On Christmas Day.

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Adorning bless th' Almighty's boundless Grace
That gave his son a Ransome for thy Race!
Oh never let my Soul this Day forget,
But pay in gratefull praise the annual Debt.

From a manuscript volume, written by
George Washington.

THE HEAVENLY CHOIR.

What sudden blaze of song

Spreads o'er th' expanse of heaven?

In waves of light it thrills along,

Th' angelic signal given

"Glory to God!" from yonder central fire Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry

quire;

Like circles widening round

Upon a clear blue river,

Orb after orb, the wondrous sound

Is echoed on forever;

Yet stay, before thou dare

To join that festal throng;

Listen and mark what gentle air

First stirred the tide of song;

'Tis not, "the Saviour born in David's home, To whom for power and health obedient worlds should come :"

The Heavenly Choir.

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'Tis not "the Christ the Lord:"

With fix'd adoring look

The choir of angels caught the word,

Nor yet their silence broke;

But when they heard the sign, where Christ should be,

In sudden light they shone and heavenly har

mony.

Wrapped in His swaddling-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 smiled, Guests rudely went and came where slept the royal Child.

But where Thou dwellest, Lord,
No other thought should be;
Once duly welcomed and adored,
How should I part with Thee?

Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt

grace

The single heart to be Thy pure abiding-place.

Thee, on the bosom laid

Of a pure virgin mind,

In quiet ever, and in shade,

Shepherd and sage may find;

They who have bow'd untaught to nature's

sway,

And they who follow truth along her starpaved way.

The pastoral spirits first

Approach Thee, Babe divine,

For they in lowly thoughts are nursed,

Meet for Thy lowly shrine:

Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell,

Angels from heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell.

Still, as the day comes round

For Thee to be revealed,

By wakeful shepherds Thou art found,

Abiding in the field.

All through the wintry heaven and chill night air,

In music and in light Thou dawnest on their

prayer.

O faint not ye for fear—

What though your wandering sheep, Reckless of what they see and hear,

Lie lost in wilful sleep?

High heaven in mercy to your sad annoy

Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal

joy.

The Heavenly Choir.

Think on th' eternal home

The Saviour left for you;

Think on the Lord most holy, come

To dwell with hearts untrue:

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So shall ye tread untired His pastoral ways, And in the darkness sing your carol of high

praise.

John Keble.

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