No. I.

ANON.

SONS of men, behold from far,
Hail the long-expected star!
Star of truth that gilds the night,
And guides bewilder'd Nature right.

Mild it shines on all beneath,

Piercing through the shades of death;
Scattering error's wide-spread night;
Kindling darkness into light.

Nations all, remote and near,
Haste to see your God appear;
Haste, for Him your hearts prepare,

Meet Him manifested there !

There behold the day-spring rise,
Pouring light on mortal eyes;
See it chase the shades away,
Shining to the perfect day!

Sing, ye morning stars, again!
God descends on earth to reign!
God in mercy leaves the sky!
Shout, ye sons of God, on high!

EPIPHANY.

No. II.

R. H.

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!

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining, Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall, Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,

Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all !

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!

FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.

No. I.

R. H.

ABASH'D be all the boast of Age!
Be hoary learning dumb!
Expounder of the mystic page,
Behold an Infant come!

Oh Wisdom, whose unfading power
Beside th' Eternal stood,

To frame, in nature's earliest hour,
The land, the sky, the flood;

Yet didst not Thou disdain awhile
An infant form to wear;

To bless Thy mother with a smile,
And lisp Thy falter'd prayer.

But, in Thy Father's own abode,
With Israel's elders round,
Conversing high with Israel's God,
Thy chiefest joy was found.

So may our youth adore Thy name!
And, Saviour, deign to bless
With fostering grace the timid flame
Of early holiness!

FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.

No. II.

R. H.

By cool Siloam's shady rill

How sweet the lily grows!

How sweet the breath beneath the hill

Of Sharon's dewy rose !

Lo such the child whose early feet
The paths of peace have trod;
Whose sccret heart, with influence sweet,
Is upward drawn to God!

By cool Siloam's shady rill

The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms beneath the hill

Must shortly fade away.

And soon, too soon, the wintry hour

Of man's maturer age

Will shake the soul with sorrow's power, And stormy passion's rage!

O Thou, whose infant feet were found
Within Thy Father's shrine!

Whose years, with changeless virtue crown'd,
Were all alike Divine.

Dependant on Thy bounteous breath,
We seek thy grace alone,

In childhood, manhood, age, and death,
To keep us still thine own!