Lift your voices far and wide,
CHRIST was born at Christmas tide,
Bless and hail His Holy Birth,
Peace to men, goodwill on earth.

He was cradled in a manger,
In a humble cattle shed;
And the King of earth and heaven,
Scarce had where to lay His Head.
SAVIOUR of the meek and lowly,
Of the contrite broken heart,
Not earth's great ones in Thy kingdom,
Have the first and surest part.
Lift your voices far and wide,
CHRIST was born at Christmas tide,

Bless and hail His Holy Birth,

Peace to men, goodwill on earth.

Thou dost call the poor in spirit
To Thy heritage above,
And Thy poor despised children,
First and foremost in Thy love.
Come, ye poor, and weak and feeble,
Hear the sweet bells' merry chime,
Raise to heaven your hearts and voices,
CHRIST was born upon this time.
Lift your voices far and wide,
CHRIST was born at Christmas tide,
Bless and hail His Holy Birth,

Peace to men, goodwill on earth.

III.

THOUGH but little children,
Poor and weak are we,

Yet this holy season

Not unmarked shall be.
And our Christmas carol
We will gladly raise;
To our heavenly FATHER
Giving thanks and praise.

"Suffer little children,"

Did our SAVIOUR say;
From our small endeavour

He'll not turn away.
For He looks upon us
With His loving grace,
And our angels always

See in heaven His face.

He was like unto us,

But a feeble child,

With our griefs and sorrows,
He, too, wept or smiled.
'Mid the lowing oxen
Was the SAVIOUR born,
Many hundred years ago,
On this blessed morn.
And He suffered for us

Grief and pain and loss,
Till at last they nailed Him
On the awful Cross.
But to heaven ascended,
Now He dwells on high,
Till He comes to judge us
In His Majesty.

Honour, praise and glory,
To our heavenly King,
Now, and still for ever,

All mankind shall sing.

We will raise our carol,

As we gladly say,

JESUS CHRIST our SAVIOUR,

He was born to-day.

THE VOICE OF APPEAL.

'MID the dreary sounds of autumn, the dull swinging of the trees,
Like the roar of breakers dashing, and the sighing of the breeze;
In the dim and misty twilight that ekes out the failing year,
Far above these blended noises, came a voice upon mine ear;
Nay, I know not whence it came from, if the undefined and dark,
That in shadow lay beyond me, or the dull fire's half-quenched spark,
If it came upon the cold winds, or it rode the stormy cloud;
But I heard the dear sweet accents, so distinct, yet never loud.
"Nay, my children, erring children are ye, traitors, and no less?
Do ye come to do me reverence,-do ye kneel that I may bless?—
Are ye come in lowly duty,-high and low, and rich and poor?
Have ye sought me, and not found me-have I ever closed my door?
Nay, my children, look upon me, I am not as I have been,
Throned in undoubted honour, robed, and sceptred like a queen;
Heavy fetters are upon me, and for a radiant crown
The thorns are pressing sorely on the brow to dust cast down.
Can I help you-me, you fettered-tied me down with iron bands?
Is not shame upon your faces, that ye seek help at my hands?
All my laws ye mocked and scorned at, all my precepts disobeyed;
Are ye come to ask assistance from the ruin ye have made?
Ye have cavilled at my canons, at my discipline, and rule;
Have ye weary grown already of your self-created school?
Your vast liberty of conscience, your free judgment of the soul-
Are ye tired of these already?-though for them my wise control
Ye exchanged with such irreverence-'mere idle rite and form!'
Surely they who sow the whirlwind, shall reap tempest, fire and storm;

I have watched you, I have nursed you, from the infant at my breast;
Cleansed in my sparkling waters, through this weary life's unrest;-
I have led you to my altars, to repeat the vow and prayer;
And then fed you with the precious food of life eternal there:

I have blessed your marriage vowing, all your sickness and your health,
In the hour of tribulation, in your poverty and wealth;

I have ever been with you, from the cradle to the grave,

A steady refuge from the storm, and oil upon the wave.

