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This earth, the scene of all His woe,

A homeless wild to thee,

Full soon, upon His heavenly throne,

Its rightful King shall see.

Thou, too, shalt reign,-He will not wear
His crown of joy alone;

And earth His royal bride shall see
Beside Him, on the throne.

Then weep no more: 'tis all thine own, His crown, His joy divine;

And, sweeter far than all beside,

He, He Himself, is thine !-Denny.

57. ADVENT, THE SECOND. Prayer for

LORD, come away,

Why dost Thou stay?

Thy road is ready: and Thy paths, made straight, With longing expectation, wait

The consecration of Thy beauteous feet. Ride on triumphantly; behold we lay Our lusts and proud wills in the way. Hosanna! welcome to our hearts, Lord, here Thou hast a temple too, and full as dear As that of Zion; and as full of sin. Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell therein. Enter, and chase them forth, and cleanse the floor. Crucify them, that they may nevermore

Profane that holy place,

Where Thou hast chose to set Thy face
And then if our stiff tongues shall be
Mute in the praises of Thy Deity,

The stones out of the temple wall
Shall cry aloud, and call

Hosanna! and Thy glorious footsteps greet.

Jeremy Taylor.

58. ADVENT, THE SECOND. Prayer for

COME, Lord, and tarry not:

Bring the long-looked-for day,

Oh why these years of waiting here,
These ages of delay?

Come, for creation groans,

Impatient of Thy stay,

Worn out with these long years of ill, These ages of delay.

Come, for Thy foes are strong;
With taunting lip they say,
'Where is the promised Advent now,
And where the dreaded day?'

Come, for the corn is ripe,
Put in Thy sickle now,

Reap the great harvest of the earth-
Sower and reaper Thou!

Come, and make all things new,

Build up this ruin'd earth, Restore our faded Paradise, Creation's second birth.

Come, and begin Thy reign
Of everlasting peace,

Come, take the kingdom to Thyself,
Great King of Righteousness.

Horatius Bonar.

59. ADVENT, THE SECOND. Prayer for THE Church has waited long

Her absent Lord to see;
And still in loneliness she waits,
A friendless stranger she.
Age after age has gone,

Sun after sun has set,

And still in weeds of widowhood
She weeps a mourner yet.
Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

Saint after saint on earth

Has lived, and loved, and died;
And as they left us one by one,

We laid them side by side;
We laid them down to sleep,
But not in hope forlorn ;
We laid them but to ripen there,
Till the last glorious morn.
Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

The serpent's brood increase,
The powers of hell grow bold,
The conflict thickens, faith is low,
And love is waxing cold.
How long, O Lord, our God,

Holy and true and good,

Wilt Thou not judge Thy suffering church,

Her sighs and tears and blood?
Come then, Lord Jesus, come !

We long to hear Thy voice,

To see Thee face to face,

To share Thy crown and glory then,
As now we share Thy grace.

Should not the loving Bride

The absent Bridegroom mourn? Should she not wear the weeds of grief Until her Lord return?

Come then, Lord Jesus, come!

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Watchman, what of the night? we cry,

Heartsick with hope deferr'd:

No speaking signs are in the sky,
Is still the watchman's word.

The porter watches at the gate,

The servants watch within ;
The watch is long betimes, and late,
The prize is slow to win :
Watchman, what of the night? But still
His answer sounds the same,
No day-break tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame.
One to another, hear them speak,
The patient virgins wise,—
Surely He is not far to seek,

All night we watch and rise;
The days are evil looking back,

The coming days are dim;
Yet count we not His promise slack,
But watch and wait for Him.

One with another, soul with soul,

They kindle fire from fire;

Friends watch us who have touch'd the goal;

They urge us, Come up higher!

With them shall rest our way-sore feet,
With them is built our home,

With Christ,-they sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb.

There no more parting, no more pain;

The distant ones brought near; The lost so long are found again,-

Long lost, but longer dear :

Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived, that rest;
With them, our good things long deferr'd;
With Jesus Christ, our best.

We weep, because the night is long;
We laugh, for day shall rise;
We sing a slow contented song,
And knock at Paradise :
Weeping, we hold Him fast, who wept

For us; we hold Him fast,

And will not let Him go except

He bless us first or last.

Weeping, we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go,

Till day-break smite our wearied sight,
And summer smite the snow.

Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say, Arise, my love!

My fair one, come away!

Christina G. Rossetti.

62. ADVENT, THE SECOND. Waiting for WHAT of the night, watchman, what of the night? The wintry gale sweeps by,

The thick shadows fall, and the night-bird's call
Sounds mournfully through the sky.

The night is dark, it is long and drear,

But who, while others sleep,

Is that little band, who together stand,
And their patient vigils keep?

All awake is the strained eye,

And awake the listening ear:

For their Lord they wait, and watch at the gate
His chariot-wheels to hear.

Long have they waited—that little band,

And ever and anon

To fancy's eye the dawn seem'd nigh,—
The night seem'd almost gone.

And often, through the midnight gale,

They thought they heard at last

The sound of His train, and they listen'd again,And the sound died away on the blast.

