Page:The Christian Year 1887.djvu/24

 Ye, who your Lord's commission bear His way of mercy to prepare: Angels He calls ye: be your strife To lead on earth an Angel's life.

Think not of rest; though dreams be sweet, Start up, and ply your heavenward feet. Is not God's oath upon your head, Ne'er to sink back on slothful bed, Never again your loans untie, Nor let your torches waste and die, Till, when the shadows thickest fall, Ye hear your Master's midnight call?


 * What went ye out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken with the wind? . . . But what went ye out for to see?  A prophet? yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophet.  St. Matthew xi. 7, 9.

What went ye out to see O'er the rude sandy lea, Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm, Or where Gennesaret's wave Delights the flowers to lave, That o'er her western slope breathe airs of balm.

All through the summer night, Those blossoms red and bright Spread their soft breasts, unheeding, to the breeze, Like hermits watching still Around the sacred hill, Where erst our Saviour watched upon His knees.

The Paschal moon above Seems like a saint to rove, Left shining in the world with Christ alone; Below, the lake's still face Sleeps sweetly in th' embrace Of mountains terrac'd high with mossy stone.

Here may we sit, and dream Over the heavenly theme, Till to our soul the former days return;