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THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

BRIGHTER than the rising day,

When the sun of glory shines; Brighter than the diamond's ray, Sparkling in Golconda's mines; Beaming through the clouds of wo, Smiles in Mercy's diadem

On the guilty world below,

The Star that rose in Bethlehem.

When our eyes are dimm'd with tears,
This can light them up again,
Sweet as music to our ears,
Faintly warbling o'er the plain.
Never shines a ray so bright
From the purest earthly gem;
O! there is no soothing light
Like the Star of Bethlehem.

Grief's dark clouds may o'er us roll,
Every heart may sink in wo,
Gloomy conscience rack the soul,

And sorrow's tears in torrents flow; Still, through all these clouds and storms, Shines this purest heavenly gem,

With a ray that kindly warms-
The Star that rose in Bethlehem.

When we cross the roaring wave
That rolls on life's remotest shore;

When we look into the grave,

And wander through this world no more; This, the lamp whose genial ray,

Like some brightly-glowing gem, Points to man his darkling way—

The Star that rose in Bethlehem.

Let the world be sunk in sorrow,
Not an eye be charm'd or bless'd;
We can see a fair to-morrow
Smiling in the rosy west;
This, her beacon, Hope displays;
For, in Mercy's diadem,

Shines, with Faith's serenest rays,
The Star that rose in Bethlehem.

When this gloomy life is o'er,

When we smile in bliss above, When, on that delightful shore,

We enjoy the heaven of love,O! what dazzling light shall shine Round salvation's purest gem! O! what rays of love divine

Gild the Star of Bethlehem!

THE YOUNG HERDSMAN.

FROM early childhood, even, as hath been said,
From his sixth year, he had been sent abroad
In summer to tend herds; such was his task
Thenceforward till the latter day of youth.
O then what soul was his, when, on the tops
Of the high mountains, he beheld the sun

Rise up, and bathe the world in light! He looked-
Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth

And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay

In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touch'd, And in their silent faces did he read

Unutterable love. Sound needed none,

Nor
any voice of joy; his spirit drank
The spectacle; sensation, soul, and form,
All melted into him; they swallowed up
His animal being; in them did he live,
And by them did he live; they were his life.
In such access of mind, in such high hour
Of visitation from the living God,
Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired;
No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request;
Rapt into still communion that transcends
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,
His mind was a thanksgiving to the power
That made him; it was blessedness and love!
A Herdsman, on the lowly mountain tops
Such intercourse was his; and in this sort
Was his existence oftentimes possessed.

Oh, then, how beautiful, how bright appear'd
The written promise! He had early learn'd
To reverence the Volume which displays
The mystery, the life that cannot die :
But in the mountains did he feel his faith;
There did he see the writing-all things there
Breathed immortality, revolving life,
And greatness still revolving;-infinite!
There littleness was not ;-the least of things
Seemed infinite; and there his spirit shaped
Her prospects; nor did he believe,―he saw.
What wonder if his being thus became
Sublime and comprehensive! low desires,

Low thoughts had there no place; yet was his heart
Lowly; for he was meek in gratitude,

Oft as he called those ecstacies of mind,

And whence they flowed; and from them he acquired Wisdom which works through patience; thence he

learn'd,

In many a calmer hour of sober thought,

To look on nature with an humbler heart,
Self-question'd where he did not understand,
And with a reverential eye of love.

THE PARTING SPIRIT.

FAREWELL, thou vase of splendor,
I need thy light no more ;
No brilliance dost thou render
The world to which I soar.

Nor sun nor moonbeam brightens
Those regions with a ray,
But God himself enlightens
Their one eternal day.

Farewell, sweet nature! waving
With fruits and flowerets fair;
Of these but little craving

Of what thou well canst spare,—

Only an earthly pillow,

To bear my death-cold head; And the turf and drooping willow, To deck my lowly bed.

The world to which I'm going
Has fairer fruit than thine,

Life's rivers ever flowing,

And skies that ever shine.

Farewell, each dearest union,

That bless'd my earthly hours;
We yet shall hold communion
In amaranthine bowers.

The love that seems forsaken,

When friends in death depart,

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