And when that life was over, and they laid you down to sleep,

I have spoken of your rising from that slumber calm and deep;

I have blessed you, and then trusted you, until that awful day,
When the archangel's trump shall sound, and earth shall pass away.
Ye have set up earthly idols,-pride of judgment, intellect,-
And like reeds are ye divided into party, band, and sect.
Are ye better, think ye, wiser than idolaters of old,
When they knelt in willing worship before the calf of gold?
Nay, alas the sinful leaven has descended to your day,
Now ye bow before a thing of dust, a creature of the clay !
The holy Liturgy ye use with idle lips-intent

But on the world, and worldly things on which your hearts are bent;
The blessed Sacrament ye take, how oft with sinful hand,
Scarce thankful for the precious gift so plenteous in the land!
The early martyrs pined for these, and died for loving well,
Sealed with their blood their glorious faith, as old traditions tell.
Ye use the prayer of the baptized, and scarce its meaning know,
Yet may its need be taught to you in many a bitter woe.
Ye deck your gaudy palaces with gilded art full well;

Yet whitewashed walls are good enough of God's great works to tell,
Who gave the smiling earth its bloom, and taught the sun to shine-
O man! He did not limit thee, what sin and shame are thine!
The holy bells that toll to Church disturb the world, and they
Must needs be hushed, for fear that men should be induced to pray!
O earthly minds! by sordid ties bowed down to earth so strong,
How could ye bear in Paradise the angels' ceaseless song?
If the Church-bell tolls too often for your pleasure and your gain,
Heaven holds no bliss for such as you-your hope will be in vain !
Your small children from the cradle hear you argue day by day,
Taking up your own opinions,-twisting all things your own way,
Look, that they turn not on you, your own weapon to your breast,
"We've a right to our opinion, we will do as we think best."
Can ye,-dare ye,-tell them then, of one forgotten now so long,
His authority, and yours; and can ye make your ruling strong?
Ye have set up your wise proverbs,-toleration, charity;
Pity that ye did not eke it out, by giving plenteously;
But ye feast at your rich tables, clad in purple, and in state;
O Dives! is not Lazarus still a beggar at your gate?
"There are many ways to heaven, but all lead there at last!"
"If so I am sure to stumble on one, wherefore should I haste?"
Is the natural conclusion that the sinful mind will draw.

Is this the teaching left you-is this the gospel law?-
Which is safer, tell, I pray you, much or little love to show?

Too much zeal shall be excused, utter lack shall bring you woe.

And now Rome's daring pontiff lays a domineering hand,

On your hearths, and on your altars, throughout the whole wide land;
Now ye cry in desolation-ah, my children, why to me?

Me ye fettered, I am helpless, from their toils to set you free.
Where are the first great Churches the Apostles' hands did raise?
There are but the names to tell us of the glories of those days;

If they fell, the first and earliest, surely ye may tremble too;
Why should greater grace than they had be reserved so long for you?
All your sophistries and pleadings serve you well on earth with men ;
But when at the judgment seat of CHRIST, how will ye speak them then?
In the Triune Name I charge you, if ye hope for pardon yet;
Be your lights trimmed far more brightly, be your watchers doubly set;

Firm to the Faith He left you, who died for you, that He
Might redeem you to Himself, His chosen followers to be,
Let no dangers round appal you, no deriding and no loss,
Remember you have taken up the thornwreath and the Cross!

Shrink not, quail not, from the trial, though all hope and light grow dim,
Remember in that last dark hour, all comfort fled from Him!

All the closer grasp your faith, for danger and for fear,

For the Bridegroom may be coming, ere ye dream His step is near.
Many died with but the shadow of the substance that ye hold,

In trusting faith, and confidence, in early days of old.

The very things ye value not,-so rich are ye in grace,

May be taken from you wholly and leave nothing in their place.
Be your daily, nightly, hourly prayer, "LORD, help our unbelief.”
For 'tis patient faith that's wanted, to your shame and to my grief;
Turn ye back, my erring children, 'tis your mother's voice that calls,
Once more seek my holy offices, in my appointed walls,
Once more rally all together by one voice and by one sign,
Casting off all other teaching, all authority but mine.

