Lazarus. Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion, 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, Lazarus. A. TENNYSON. HEN Lazarus left his charnel cave, WHE And home to Mary's house return'd, Was this demanded-if he yearn'd To hear her weeping by his grave? Where wert thou, brother, those four days? Which telling what it is to die From every house the neighbours met, The streets were fill'd with joyful sound, The purple brows of Olivet. 221 Behold a man raised up by Christ! Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem. 223 Lord, let Thy love, Soft as the south wind blow; Call forth its bloom, Wake its perfume, And bid its spices flow! And when Thy voice And the hills laugh and sing, Lord! make this heart To bear its part, And join the praise of spring! Hymn of the Moravian. Nuns of Bethlehem AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER. H. W. LONGFELLOW.-Music by Miss M. Lindsay. W HEN the dying flame of day Through the chancel shot its ray, Far the glimmering tapers shed Faint light on the cowled head; The blood-red banner, that with prayer And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while, "Take thy banner! May it wave When the clarion's music thrills "Take thy banner! and, beneath "Take thy banner! But, when night By the mercy that endears, Spare him!-he our love hath shared ! Spare him!—as thou wouldst be spared! "Take thy banner !—and if e'er Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier, Then this crimson flag shall be The warrior took that banner proud, The Destruction of the Assyrians. 225 The Destruction of the Assyrians. LORD BYRON.—Music by J. Nathan; also by S. Glover. HE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, THE And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, P |