Thou who op'st the heavenly door

Virgin-born,

Three in One whom we adore,

Praise to Thee for evermore.

ON THE NATIVITY.

AT THE FIRST VESPERS.

Yet a little while, and He that shall come will come, and will not tarry.-HEB. X.

"Missum Redemptorem polo."

LET all the earth her King adore
From farthest pole to pole,
Where'er the sun doth roll;

Sent forth from the eternal shore

To visit us forlorn,

He comes, the Virgin-born.

To save from death those He hath made,

God, who did all create,

Puts on a slave's estate;

Born ere the pillar'd world was laid,

He comes a mortal child,

To earth and time exil'd.

Our God on a straw pallet lies,
And infant food is given

To Him the food of Heaven:
He lies full low that we may rise,
And the world-wielding hands
Are bound by swaddling bands.

He asks returns for such vast love,
And, though the Judge of all,
Doth to His cradle call:

Then be all praise to Him above,
To Father and to Son
And Spirit ever One.

AT MIDNIGHT.

I will not rest until the righteousness thereof go forth as brightness, and the salvation thereof as a lamp that burneth.— ISAIAH lxii.

"Jam desinant suspiria."

AWAY with sorrow's sigh,

Our prayers are heard on high,

And through Heav'n's crystal door,

On this our earthly floor

Comes meek-eyed Peace to walk with poor mortality.

In dead of night profound

There breaks a seraph sound
Of never-ending morn,—

The Lord of glory born

Within a holy grot on this our sullen ground.

Now with that shepherd crowd,

If it might be allow'd,

We fain would enter there

With awful hastening fear,

And kiss that cradle chaste in reverend worship

bow'd.

O sight of strange surprise,
That fills our gazing eyes,

A manger coldly strew'd,

And swaddling bands so rude,

A leaning mother poor, and child that helpless lies.

Art Thou, O wondrous sight,

Of lights the very Light,

Who holdest in Thy hand

The sky and sea and land,

Who than the glorious Heavens art more exceeding bright?

"Tis so ;-faith darts before,

And through the cloud drawn o'er,
She sees the God of all,

Where Angels prostrate fall,

Adoring tremble still, and trembling, still adore.

No thunders round Thee break,

Yet doth Thy silence speak

From that Thy Teacher's seat

To us around Thy feet,

To shun what flesh desires, what flesh abhors to seek.

Within us, Babe Divine,

Be born, and make us Thine;
Within our souls reveal

Thy love and power to heal,

Be born, and make our hearts Thy cradle and Thy shrine.