Loved and watch'd of heaven, for whom The crowned Saviour there makes room, Sleeper, hark! He calls thee, rise, Lift thy head, and raise thine eyes! Now, for Jesus' sake, Wake! NOW WINTER PAST, THE WHITE-THORN BOWER. "_Thy gentleness hath made me great_." Now winter past, the white-thorn bower Breaks forth and buds down all the glen; Now spreads the leaf and grows the flower: So grows the life of God, in men. Oh, my child-God, most gentle King, To me Thy waxing glory show; Wake in my heart as wakes the spring, Grow as the leaf and lily grow. I was a child, when Thou a child Didst make Thyself again to me; And holy, harmless, undefiled, Play'd at Thy mother Mary's knee. Thou gav'st Thy pure example so, The copy in my childish breast Was a child's copy. I did know God, made in childhood manifest. Now I am grown, and Thou art grown The God-man, strong to love, to will, Who was alone, yet not alone, Held in His Father's presence still. Now do I know Thee for my cure, My peace, the Absolver for me set; Thy goings pass through deeps obscure, But Thou with me art gentle yet. Long-suffering Lord, to man reveal'd As One that e'en the child doth wait, Thy full salvation is my shield, Thy gentleness hath made me great. SUCH AS HAVE NOT GOLD TO BRING THEE. "_Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house_." Such as have not gold to bring Thee, They bring thanks--Thy grateful sons; Such as have no song to sing Thee, Live Thee praise--Thy silent ones. Such as have their unknown dwelling, Secret from Thy children here, Known of Thee, will Thee be telling How Thy ways with them are dear. None the place ordained refuseth, They are one, and they are all Living stones, the Builder chooseth For the courses of His wall. Now Thy work by us fulfilling, Build us in Thy house divine; Each one cries, "I, Lord, am willing, Whatsoever place be mine." Some, of every eye beholden, Hewn to fitness for the height, By Thy hand to beauty moulden, Show Thy workmanship in light. Other, Thou dost bless with station Dark, and of the foot downtrod, Sink them deep in the foundation-- Buried, hid with Christ in God. A MORN OF GUILT, AN HOUR OF DOOM. "_There was darkness_." A Morn of guilt, an hour of doom-- Shocks and tremblings dread; All the city sunk in gloom-- Thick darkness overhead. An awful Sufferer straight and stark; Mocking voices fell; Tremblings--tremblings in the dark, In heaven, and earth, and hell. Groping, stumbling up the way, They pass, whom Christ forgave; They know not what they do--they say, "Himself He cannot save. On His head behold the crown That alien hands did weave; Let Him come down, let Him come down, And we will believe!"