Page:The Christian Year 1887.djvu/88



Nor let the proud heart say, In her self-torturing hour, The travail pangs must have their way, The aching brow must lower. To us long since the glorious Child is born Our throes should be forgot, or only seem Like a sad vision told for joy at morn, For joy that we have waked and found it but a dream.

Mysterious to all thought A mother's prime of bliss, When to her eager lips is brought Her infant's thrilling kiss. O never shall it set, the sacred light Which dawns that moment on her tender gaze, In the eternal distance blending bright Her darling's hope and hers, for love and joy and praise.

No need for her to weep Like Thracian wives of yore, Save when in rapture still and deep Her thankful heart runs o'er. They mourned to trust their treasure on the main, Sure of the storm, unknowing of their guide: Welcome to her the peril and the pain, For well she knows the bonus where they may safely hide.

She joys that one is born Into a world forgiven, Her Father's household to adorn, And dwell with her in Heaven. So have I seen, in Spring's bewitching hour, When the glad Earth is offering all her best, Some gentle maid bend o'er a cherished flower, And wish it worthier on a Parent's heart to rest.


 * Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send Him unto you.  St. John xvi 7.

My Saviour, can it ever be That I should gain by losing Thee? The watchful mother tarries nigh, Though sleep have closed her infant's eye;