THE OLD JEW ON MOUNT MORIAH.

He stood bewildered on his lonely hearth,
Sadness was written on his fixéd brow,
For he had witnessed days of holy mirth
Where silence dwells and desolation now.
The grief he felt he cared not to avow.
Calmly he stood, yet sorrowfully too,

The latest leaf upon the topmost bough

Of the green olive that so lately threw

Aloft its leafy arms when the glad spring was new.

Friendless and homeless! How unlike the past!
Once honored scion of a noble stem;
But now forsaken, desolate, the last

Bright jewel of a kingly diadem;

The last dim dew-drop of all those taat gem The still lone valley where the sunbeams fall. He trod his ancient hills, but found on them Nought but his shivered altar-shrines, for all Was tomb-like hushed, and dark as with a funeral

pall.

THE SHEPHERDS' PLAIN.

'Dum servant oves invenerunt Agnum Dei."-JEROME.

BLESSED night, when first that plain

Echoed with the joyful strain,—

"Peace has come to earth again."

Blessed hills, that heard the song
Of the glorious angel-throng,
Swelling all your slopes along.

Happy shepherds, on whose ear

Fell the tidings glad and dear,-
"God to man is drawing near.”

Happy shepherds, on whose eye
Shone the glory from on high,
Of the heavenly Majesty.

THE SHEPHERDS' PLAIN,

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Happy, happy Bethlehem,

Judah's least but brightest gem,

Where the rod from Jesse's stem,

Scion of a princely race,

Sprung in heaven's own perfect grace,

Yet in feeble lowliness.

This the woman's promised seed,

Abram's mighty son indeed;

Succorer of earth's great need.

This the victor in our war,

This the glory seen afar,

This the light of Jacob's star!

Happy Judah, rise and own
Him, the heir of David's throne,
David's Lord, and David's Son.

Babe of promise, born at last,

After weary ages past,

When our hopes were overcast.

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THE SHEPHERDS' PLAIN.

Babe of weakness, can it be,
That earth's last great victory
Is to be achieved by thee?

Child of meekness, can it be
That the proud rebellious knee
Of this world shall bend to thee?

Child of poverty, art thou

He to whom all heaven shall bow,
And all earth shall pay the vow?

Can that feeble head alone

Bear the weight of such a crown,
As belongs to David's Son?

Can these helpless hands of thine,
Wield a sceptre so divine,

As belongs to Jesse's line?

Heir of pain and toil, whom none

In this evil day will own,

Art thou the Eternal One?

THE SHEPHERDS' PLAIN.

Thou, o'er whom the sword and rod
Wave, in haste, to drink thy blood,
Art thou very Son of God?

Thus revealed to shepherds' eyes,

Hidden from the great and wise,
Entering earth in lowly guise,—

Entering by this narrow door,
Laid upon this rocky floor,
Placed in yonder manger poor.

We adore thee as our King,
And to thee our song we sing;
Our best offering to thee bring.

Guarded by the shepherds' rod,
'Mid their flock, thy poor abode,
Thus we own thee, Lamb of God.

Lamb of God, thy lowly name,
King of kings, we thee proclaim;
Heaven and earth shall hear its fame.

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