Lay your hands all firmly on your creed, as the old martyrs stood,
Ready, willing, for its glorious truths to seal it with your blood.
And then fear no idle faction, be it proud and erring Rome,
Or the false sectarian spirit that has raged so long at home.
And One LORD, One Faith, One Baptism, hold ye ever true and fast,
And their power shall fall before you, like leaves upon the blast.
And that merciful Almighty, who can bid all tempests cease,
Ever lovingly surround you with His everlasting peace."

Then the sweet clear voice was silent and the breezes sighed again;
And I rose and looked upon the night, where now the moon shone plain;
And I gazed upon the myriad stars and thought they must grow dim,
And be blotted from the heavens, ere one law be changed by Him:
And the precious message to His Church, the last that He did send,
"Only trust in Me alone, I will be with you to the end!"
Cossington, 1850.

F. S. B.

Church News.

THE FUNERAL OF THE HON. MRS. GLYNNE.

THE Glynnes of Hawarden are well known as true and faithful children of the Church of England. The devotion to their spiritual mother, which they evince on all occasions, is not confined to any one member of the family. The respect in which they are held in their own neighbourhood is only an echo of that with which they are regarded by many who know them only by name. Our readers will therefore peruse, with interest, a short account of the funeral of the Hon. Mrs. Glynne, which took place on the 11th November, in the Parish Church of Hawarden. The inhabitants of the parish showed their sympathy and respect by closing their shops, and the majority being clad in mourning for the occasion. Towards twelve o'clock the procession left the Rectory in the following order:

The Organist.

with white wands.

The Church Clerk.

The Churchwardens,

The Sidesmen,

The Medical Attendants,

Dr. Edwards and Mr. John Harrison.

The Choristers of St. Matthew's, Buckley, in their sur-
plices, two and two, Boys and Men.

The Schoolmasters of S. Matthew's, S. John's, and S. Mary's, in surplices.

Pall Bearers
in surplices.

Rev. W. Brewster.
Rev. F. W. Harris.
Rev. H. Linthwaite.
Rev. R. W. Eyton.

THE BODY.

Pall Bearers

in surplices.
Rev. H. P. Ffoulkes.
Rev. J. E. Troughton.
Rev. J. W. Hill.
Ven. Arch. Clough.

The body was borne by twelve communicants, on a bier, with a velvet pall, ornamented with roses, &c., with the words of Scripture, in black letters on a white ground, round the sides, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see GOD;" and followed by the chief mourners (the Rev. Henry Glynne, Lord Lyttelton, Hon. Spencer Lyttelton), Hon. and Rev. D. H. Lyttelton, Earl Spencer, Hon. Mr. Lawley, Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone, M.P., Sir Stephen R. Glynne, Bart., P. Davies Cooke, Esq., Col. Philips, R. Barker, Esq., and G. Burnett, Esq. These were joined at the Church gates by the Dowager Lady Lyttelton, Mrs. W. E. Gladstone, and the Hon. Miss Lyttelton; and were followed by the domestics of the Castle and Rectory.

On reaching the Church gates, the choir and Clergy commenced chanting the beautiful sentences of the burial service, which were sung to a Gregorian chant, and as soon as they were ended the organ began the Dead March in Saul, which was continued till the whole procession had entered the Church, and had taken their places. The bier was set down in front of the altar, the Clergy and choir ranging themselves on either side of it. The two Psalms were then sung to a Gregorian chant; the lesson was read by the Rev. H. P. Ffoulkes; at the conclusion of which, the body, preceded by the Rev. W. Brewster (who performed the rest of the service), and followed by the Clergy, was borne from the altar to the vault, which was situated in the centre passage, near the reading desk, and there placed on a wooden platform, prepared for the occasion, in which a sliding door was made; ropes were then passed under the bier, which was for a moment slightly raised up, that the door might be slided back, and immediately afterwards the coffin was lowered straight down into the vault, still remaining on the bier, from which it was transferred to its final resting-place; an arrangement that completely obviated all the difficulties usually attendant upon such occasions. During this time the choir chanted the sentences, "Man that is born of a woman," &c., to a Gregorian