HOW beautiful the roses bloom Around the portals of the tomb! How fair the meek white lilies grow From elements of death below! How tender and serenely bright The stars light up the depths of night! Thus beauty unto ruin clings, And light from deepest darkness springs; The Soul its noblest strength must gain Through ministries of grief and pain; Great victories only come through strife, And death is but the gate of life. The ocean waves that darkly flow, Sweep over priceless pearls below; The tempest cloud, when wild winds rest, Builds up the rainbow on its breast, And truths, unseen when all is bright, Shine like the stars in sorrow’s night. O Thou, in whom the vine bears fruit! In whom the violets take their root, For Thee the summer roses blow; For Thee the fair white lilies grow; And from Thine all-sustaining heart The Soul’s immortal currents start. O, when the circle, made complete, Shall in thy boundless being meet, We feel, we know, that we shall be Made perfect in our love to Thee; That good will triumph in that hour, And weakness be exchanged for power. “ECCE HOMO.” “When the Son of Man cometh, shall he find faith in the earth?” LUKE xviii. 8. The merry Christmas time, With song and silvery chime, Had come at last; And brightly glowed each hearth, While winter, o’er the earth, Its snows had cast. High in the old cathedral tower, The ponderous bell majestic swung, And with its voice of solemn power A summons to the people rung. Then, forth from lowly walls, And proud, ancestral halls, Came rich and poor, And faces wreathed with smiles Thronged the cathedral aisles As ne’er before. Rich silks trailed o’er the marble pave, And costly jewels glittered bright, For groined arch and spacious nave Were radiant with excess of light. The deep-toned organ’s swell Like billows rose and fell, In floods of sound; And the “Te Deum” rung, As if by angels sung, In space profound. Forth the majestic anthem rolled In harmony complete, and then Pealed forth the angels’ song of old, Of “peace on earth, good will to men.” As the full chorus ceased, Up rose the white-robed priest, With solemn air; With hands toward heaven outspread, He bowed his stately head In formal prayer. Then, like some breathless, holy spell, Upon the hushed and reverent crowd, A deep, impressive silence fell, And hands were clasped, and heads were bowed.