Lazarus.

Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,
Odours of Edom and offerings divine?
Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation:

Vainly with gifts would His favour secure ; Richer by far is the heart's adoration;

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid!
Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!

Lazarus.

A. TENNYSON.

HEN Lazarus left his charnel cave,

WHE

And home to Mary's house return'd,

Was this demanded-if he yearn'd

To hear her weeping by his grave?

Where wert thou, brother, those four days?
There lives no record of reply,

Which telling what it is to die
Had surely added praise to praise.

From every house the neighbours met,

The streets were fill'd with joyful sound,
A solemn gladness even crown'd

The purple brows of Olivet.

221

Behold a man raised up by Christ!
The rest remaineth unreveal'd;
He told it not; or something seal'd
The lips of that Evangelist.

Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem. 223

Lord, let Thy love,
Fresh from above,

Soft as the south wind blow;

Call forth its bloom,

Wake its perfume,

And bid its spices flow!

And when Thy voice
Makes earth rejoice,

And the hills laugh and sing,

Lord! make this heart

To bear its part,

And join the praise of spring!

Hymn of the Moravian. Nuns of Bethlehem

AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.-Music by Miss M. Lindsay.

W

HEN the dying flame of day

Through the chancel shot its ray,

Far the glimmering tapers shed

Faint light on the cowled head;
And the censer burning swung,
Where, before the altar, hung

The blood-red banner, that with prayer
Had been consecrated there.

And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low in the dim, mysterious isle.

"Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave;
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the Sabbath of our vale,

When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.

"Take thy banner! and, beneath
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it !—till our homes are free!
Guard it!-God will prosper thee!
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.

"Take thy banner! But, when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquish'd warrior bow,
Spare him!-By our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,

By the mercy that endears,

Spare him!-he our love hath shared !

Spare him!—as thou wouldst be spared!

"Take thy banner !—and if e'er

Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,

Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee."

The warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud!

The Destruction of the Assyrians. 225

The Destruction of the Assyrians.

LORD BYRON.—Music by J. Nathan; also by S. Glover.

HE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,

THE

And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.

For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed on the face of the foe as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleeper wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still.

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.

P