O, highly favored thou, in many an hour Spent in lone musing with thy wondrous Son, When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye, And hold that mighty hand within thy own. Blessed through those thirty years, when in thy dwelling He lived a God disguised, with unknown power, And thou, his sole adorer,--his best love,-- Trusting, revering, waitedst for his hour. Blessed in that hour, when called by opening heaven With cloud, and voice, and the baptizing flame, Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged stranger, And awe-struck crowds grew silent as he came. Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned, He from both hands almighty favors poured, And, though he had not where to lay his head, Brought to his feet alike the slave and lord. Crowds followed; thousands shouted, "Lo, our King!" Fast beat thy heart; now, now the hour draws nigh: Behold the crown--the throne! the nations bend. Ah, no! fond mother, no! behold him die. Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station, And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son; Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation, But with high, silent anguish, like his own. Hail, highly favored, even in this deep passion, Hail, in this bitter anguish--thou art blest-- Blest in the holy power with him to suffer Those deep death pangs that lead to higher rest. All now is darkness; and in that deep stillness The God-man wrestles with that mighty woe; Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending-- "'Tis finished!" Mother, all is glory now! By sufferings mighty as his mighty soul Hath the Jehovah risen--forever blest; And through all ages must his heart-beloved Through the same baptism enter the same rest. CHRISTIAN PEACE. "Thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy presence from the pride of man; thou shalt keep them secretly as in a pavilion from the strife of tongues." When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful _stillness_ reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea. So to the heart that knows thy love, O Purest, There is a temple, sacred evermore, And all the babble of life's angry voices Die in hushed stillness at its peaceful door. Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord, in thee.