Ages have roll'd, and one by one

Those watchers have pass'd away;
They heard the call on their glad ear fall,
And they hasten'd to obey.

And in their place their children stand,
And still their vigils keep,

They watch and pray for the dawn of day,

For this is no time for sleep.

What of the night, watchman, what of the night?
Though the wintry gales sweep by,
When the darkest hour begins to lower

We know that the dawn is nigh.

Courage, ye servants of the Lord,

The night is almost o'er;

Your Master will come and call you home,

To weep and to watch no more.

63. ADVENT, THE SECOND. Waiting for

'IT may be in the evening,

When the work of the day is done,
And you have time to sit in the twilight,
And watch the sinking sun,

While the long, bright day dies slowly
Over the sea,

And the hour grows quiet and holy,
With thoughts of Me;
While you hear the little children

Passing along the street,
Among those thronging footsteps

May come the sound of My feet.

Therefore I tell you, watch

By the light of the evening star, When the room is growing dusky As the clouds afar

Let the door be on the latch
In your home,

For it may be through the gloaming
I will come!

'It may be when the midnight

Is heavy upon the land,

And the black waves lying dumbly
Along the sand;

When the moonless night draws close,
And the lights are out in the house,

When the fires burn low and red, And the watch is ticking loudly

Beside the bed :

Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch,
Still your heart must wake, and watch
In the dark room,

For it may be that at midnight
I will come !

'It may be at the cock-crow,
When the night is dying slowly
In the sky,

And the sea looks calm and holy,'
Waiting for the dawn

Of the golden sun,

Which draweth nigh;

When the mists are on the valleys, shading

The rivers chill,

And my morning star is fading, fading

Over the hill :

Behold, I say unto you, watch! Let the door be on the latch

In your home;

In the chill before the dawning,
Between the night and morning,
I may come !

'It may be in the morning,

When the sun is bright and strong, And the dew is glittering sharply

Over the sweet, green lawn; When the waves are laughing loudly

Along the shore,

And gay birds are singing sweetly
About the door;

With the long day's work before you,

You rise up with the sun,

And your dear ones come to talk a little Of all that must be done,

But remember, I may be the next

To come in at the door,

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Doth bear him up against the shame of ruin,
With gentle censure, using but his faults
As modest means to introduce his praise;
For pity, like a dewy twilight, comes
To close th' oppressive splendour of his day,
And they who but admired him in his height,
His alter'd state lament, and love him fall'n.
Joanna Baillie.

67. ADVERSITY. Benefit of
'MID pleasure, plenty, and success,
Freely we take from Him who lends :
We boast the blessing we possess,

Yet scarcely thank the One who sends.
But let affliction pour its smart,

How soon we quail beneath the rod ! With shatter'd pride, and prostrate heart, We seek the long-forgotten God.

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NOT one care-wanting hour my life had tasted;
But from the very instant of my birth,
Incessant woes my tired heart have wasted,
And my poor thoughts are ignorant of mirth.
Look how one wave another still pursueth,
When some great tempest holds their troops in chase,
Or as one hour another close reneweth,
Or posting day supplies another's place ;]

So do the billows of affliction beat me,
And hand in hand the storms of mischief go;
Successive cares with utter ruin threat me,
Grief is enchain'd with grief, and woe with woe.
Brandon.

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My God once mix'd a harsh cup, for me to drink from it,

And it was full of acrid bitterness intensest ;

The black and nauseating draught did make me shrink from it,

The gods in bounty work up storms about us,
That give mankind occasion to exert

Their hidden strength, and throw out into practice
Virtues that shun the day, and lie conceal'd

In the smooth seasons and the calms of life.
Addison.
Who has not known ill fortune, never knew
Himself, or his own virtue.

Mallett and Thomson.

74. ADVERSITY. Resignation in

NAY then farewell!

I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness;
And, from that full meridian of my glory,

And cry, 'O Thou who every draught alike dis- I haste now to my setting; I shall fall
pensest,

This cup of anguish sore, bid me not quaff of it,
Or pour away the dregs and the deadliest half of it!'
But still the cup He held; and seeing He ordain'd it,
One glance at Him-it turn'd to sweetness as I
drain'd it.-Oriental Tr. by W. R. Alger.

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Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.-Shakespeare.

75. ADVERSITY.

Reviewing

WHEN we are young, this year we call the worst
That we can know; this bitter day is cursed,
And no more such our hearts can bear, we say.
But yet, as time from us falls fast away,
There comes a day, son, when all this is fair
And sweet to what, still living, we must bear.
'Better'd is bale by bale that follows it,'

The saw saith.-William Morris.

76. ADVERSITY: transient.

AFTER the storm, a calm;

After the bruise, a balm;

For the ill brings good in the Lord's own time,
And the sigh becomes the psalm.

After the drought, the dew;

After the cloud, the blue;

For the sky will smile in the sun's good time,
And the earth grow glad and new.
Mrs Crawford.

Ye good distress'd!

Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile,
And what your bounded view, which only saw
A little part, deem'd evil, is no more ;
The storms of wintry time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded spring encircle all.

Thomson.

77. AFFECTATION. Ministerial
IN man or woman, but far most in man,
And most of all in man that ministers
And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe
All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn;

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