eeping women who had found
An empty tomb, and angels watching round,
Who asked 'Why seek the living with the dead?'

So weeps our Mother Church--her tears outshine
Sun-smitten dewdrops on a summer's morn;
God's rainbow girdles her, Hope's lovely sign,
Whereby she knows that smiles of tears are born;
Fulfilled of life herself, she would assure
Her children all of death's discomfiture.

CARLISLE: 1884.

_NEW YEAR'S EVE._

God grant through coming years and days
Our beating hearts may be
The harps that celebrate His praise
Who loves eternally!

No ache can be without relief
When Love Himself draws near;
No cup can empty stand, no grief
Embitter God's New Year.

Time's footsteps quickly die away,
Soon emptied is his glass;
We wait for an oncoming Day
Which nevermore shall pass.

Old hopes revive, new hopes are born,
The coming months to cheer;
And phantom-fears and griefs outworn
Die with the dying year.

Oh, all the years and all the days
Our waiting hearts shall be
Harps tremulous with His dear praise
Whose is Eternity!

S. BARNABAS': _December 31, 1883_.

_THE VICTIM._

FOR THE FEAST OF THE CIRCUMCISION: NEW YEAR'S DAY.

The sun methinks rose rosy-red
On that great New Year's Day,
When Blood was in the cradle shed
Where Mary's Darling lay.

The lark, uprising with the sun,
Was silent on the wing;
The nightingale, when day was done,
Forgot her song to sing.

A holy silence reigned around,
And hushed was every voice,
When in the crib the Cross was found,
The Infant-Victim's choice.

As moonbeam on a mountain-mere
The Mother's face was white;
Her eyes were stars, and every tear
Gave lustre to their light.

Methinks a blushing moon looked down
Upon that manger-bed,
And wove a mystic glory-crown
Around the Sleeper's head.

The silence issues in a song,
It rises and it swells;
E'en than the lark's more blithe and strong,
Sweeter than Philomel's,
His Church's anthem loud and long
The Victim's triumph tells.

_THE DAYSMAN._

In boyhood's sorrow-shadowed days,
Which memory recalls to-day,
In many moods and many ways,
My yearning heart would pray.

'T was holy ground where'er I set
My feet, God's shrine was everywhere;
But this I scarcely knew as yet--
_Christ is His Father's