How vast the change by death in man's estate? How silent now the orator's proud tongue, On which so many thousands often hung? How fled the concord of sweet sounds, which late Drew to the songstress admiration great? How heedless now the monarch to the throng Of worshippers? Alas, to whom doth now belong The rich man's gold, which yielding to his fate He leaves behind?――Whate'er on earth ye love Ye soon must lose; then seek with earnest heart The proffer'd blessings near Christ's throne above: Once gain'd, there's naught can them and you dispart While you shall live; nor shall one joy be gone While endless centuries of bliss roll on! 70. CHRISTMAS. This is the day of all earth's days the best;―― This is the bright, and wondrous, glorious morn, On which the Son of God from heav'n was born, First offer'd to his mother's vision blest. Think not the harps of angel-hosts could rest, Louder than warring notes of trump and horn; The universe was glad at that day's dawn, For Mercy beam'd on sinners lost, unblest. Christ dwelt as man upon this globe he built, And, having taught the world Truth pure and bright, Died as a sacrifice for man's great guilt, But rose again to fill all heav'n with light! We hail the glad return of this glad day; Sing, O ye heav'ns; in joy sing on for aye! 71. NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1859. Hail to the day I am allow'd to see, Though helpless on the bed of sickness laid,―― Another year's return! All undismay'd, I've daily thought, to me it might not be. It has not been to millions now set free, And this year millions more, to death betray'd, Will reach their doom. For them I've earnest pray'd, "Lord, give them faith in thy salvation free!" Three quarter-centuries of years my own Will end their flight this day in winter's cold: Praise to my God for joys and hopes not flown! Hasten, O Lord, the year by thee foretold, When thou wilt all the fallen nations raise, And earth shall be one temple to thy praise! 72. DONATI'S COMET, 1858. Strange Comet, with thy long, curv'd tail so bright, Hast thou before e'er visited our sphere? From what dark depths of space dost thou draw near? What is thy aim thus blazing on our sight? Hast thou a charge with pestilence to smite? Full many an eye now looks on thee with fear; But unknown good may spring from thy career And nigh approach to the great fount of light. From guiding hand of God, enthron'd above, Thou art not free; thou comest at his will, Either to work the counsels of his love, Or judgment on the wicked to fulfil. Perchance on thee some, doom'd to woe, may dwell,―― Some demon-spirits, whose abode is hell! 73. EXECUTION FOR MURDER, 1630.