SONG OF THE ANGELS. YALM on the listening ear of night Where wild Judæa stretches far Celestial choirs, from courts above, And angels, with their sparkling lyres, Make music on the air. The answering hills of Palestine And greet, from all their holy heights, On the blue depths of Galilee And Sharon waves, in solemn praise, "Glory to God!" the sounding skies Light on thy hills, Jerusalem! The Saviour now is born! And bright on Bethlehem's joyous plains Breaks the first Christmas morn. Edmund Hamilton Sears. BETHLEHEM AND GOLGOTHA. N Bethlehem He first arose, IN From whom we draw our true life's breath; And Golgotha at last he chose, Where his cross broke the power of death. The ancient wonders of the world Here rose aloft, the mighty Seven; Cease, Pyramids of Egypt, cease! The toil that built you never gave The riddle Life an unread one Ye left; the answer found its way Through Bethlehem and Golgotha. O Rocknabad, earth's Paradise, Of all Shiraz the sweetest flower! Ye Indian sea-coasts, breathing spice, Thou Caaba! black stone of the waste, O Thou, who in a shepherd-stable And through the cross's pain wert able To pride the manger seems disgrace; The cross a vile, unworthy place; But what shall bring this pride down? Say! "Tis Bethlehem and Golgotha. The Magi kings went forth to see The Shepherd Stock, the Paschal Lamb; And to the cross on Calvary The pilgrimage of nations came. Amidst the battle's stormy toss, All flew to splinters, but the Cross; As East and West encamping lay O, march we not in martial band, As Christ himself subdued the world. With pilgrim staff and scallop-shell Through Eastern climes I sought to roam; O heart! what helps it, that the knee The grave from which he soon ascended? Thy Bethlehem and Golgotha. Friedrich Rückert. Tr. N. L. Frothingham. WHAT RACHEL'S TOMB. HAT mouldering pile near Ephrath stands alone, With dome-shaped top, and base of massy stone? Rude is the chamber where her bones repose, Yet here, 't is said, fair Rachel's pillar rose. Ah! sad her fate in Nature's pangs to die; To sorrowing friends I hear her parting sigh; I see her husband's woe, his streaming tear, His last fond kiss before he laid her here, His anguished brow, where smiles no more would be, For ne'er was wife, poor Rachel! loved like thee. Nicholas Michell. THE THREE KINGS. THREE Kings came riding from far away, Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar; Three Wise Men out of the East were they, The star was so beautiful, large, and clear, And by this they knew that the coming was near Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows, |