Oh, happiest who before thine altar wait, With pure hands ever holding up on high The guiding Star of all who seek Thy gate, The undying lamp of heavenly Poesy. Too weak, too wavering, for such holy task Is my frail arm, O Lord; but I would fain Track to its source the brightness, I would bask In the clear ray that makes Thy pathway plain. I dare not hope with David’s harp to chase The evil spirit from the troubled breast; Enough for me if I can find such grace To listen to the strain, and be at rest. THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. Morning. His compassions fail not. They are new every morning. _Lament_. iii. 22, 23. HUES of the rich unfolding morn, That, ere the glorious sun be born, By some soft touch invisible Around his path are taught to swell;— Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay, That dancest forth at opening day, And brushing by with joyous wing, Wakenest each little leaf to sing;— Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam, By which deep grove and tangled stream Pay, for soft rains in season given, Their tribute to the genial heaven;— Why waste your treasures of delight Upon our thankless, joyless sight; Who day by day to sin awake, Seldom of Heaven and you partake? Oh, timely happy, timely wise, Hearts that with rising morn arise! Eyes that the beam celestial view, Which evermore makes all things new! New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove; Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought. New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven. If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, God will provide for sacrifice. Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be, As more of Heaven in each we see: Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care. As for some dear familiar strain Untired we ask, and ask again, Ever, in its melodious store, Finding a spell unheard before; Such is the bliss of souls serene, When they have sworn, and stedfast mean, Counting the cost, in all t’ espy Their God, in all themselves deny. Oh, could we learn that sacrifice, What lights would all around us rise! How would our hearts with wisdom talk Along Life’s dullest, dreariest walk! We need not bid, for cloistered cell, Our neighbour and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky: The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves; a road To bring us daily nearer God.