Scene attend!
Hark, by their Hymns directed on the Road,
The Gladsome Shepherds find the nascent God!
And view the Infant conscious of his Birth,
Smiling bespeak Salvation to the Earth!

For when th' important Æra first drew near
In which the great Messiah should appear;
And to accomplish his redeeming Love;
Beneath our Form should every Woe sustain,
And by triumphant Suffering fix his Reign,
Should for lost Man in Tortures yield his Breath
Dying to save us from eternal Death!
Oh mystick union!-salutary Grace!
Incarnate God our Nature should embrace!
That Deity should stoop to our Disguise!
That man recover'd should regain the Skies!
Dejected Adam! from thy grave ascend,
And view the Serpent's Deadly Malice end,